Illiteracy and Functional Illiteracy in Nigeria.
Photo by RF._.studio from Pexels by Vanessa Oyiwodu Audu illiteracy /ɪˈlɪt(ə)rəsi/ noun 1. the inability to read or write. 2. lack of knowledge in a particular subject; ignorance. The loose definition of illiteracy can be subjective, especially when the ability to read, write and speak proficiently in a specific language is the main focus. By hammering on the ability to read and write, people can be perceived as literate in certain areas and considered ‘illiterate’ in others. An example can be seen with a person who is able to read, write and speak English proficiently but is not able to use a computer. By considering them ‘computer illiterate’, one may be diminishing the scope of their literacy. Rather than arguing about who is literate or not, the question that should be asked is if an individual is able to contribute to, and improve themselves and their society based on the level of their skills, knowledge, talent or education. In Nigeria, there is this belief that illiteracy is the cause of our underdevelopment or some of the social vices we face in the country. That may have been the reality in the past, but it is not the only reality of our country today. Over the years, the number of schools and graduates have increased across the country but the economic progress still remains low. So… should we still say illiteracy is one of the major causes of underdevelopment in the country? It is still a possibility. Illiteracy is without argument, a shortfall in Nigeria, but dwelling on it would be foolhardy. In truth, even illiterates can contribute to the country’s development. They might not be able to speak ‘proper English’ or even read or write, but they can still make use of their skill set and talents: some of which they were born with or acquired through informal learning. Rather than stigmatizing the individuals who are illiterate by standard definitions, we should consider giving them opportunities to show how their skills can be instrumental in our collective growth and development. Both illiterates and literates have something to contribute to the society and sometimes, hands-on experience in certain sectors can be a bigger plus than book-smarts. This brings us to the term, ‘functional illiteracy’. Functional Illiteracy means that a person has the ability to read, write and speak proficiently, but cannot use these skills for their own development and that of their community. Many individuals in Nigeria are functional illiterates who have spent many years in schools without being able to handle real life situations. What we should be fighting against is functional illiteracy. The reason underdevelopment persists in the social and economical sectors in Nigeria is most likely because we do not have literates who can function effectively or contribute positively to the development of the country. In conclusion, our struggle should be geared towards making individuals functional literates who can harness their knowledge, skills and talent in contributing positively to the economic and social growth of the society. One of the ways of doing so is by laying emphasis on the practical aspects of learning that ensure educated people are able to analyse problems and provide solutions for them.
Women’s Rights in Conferring Citizenship
Photo by Dayvison de Oliveira Silva from Pexels by Emono Bwacha A citizen of a country is basically someone who has legal ties to that country. One of the most common definitions of citizenship is that it is “the sum total of rights and duties ensuing for a given person by reason of his legal affiliation to a certain State”[1] The concept of citizenship legally ties an individual to a particular region or country. As a direct result, the individual has obligations to said region or country and in return, the region or country grants the individual rights to enjoy as a citizen. There are different ways by which a person can become a citizen of a country. It can be by birth, naturalization, registration, marriage, and an honorary citizenship can also be conferred on a person by the government of a country. Regardless of how one becomes a citizen of a country, he/she – ideally – gets to enjoy all the rights applicable to citizens of the country regardless of age or gender. In Nigeria, Section 42 of the Constitution prohibits any form of discrimination and promotes equal enjoyment of rights by all. On paper, it seems like a pretty straight forward segment of the constitution. In reality however, there are certain other provisions of the law that seem to promote the unequal enjoyment of rights between men and women, one of which is the right to transmit citizenship. Take Section 26 of the Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (CFRN) 1999 (as amended) which relates to citizenship for instance. The law allows Nigerian men the right to confer citizenship on another person, but Nigeria women cannot enjoy that same right. This Section clearly states that the president may confer citizenship on “any woman who is or who has been married to a citizen of Nigeria”. By legal interpretation, this limits Nigerian women from transferring their citizenship to their foreign husbands. This is in direct contradiction of the provisions of Section 42 which prohibits discrimination based on sex, religion, and/or ethnic group. The experience of women’s citizenship is that it is treated as being of secondary or devalued status relative to men’s. The solution to this would be an amendment to the provision as there is no excuse for why men can transfer their Nigerian citizenship to their spouses, but Nigerian women cannot. Also, in many countries, women cannot transfer citizenship to their children. This has caused some issues of statelessness as outlined by the United Nations (UN).[2] According to the UN, equality between men and women in relation to conferral of nationality upon their children has not yet been attained in 25 countries over the world, with a significant number of these States found in the Middle East and North Africa (12 countries).[3] More than fifty countries have nationality laws with gender-discriminatory provisions, with most denying women the same rights as men to pass nationality to a noncitizen spouse.[4] Under the 1962 citizenship law of Somalia, mothers have no ability to confer their nationality on their children. In Eswatini (formerly the Kingdom of Swaziland), the constitution stipulates that a child born after 2005 can only acquire nationality from their Swazi fathers, unless the child was born out of wedlock and has not been claimed by the father in accordance with customary law: in which case the Swazi mother can pass on her nationality. In addition, Eswatini’s 1992 Citizenship Act contains the same provisions applicable to children born after 1992.[5] In a country like Nigeria where citizenship is experienced differently at both National and State levels, this brings in another issue women face with regards their ‘State of Origin’. Citizenship at the State level is defined in a patriarchal way, in terms of the ‘State of origin’ of one’s father but never their mother. In simple terms, children cannot identify with the State of origin of their mothers. They can only identify with the State of origin of their father. It becomes harder for women when they get married because they are then expected to abandon their fathers’ ‘State of origin’ and claim that of their husbands. In practise however, when the woman wants to run for office in her ‘new’ State, people from the State deny her this right because ‘she wasn’t born here’. If she then goes back to her father’s State of origin, people from there claim she’s no longer from that State because she is married to someone from another state. This has created confusion for many women, especially those vying – and are deserving – of leadership positions across many sectors of the economy. When women are denied these rights that are meant to be accessed by all citizens, it means they are looked on as second-class citizens. It is therefore important to amend these segments of the constitution to ensure women are treated as equally as men are. Equality in citizenship rights is not only fundamental to women’s rights but also supports child’s rights and sustainable development. [1] Ordor A. “Sharing the Citizenship of Women: A Comparative Gendered Analysis of the Concept of ‘Legal Personhood’ in Africa” (2000). [2] UNHCR, “Background Note on Gender Equality, Nationality Laws and Statelessness” (2014). [3] UNHCR, ‘Background Note on Gender Equality, Nationality Laws and Statelessness” (2020). [4] The UN Refugee Agency, “Time for all nationality laws to uphold women and men’s equality, says UN and civil society leaders” (2020). [5] UNHCR, ‘Background Note on Gender Equality, Nationality Laws and Statelessness” (2020).
Happening in September: The 2021 Abuja Literary and Arts Festival
We. Are. Excited. About. #ALitFest21! The fourth edition of the Abuja Literary and Arts Festival is about to happen and we are super elated! If you know us, you know we are huge fans of the festival. We can’t wait to be a part of the festivities, conversation and all the events lined up towards making art work. Check out their official press release below. The fourth Abuja Literary and Arts Festival [ALitFest21] presented by the Abuja Literary Society [ALS] is set to take from 25th September to 2nd October 2021. Now in its fourth year, ALitFest21 has become a landmark of Abuja’s cultural scene. The theme this year is ‘Making Art Work.’ With this theme, we invite speakers and attendees to explore tools, systems and institutions that will help creatives generate sustainable livelihoods from their art while using it to promotes community values. According to Festival Director, Teniola Tayo, “We would like to take things a step beyond conversations so the idea behind this theme is to programme the festival around finding solutions to the challenges facing the literary space in Nigeria and in Africa.” Last year, the festival was held virtually and extended its shores beyond Nigeria to other parts of Africa, and the rest of the world. This was a necessity in view of the global pandemic. We were also able to include the African diaspora in our conversations with cross over panels that included Africans and African Americans. The results of that virtual festival far outweighed our expectations and therefore, this year, we propose to host a hybrid festival which is scheduled to take place in two separate spaces: virtual and physical. The physical space which will follow COVID-19 protocols, would be held in Abuja and will require a token donation for tickets which can be gotten via Afritickets while the virtual space will be on Zoom, registration links will be shared on the festival website: www.alitfest.com and on its social media handles [Twitter @alitfest, Instagram @alitfest_, Facebook @Abuja Literary and Arts Festival]. Proposed activities on the festival’s program include panel discussions, poetry for stage, festival anthology, roundtable on creating a bestsellers list in Nigeria, art exhibition, fiction, poetry and script writing workshops, language translation competition, secondary school debate competition, outreach at camp for Internally Displaced Persons, intensive boot camp for creatives, book chats, poetry grand slam, writing competitions, book and arts fair, as well as a closing music concert. Pre-festival activities include; a 3-day writing workshop which seeks to empower participants with the skills and know-how that would enable them take their craft to the next level which include improved writing quality, networking, publishing, earning among others. The workshop will hold virtually for selected participants. ALitFest21 pre-festival activities also include a book drive whereby donated books would be taken and distributed to families at an Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) Camp in Abuja. Books are being received at RovingHeights Bookstore, CVS Plaza, 145 Adetokunbo Ademola Cres, Wuse 2, Abuja. The ALITFEST is an annual celebration of the arts and literature from across the country and continent, since its inception the festival has explored insightful themes; In 2018 “Nigeria to the World”, 2019 “Arts and Social Consciousness” and 2020,” The Art of Empathy”. It has also seen speakers and panellists that transcends the Nigeria Literary and cultural space which include: Helon Habila, Edwige Dro, Sawad Hussain, Dike Chukwumerije, Kola Tubosun, Tsitsi Dangaremgba, Toni Kan, Dapo Olorunyomi, Chika Oduah, Segun Adeniyi, Ayodele Olofintuade, Chuma Nwokolo, Chris Ngwodo, Abdulkareem Baba Aminu, Editi Effiong, T. J. Benson, Eketi Edima Ette, Osasu Igbinedion, Tunde Leye, Oyinkan Braithwaite, Esther Mirembe Abubakar Adam Ibrahim, Layla Ali Othman, Odafe Atogun, Edify Yakusak, Bash Amuneni among others. The festival is grateful for the partnership of South Africa based Geko Publishing in the execution of the 2021 festival. For partnership enquiries, please email teni@alitfest.com. Signed Teniola Tayo Festival Director [teni@alitfest.com]. Whewww! It sounds like it is going to be a power packed couple of days. We are going to be attending. And we hope to see you there. Here are some pictures from the 2019 #ALitFest.
Partnering for the Health and Wellbeing Young People
Practical session during the ‘Data Made Simple’ Training-of-Trainers Capacity Building Session for SWAG Initiative One of the global goals that Shades of Us has adopted is Goal 17: Partnership for the Goals. The place of partnership in accelerating growth and development in all sectors of society cannot be overemphasized. Increasingly, we are seeing that no individual, government, organization or community can facilitate the kind of development they need all by themselves. It is therefore on us to create avenues for partnership where we can work together to solve our problems in line with global visions. With this in mind, we worked with Stand With A Girl Initiative (SWAG Initiative) on two of their projects: the Girl Advocate for Gender Equality (GAGE) and the ‘Data Made Simple for Adolescent and Youth Sexual and Reproductive Health and Rights’ projects. The former, implemented by Stand With A Girl Initiative and Strong Enough Girls’ Empowerment Initiative (SEGEI), aims to equip adolescent girls with information, skills and resources to be advocates for gender equality. And with the Data Made Simple project, well…the name explains its goal. The project is funded by the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) and supported by the Johns Hopkins University Center for Communication Programs through its Knowledge SUCCESS (Strengthening Use, Capacity, Collaboration, Exchange, Synthesis, and Sharing) program. Through the GAGE project, we built the capacity of representatives of media organizations on ‘Gender Equality Reportage’ on July 22, 2021. The media is key to formulating (or reinforcing) many gender norms and the vision with this capacity building session was to take gender considerations into account, compensate for gender-based inequalities, and catalyze gender transformative approaches or strategies that can be applied in program design, production and transmission, and monitoring and evaluation. For us, this opportunity was an avenue to work on another global goal that is key to our work at Shades of Us: Gender Equality. Areas of focus during the session included: gender definitions and misconceptions; gender norms and social expectations; equality versus equity; gender bias in media reportage; gender-based violence; and concepts for addressing gender inequalities. Virtual session on ‘Gender Equality Reportage’ for the GAGE Project One interesting question that came up during this session was why gender equality conversations almost always focused on issues affecting women and girls. We explained that traditionally, women have been the most disenfranchised in our society and the media was one of many reasons why. To buttress this point, we asked if, when seeking ‘experts’ on topical issues in politics, the economy, national development or even sports, they would pick women. Many of these personnel began to see their bias in defaulting to men for these conversations. The idea of women as ‘experts’ rarely came to mind…except when the conversation was a “women’s topic”. We also looked at the framing of headlines and how they can serve to blame victims rather than perpetrators of sexual and gender-based violence. This session had such passionate response and you could tell it was an issue that bugged many of the personnel who attended the session. For the ‘Data Made Simple’ capacity building session, the focus was on improving the capacities of members of the SWAG Initiative team in what we call a training-of-trainers session. This happened on August 4, 2021, at the SWAG Initiative office in Abuja. Our presentation was on ‘Data Visualization for Storytelling’ and participants learned about data formats, qualities of data design, font styles, color schemes, branding guidelines and the use of tools like Canva and Giphy for the creation of simple data products. ‘Data Made Simple’ Training-of-Trainers Capacity Building Session for SWAG Initiative As a follow on to these trainings, SWAG will monitor the media organizations and their reportage, noting if they follow through on their commitments to improve their coverage of issues affecting women and girls. This would – hopefully – be easy to track as these organizations promised to use the Girl Advocate for Gender Equality hashtag – #GAGE2021 – in their reports, news, programs and more. On our part, we will be looking out for, and sharing these news stories with the hashtag. With the ‘Data Made Simple’ project, Shades of Us is committed to designing some simple data products in the coming weeks for SWAG Initiative’s interaction with 5 State governments on some of the issues affecting adolescents and young people in the States. We look forward to how the media and State governments can improve the lives of young people using these information that we have shared. And as always, we are open to partnering with other organizations that work in the areas of development that are tied directly to our work.
Patching Things Up
Fixing Potholes.Credit: City of Ekurhuleni When I moved to my current neighborhood, one of the things that convinced me to take the house was the road. Oh! The road was bad but I saw that the potholes were being filled up with sand so I assumed the roads would be repaired in time. I should never have assumed that. You see, as the days went by and nothing more was done to fix the roads, I knew I had roped myself into something terrible. Then the rains came. The air became fresher and cleaner, and I was glad to be surrounded by my favorite scent: petrichor. But all of that didn’t matter when I stepped out of my house after the rains had abated and found that the top layer of the soil had been completely washed away. The revealed roads were an eyesore, with tributaries where the water tried to follow the path of least resistance and potholes that began to widen even further as more rains came. Walking on these roads became tasking; driving, an extreme sport. Cars groaned under the pressure, but there was an even bigger problem for road users. As the holes became bigger, the traffic situation around my neighborhood began to increase. Rush hour became hellish as people spent more time getting out of our neighborhood than they did on the express going into whatever part of town they wanted to go to. Flared tempers became commonplace and when someone acted a fool by refusing to stay on the line, things became even worse. One night when I was returning home from work, I saw the holes were being filled and guffawed in excitement. My elation was so great that as soon as I got to the front of my house, I quickly sent out a Tweet to celebrate the government for trying to solve this particular problem. People who lived in my neighborhood told me to tame my excitement. I thought they were being a wet blanket. I assumed – yet again – that the potholes being filled meant the roads were on their way to being repaired. In a way, it wasn’t a far fetched assumption because some roads were being worked on. I imagined my neighborhood becoming one with such good roads that commute became much easier and quicker. So I continued to celebrate the government for what I perceived was the start of something new. I would soon come crashing from my excitement because, when the holes were filled, the repairers disappeared. Turns out that was all the work they were pegged to do. Again, in spite of how many times the government had disappointed me, I still held some hope for the repair of the road. Full rainy season came and as expected, the water washed away the filling. Then the repairers returned. After the potholes had been filled, they were gone again. I watched this cycle happen at least five more times in less than a year before I stopped being optimistic and saw the scam for what it was. The government took us fi idiats and I was the biggest clown of the lot. A bigger problem was emerging though. Each time the potholes went through this cycle, they became bigger…or more appropriately, wider. It took me back to a conversation I had with my colleague. ‘Do you have masking tape so I can cover these spots that are opening up?’ I asked as I walked into his office with my Macbook and iPhone chargers. The iPhone charger was already wrapped with masking tape but I noticed I needed more. The MacBook charger had just opened up that day. ‘I can give you the masking tape to wrap it up but in my experience, it is the wrong thing to do. Wrapping your charger in the hopes of preventing further openings works to achieve that exact thing you are running away from. What happens is that, the spot around the masking tape weakens, breaking the protective covering around the wire and exposing even more of it. And because you will be tempted to wrap the newly exposed parts, you perpetuate the continued destruction of the charger. I will suggest you use it like that until you can get a new charger.’ This was exactly what was happening with our roads. The quick fixes were not the solutions the government thought they were. If anything, patching things up made the situation much worse than it used to be. This is not to say that when done right, patching cannot be effective. In fact, patching (in the real sense of the word) is fixing the problem. But in Nigeria, this is not how we translate things; unfortunately. We don’t take the time to analyze the faults or even send construction teams to the site. If these are done, the government would at least be given expert opinions on what needs to be done. No. What they do is get a couple of unemployed youth in the neighborhood to fill these potholes with sand, clay or debris from construction sites – with all the dangers those pose. (It is why I have picked up nails a couples of times when driving.) And when citizens try to help, they are sometimes set upon by agents of the government who either insist it is the government’s job to fix things or ask that citizens pretend the repairs were done by the government. In all, just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, they continued to. I wondered when this would sink into the mind of the local government chairperson who is tasked with these repairs until I realized the deliberateness of this very response. The idea that citizens deserve the best from the government is not something that occurs to many people in power. This attitude can be seen in many other aspects of governance. It is then not surprising that there is a gradual erosion of the social contract between
The Stress of Being A ‘Tomboy’
Photo by Ketut Subiyanto from Pexels I woke up, went to my wardrobe, opened it and stared at my clothes, wondering what to wear for the day. I have dresses on the right side, shirts in the middle and sweaters on the left. I looked at the dresses, most of which I had not worn since I bought them, and said yet again, ‘maybe some time in the future’. Then I went through my shirts and as I touched each one, I knew just what trousers would go with them and what shoes would be perfect for each look. Shoes. This was another thing to worry about. I had many stilettoes but as I thought through what shirt and trouser combination to wear, I didn’t envision myself pairing them with those stilettoes. I thought of my flats, sneakers and boots. In my head, ‘stilettoes are great and all but was I willing to go through my day in pains?’ Knowing just what a full day I was going to have, the answer wrote itself out. So, I dressed in my comfortable shirt and pants, got my boots and set out to work. But this was not before I looked in the mirror and was transported to the very first time I was asked, ‘why do you always dress like this? Why don’t you ever dress like a girl? Are you a tomboy?’ Tomboy. That word didn’t hurt the first time I heard it, chief because I really didn’t know its meaning. But trust that as soon as I could get my hand on a dictionary, I searched for it. tomboy in British English (ˈtɒmˌbɔɪ ) NOUN “a girl who acts or dresses in a boyish way, liking rough outdoor activities” My first reaction was, ‘oh’. This was because I didn’t think I was ‘acting like a boy’. I was just wearing (and doing) what was comfortable to me, what was natural to me. Then the overthinking side of me went into overdrive. From my earliest childhood memory, I recalled dressing the same way as I did when I was a teenager, when I had this word hurled at me for the first time. I loved big clothes. I loved the look. Women who inspired my fashion included Missy Elliot and Queen Latifah. Yes, there were some factors that influenced the look, like my parents buying us bigger clothes so we could wear them longer, but when I began to choose my clothes, I went for those same types. So, when that word was used to describe my style, I felt self-conscious for the first time in my life. But I had a devil-may-care attitude and couldn’t be fazed by what people thought. Around this time, I watched a basketball game and fell in love with Kobe Bryant and the Los Angeles Lakers. I started actively watching sports: the Olympics, track and field meets, and football. I had been following Real Madrid and Raúl when I stumbled on a Manchester United game with Ruud van Nistlerooy scoring a screamer that was the definition of…beautiful. Then and there, I knew I had become a Manchester United fan. After watching a couple of other sports, I determined that basketball and football would be my major thing. So, I learned about the games, followed them weekly and talked about them with friends. And oh, I played too. I wasn’t the best player – heck, I wasn’t even a good player – but I could run run, so I made the team. I played full back, defending my goal post well and once I got the ball, you were sure I could run with it and give the striker – who happened to be my sister and an exceptional player – who would then go on to score. In my time as player and later coach of our junior and senior teams, we had some of the best records in inter school football competitions in my school’s history. All these didn’t help me. Girls were not supposed to care about sports and definitely not enough to know about the game, play it or even argue with boys about them. Even though these came naturally to me, boys and girls started calling me – and everyone like me in my school and neighborhood – a tomboy. My unbothered attitude was shaken when I had a crush on someone and heard him tear me down for being ‘like a boy’. He didn’t know I was there when he and his friends went at it. My look was analyzed piece by poor piece and the laughter was raucous. Again, I felt very self-conscious. But nothing made me as ashamed of my look as much as a teacher telling me to be more lady-like, cut out the interest in sports and the boyish behavior. She said, ‘girls who behave like this are usually lesbians. Are you a lesbian?’ At this point, I was homophobic from my religious and cultural upbringing and the disgust she used to enunciate ‘lesbian’ made me feel dirty and ashamed. I began to look at my clothes from a completely different point of view. For the first time in my life, I changed my look. I started to wear makeup, and I bought my first snug jeans and shirts. And you will not believe that I bought my first high heels. I became more conscious of doing my hair, wearing seemingly better clothes and acting like a lady. The biggest change however was that I stopped playing any sports. I still followed games and remained interested in all kinds of sports – except wresting and boxing of course – but a huge part of my life was completely shelved into the recesses of my memory. Ooooh! Despite all I did, I got laughed at a lot. Many of my attempts were a miss, with someone even saying I always looked ‘old school’. I put on a façade like it didn’t hurt but deep down, I was dealing
Boundaries
Photo by Alex Green from Pexels I have been thinking about boundaries a lot. As a people, and by that I mean Africans and black people in general, we seem to be have a poor understanding of boundaries. In a way, it can be blamed on our socio-cultural style of community living. You see, our cultures promote relationships where it is okay for everyone to be in your space: expected even. Parents believe that since they birthed a child, they have exclusive rights to all aspects of their lives. Siblings and friends think their relationship guarantee them unfettered access to those close to them. Teachers feel that because they impact knowledge, they can do as they please with the students in their care. Employers use people’s need for work and a paycheck to try to control the lives of their employees. Even the everyday market (wo)man and complete strangers think they have a right to know what’s up with you. It is a never-ending cycle of intrusion of people’s spaces! The idea of people having boundaries seems…foreign to many in our communities. In fact, the idea that a person would deign to demand boundaries is not just seen as ludicrous, it is perceived as an insult. But are boundaries an impossible – even disrespectful – ask? I would think not. Recently, I saw a definition of ‘boundaries’ that felt just…right. “A boundary is a limit or space between you and the other person; a clear place where you begin and the other person ends . . .” – Positive Psychology. Ooooh! The power in that statement! No matter what relationship we have with people, we need a clear space where we begin but most especially, where the other person ends. I believe that from a young age, people should begin to define their boundaries. It is okay to tell your parents – especially when you are an adult – that you have thought through an idea and can make your own decisions about them. Yes, they birthed you. They took care of you. They raised you. But does that mean that they should know – and control – every aspect of your life? The answer is no. This will be perceived as promoting ‘disrespect’, but it is a critical step in the evolution of the parent-child relationship or any relationship for that matter; in essence, it is promoting a culture of respect. Setting those boundaries ensure that relationships grow without any toxicity that would eventually create resentment. Let me give you an example. I used to always walk into my sister’s room without knocking. Of course, knocking on siblings’ doors was not ‘normal’ to us. If we wanted something, we just went in and got it. One day, my sister – whom I must add is significantly younger than me – asked me to knock on her door before I came in. I was livid! ‘Who the hell did she think she was?’ I thought to myself. But after a while, I understood it. It was her room, her space. I couldn’t just barge into it just because I was older. She wasn’t disrespectful to me…even though it would have been perceived as that in our community. But if I continued to barge into her room without knocking, I would be disrespectful to her. And because she was younger than me, she would take it…and resentment would grow. My sister showed me that she knew where she began…and why her own space was important. She was telling me to accord her the same respect that she did me and it was an illuminating moment for me. Even though she was enforcing boundaries for her physical space, we can take a cue from her and build boundaries for our emotional, mental, and spiritual spaces. I analyse my relationship with everyone now. I ask certain questions that determine how much of me a person is allowed to experience. And it may sound weird, but I build spaces in my head where I fit each individual. This helps me for example, shut down innuendos from colleagues that would be normal with friends or maintain an aloof personality at events instead of the bubbly persona close associates know me with etc. I wasn’t always like this. I used to let everyone in my spaces because I prided myself on being an ‘open book’. I am still open…I just don’t want everyone walking all over my spaces and dumping bits and pieces of themselves where I should – exclusively – be. And best of all is, I cannot abide by any disrespect of my person: because like I have established, people will disrespect you! Give them an inch…and you know what the rest would mean. So…I am learning to define myself: ‘where do I begin?’, ‘where do I end?’. Then I define others; parents, siblings, friends, lovers, acquaintances, colleagues, strangers etc. Where do they begin and where do they end? Having defined my relationships, I have built the requisite boundaries. I think you can take a cue from this. Ensure your boundaries are respected by constantly repeating them until they become the norm. Then respect other people’s boundaries…even if they don’t seem to have clearly defined ones. Or in other words, using the famous words of the Jew, Jesus Christ, “So then, in everything treat others the same way you want them to treat you, for this is [the essence of] the Law and the [writings of the] Prophets.” – Matthew 7:12 (Amplified Bible).
The Agony of Water Scarcity
Photo by Tucker Tangeman on Unsplash THROUGH THE EYES OF OJONUGWA YAHAYA INTRODUCTION Located in an atmosphere of serenity and decorated with the rich savannah vegetation, the communal life and practice of trade by barter is still held with great prestige in the community of Ojokpachi-Odo. Ojokpachi is one of the villages in Omala Local Government Area (LGA) of Kogi State. The years I spent growing up with my grandmother in Ojokpachi would have been nothing short of amazing and enjoyable if we had access to clean and accessible water. The major source of water in the community is the stream (Oche and Oshumamanyi), while those that can afford hand-dug wells have it close to their compounds. The quality of the well water is determined by the nature of the soil where the well is situated, and it is not all the available wells that produce good, safe water. The well in my family compound produces hard water (highly concentrated in calcium and magnesium carbonates, bicarbonates and sulphates). The water is not good for drinking. We usually manage it for other domestic use such as cooking, bathing and washing, though the water does not lather well with soap, so it does not really wash cloths clean and ends up leaving the skin looking white and dry after every bath. During the raining season, we practice rainwater harvesting; a practice where my grandmother usually collects drinking water into special clay pots. The journey of water collection to the nearby stream during raining season is usually much easier, even with the distance of about 6 kilometres. Because the stream is full, and water flows freely during this time, we can make up to five (5) trips at a stretch. It is important to note that water collection in most households in the community is predominantly done by women and girls, making life difficult for women and girls. When school is in session, children of school age like me normally go for water collection first thing in the morning before setting off to school. When we get to school, some of us are assigned to fetch water to teachers houses as part of our labour duties. On getting home and having a rushed lunch, we set off for another round of water collection for the household until the available large water containers are filled up. It is an everyday routine. When school is not in session, we usually fetch water before going to farm. During the dry season when water scarcity reaches its peak, when the stream dries up and wells do not get to produce enough water, life in the village become as hard as you can imagine. We have to walk several miles – beyond 6 kilometres – in search of water. Women and girls set out as early as 3:00am or as soon as the cock crows to go in search of water, carrying touch lights in their hands. Women use cutlass to dig shallow ponds in the moist part of the stream, which is now dried, then wait patiently for the water to gather before scooping it with a little bowl into to a larger round container/basin which is equivalent to 25 litres keg. The queue usually become very long as the day breaks, sometimes water collection may take the whole day. The best time to get water from the shallow pond is very early in the morning or at midday when most people have gone to the farm, because the moment most of the people get back from farm the queue become unbearable. Sometimes, after waiting for hours, and getting to evening when the sun finally disappears, one may return home with an empty container. When the water situation becomes tougher, women and their children (girls) take time off farming activities completely to dedicate more days to fetching water. In this case the mother will be at the water source, scooping water from the hand-dug pond… scooping and waiting for it to gather again as if she is counting every drop, while the children will concentrate on carrying the water home. The journey home is never easy at this point, as our neck aches, with the centre of the head pleading for freedom from the water load, and shaky legs climbing the stony hill and walking the sloppy paths. The feet feels the hardness of the stones under the flip-flop slippers and bodies soaked with the constant droplets from the edge of the large basin, balanced on the head and held with both hands. One trip can take one and half hours. In some cases men who have bicycles go farther along the farm road with their kegs tied to the back of their bicycles in search of where the stream had formed a pond and is yet to dry up. Though the water gotten from there is usually dirty, brownish in colour and has odour due to dry leaves falling into the pond or as a result of cattle coming to drink from it. Usually when men fetch water, it is for their own personal use: for laundry and bathing and not for the entire household use as they believe that fetching water for the household is the duty of women and girls. My grandmother use to join us to fetch water but at a point due to old age, she did not have the strength to carry water, or wait on the queue to scoop water from the shallow hand-dug pond. But whenever me and my little sister go for water collection, she appreciates us a lot, calling us sweet names or our clan’s greeting name (Oyowo-gida), and adding larger portions of dry fish to our dinner. My grandmother feels our pains and wishes she could help. On several accessions, either me or my sister will return from the stream with swollen face from bee stings and my grandmother will cry and say we should not go to collect water again, but if we do
The First Time
Photo by Reproductive Health Supplies Coalition on Unsplash ‘Remember the family from which you are from and be careful the things you do.’ These words from my mother were playing in my head as I walked to the chemist to buy contraceptives. You see, I had not been thinking of my parents when I had sex, and I had definitely not been thinking of my family when I had sex without protection. So here I was, 17 years old, feeling my heart constrict as I thought, ‘Was I pregnant? Could I be pregnant from having done it once?’ Oooh! If I was pregnant, I was going to be in a world of trouble. How would I face my very conservative family where we were raised to act, think, believe and behave a certain way? My mother would kill me! Or maybe send me out of the house. Would I have to raise the child on the streets? Would the father – curse him for refusing to use protection – help me? Oh, who was I kidding? He would probably get away with it while my entire life turns upside down. My steps quickened as these thoughts ran through my head, matching the erratic beat of my heart. Funny that a heart attack would be preferred right now than the idea of being pregnant. Finally, I was at the chemist. I took a deep breath, steeled myself and entered. There must have been seven people in that small room, all waiting to be served. I could barely see the shelves and their different sections: drugs on one side, groceries on another, and other Knick knacks here and there. What I could see clearly was that ‘Doctor’ was moving from shelve to counter with the speed of experience. PS: He wasn’t a real doctor. The community had just gotten used to calling him that. He turned to me. ‘Yes? What do you want?’ Of course, I wasn’t going to say what I wanted in front of all these people. There was no way I was going to bring shame to my family – my mother! – by letting these adults know that I had had sex. So, I looked around and my gaze fell on a bar of Snickers on one shelf. I love chocolate…and I just found my escape. ‘Snickers, please.’ Doctor went to the shelf, picked it up and passed it to me. He stretched out his hand for his money, but I looked away, pretending there was more I wanted. He walked to another person and his trips from shelf to counter continued. He, however, continuously glanced at me…probably making sure I didn’t run away. When everyone had left the shop, he turned his full attention to me. ‘Ehen. Anything else?’ He turned away from me, picking up a juice packet to return to its shelf. With his back to me, I bolstered courage and asked for what I really wanted. ‘I…I…can I…please have…Postinor?’ Doctor froze and slowly turned to me. My chest tightened furiously, sweat began to drop from armpits and my palms became clammy. ‘You say what?’ Doctor bellowed. ‘Ermmm…the drugs you use for…’ ‘I know what it is used for!’ Doctor interrupted. ‘What is a small girl like you doing with Postinor? So as small as you are, you are an ashawo?’ I flinched. In my community, Ashawo was a crude term used to refer to sex workers, or women who dared to be openly sexual. And now, I had been classified as one. Just then, another customer walked in. I gasped. ‘Look at this small girl oh.’ He engaged the new customer. ‘She wants to buy Postinor. She don spoil so tey she dey sleep with man and she know wetin she go do make she no get belle. She wan continue this behavior.’ The man looked at me, a look of judgment on his face mirroring that of Doctor…and what I knew would be the same look on my mother face. I wanted to turn back and run away but I imagined all the beating I would get, and other ways my mother would communicate her displeasure if I got pregnant. The fact that I would be ostracized in the community did not even scare me like what my mother would do to me. If I didn’t get this contraceptive, my life as I knew it might as well be over. So, I squared my shoulders, flared my nostrils, looked at Doctor straight in the eyes and shouted, ‘Mr. Man! Are you going to sell the Postinor to me or not?!’ If word was going to get my mother, they could as well add that I was also a rude child. Doctor look at me, turned to the shelf with the contraceptive, picked it up and tossed it at me over the counter. In like manner, I took the money from my purse, bunched it up and tossed it right back at him. And even though I wanted to run out of the shop, I raised my head up and walked out as calmly as my shaky legs could carry me. That day, I got my contraceptives. I didn’t get pregnant. And my family never found out about the issues…until just now that is.
Ripple Effects of Poverty: Hunger
A young boy leaning on a corrugated Zinc fence.Photo by Ben White on Unsplash Every time I think of poverty in many African communities, I can’t help but mull over how this poverty is experienced on various levels. Thankfully, there is a term that effectively explains this: multidimensional poverty. According to the Oxford Poverty and Human Development Initiative (OPHI), “Multidimensional poverty encompasses the various deprivations experienced by poor people in their daily lives – such as poor health, lack of education, inadequate living standards, disempowerment, poor quality of work, the threat of violence, and living in areas that are environmentally hazardous, among others.” This definition effectively captures the thoughts that race through my head when I think of poverty. It is simple to just equate poverty with low income and end it there. But what are the ripple effects of this low income on the individual? On their families? On the opportunities they get? On the possibility of leaving their social classes and improving their lives? So, the concept of poverty is so much more than how much a person earns or what global benchmarked income they earn less than. For this piece, I want to focus on one direct ripple effect of poverty: hunger. World Vision postulates that, “In the whole of Africa, 257 million people are experiencing hunger, which is 20% of the population.” In essence, 1 in every 5 people on the continent are hungry. To bring this home, this isn’t saying that 1 in 5 Africans in the continent have a desire for food, which is one of the definitions of hunger. This statistic shows that if you see five people today, there is a possibility that 1 of them has chronic hunger, meaning they may have diets that are either inadequate in quality or quantity, or that they have no food at all. This is a problem. Apart from the physical effects of hunger – which (by the way) are many – there are ways that hunger negates a person’s dignity. Because hunger is such a primal need, people who are hungry do not ‘have shame’, which is the Nigerian parlance for self-respect or worth. This is why it isn’t surprising that many people who are in this category of chronic hunger are prone to doing any (and every) thing for a meal. Years ago, when I was a student at Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, I went to a restaurant which students called, Zinc House. Now, ‘restaurant’ is a bit of stretch. This place was a makeshift building with corrugated zinc for walls and roof, and wooden benches where people could sit across each other for their meals. It was a really popular restaurant among students and members of staff, mostly because they served lots of food at a really cheap cost. You were not assured of hygienic meals, but you could get a plateful for whatever amount of money you had. If you wanted food for 200 Naira, you were sure to get it. If you wanted something for 120 Naira, you would have your food. This place didn’t just have its student/staff traipsing in and the restaurant staff that served them. It also had some almajiris – a collection of young children who earned their meals by begging – hanging around ready to scavenge leftovers for themselves. On the last day I was there, some guy who came in didn’t finish his food after a fly perched on it. He had not gotten to the thick chunks of meat he had ordered when he abandoned his meal. As soon as it was established that he was done eating, the scramble by these almajiris to get his food took the taste out of my mouth. In their squabble, they turned the food unto the dirt floor and proceeded to eat from the ground. (It is important that I mention that the floor was not just ‘dirty’: it was made of compact clay, thus… dirt floor.) Seeing children fighting themselves to eat off the floor…a floor that was dirty by virtue of it being made of literal dirt and having been stepped on by people from all kinds of places…broke me. I got up, called the smallest child in the group and gave him the rest of my meal. I then hurriedly left this place that displayed their lack of dignity and my shame at being unable to do more. Every time I think of poverty, especially as it relates to hunger, that image comes to my head. And while it isn’t the only one that does, it is the one that always gets me depressed. Every human being deserves dignity and respect. That dignity is lost when people degrade themselves for a chance at getting food. Let me emphasize that: no one should ever think that they need to fight for food; or eat meals that are leftovers; or scrape off the floor to get at their meal; or sell themselves; or any number of things that make them feel less worthy. It is one of the reasons I am fully in support of the Sustainable Development Goals 1 and 2, which aim to end extreme poverty and hunger in all forms by 2030. We have about 10 years to achieve this. And be assured, the task is daunting. There are many factors that prevent Africans from having access to the food they need to starve off hunger: communal clashes like the herder-farmer clashes in many parts of Nigeria; multi-pronged issues like drought, famine, conflict and instability in places like South Sudan and Central African Republic; and deeply entrenched corruption by many leaders of our African countries…to mention a few. Ending extreme poverty in our continent is going to require a lot of cohesion by governments and the people. What are some low-hanging fruits that can accelerate this goal? The major one I can see now is the basic respect and protection of all people, regardless of their social status. I believe this is one of
