About two weeks since my arrival in Asaba, and I was ready to shoot myself in the head from boredom. Apart from morning Masses and a few minutes of scintillating conversation with the cute priest I had a crush on, I had nothing else taking my time.
I read, perused social media apps, and slept like a log of wood each day. I longed and ached for a change in my boring routine. It was June and the rain fell with vengeance almost every day, which prevented me from going to the cinema or Abraka town.
My phone suddenly pinged, and I rushed to check the new message, but was disappointed at discovering it was a Whatsapp message from my dad. I dropped the phone at first, but curiosity and lack of something to do, pushed me to pick it up again.
I opened the message to see an address and an invitation to witness Chief Ikenna’s private campaign to the outskirts of Asaba. I smiled involuntarily at the sweet gesture. Usually, fathers bribed their daughters with chocolates or clothes, mine bribed me with an invite to a private political rally.
I quickly pulled on jean and a sweatshirt, in case it rained. I made my way downstairs, no one was home, and let myself out of the house. Everyone had a copy of the house key, so there was no need to keep the keys somewhere. My trip to the location took longer than usual because the roads were even worse than the norm because of the weather.
Water and mud made the short commute unbearable. My shoes were a sorry sight by the time I got to the building for the private campaign. The building was nothing fancy, and it was so inconspicuous that one could easily miss it. Well, time to see what a private campaign is all about.
******
My steps while walking back home that evening were slow and measured, seeing as I was lost in thoughts. I suddenly felt for the people of Delta state. Their constituency and social leaders were just greedy and culpable, with no remorse for their past misdeeds.
No one deserved the kind of pain Nigerians were going through, no matter the kind of prejudice I felt towards them.
Something hit my leg and brought me out of my reverie. It was a soccer ball, being chased by a group of half-naked kids. Their feet were spattered with mud but the happiness and innocence on their faces was what caught my attention.
The oldest one among them quickly rushed towards me to get the ball.
“Sorry aunty, sorry oh. No be say we see you oh. Abeg no vex.”
“I am not angry, but are you guys not cold?”
They all shook their heads.
“How come?”
“We are used to it actually.” One of the younger ones answered in perfect English.
I simply stood there staring at them like an idiot before I finally got an idea. I signaled for them to come closer to me and they were wary. Such suspicion! It broke my heart. I raised my phone for them to see.
“I want to take a picture with you guys.”
They started coming forward slowly until they realized I wasn’t going to bite them. I raised the phone and took a selfie with them. I thanked them for the honor and they laughed and went back to their game.
I decided to post the picture on Twitter with the caption ‘The Nigerian leaders of tomorrow. Great kids. #DeltaStateElections’ After that, I put my phone back in my pocket and quickly made my way home.
********
“Mama will be coming tomorrow. She’s coming to Asaba for a thanksgiving party, so she wants to use the opportunity to see her granddaughter.” Dad started at dinner that night.
I looked up at him in the middle of swallowing my bolus of Akpu and Egusi soup.
“Oh, you mean your sister’s daughter? That’s nice.”
Dad sighed audibly while Amaka was trying to stifle her giggles. I was acting dense on purpose, but in my defense, I had no reason to believe my grandmother would want to see me.
“I meant you Nike.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because you’re her granddaughter, that’s why.”
“Now, she thinks I’m her granddaughter? She didn’t think so when she called my mother barren and said I wasn’t child enough for her and for you.”
I suddenly lost my appetite. Dad didn’t have a response for that, so I thanked them for dinner, packed my plates, and left the dining table.
I went upstairs to my room and decided to take my mind off the unpleasant situation by scrolling through the feedback on the picture I posted that evening.
If I thought my evening was ruined, I had something else in stock for me. Some of my old high school classmates and current college classmates were all over the comment section with horrible comments.
“Let’s hope they don’t get bombed to pieces before growing up.” “Oh my God, Africa has internet?” “Wow, look at the state of the roads, so despicable like the people in the picture.” “Hey Nikki, you’re now an advocate for that shithole country?” “Why don’t you do us a favor and stay back there. We’ve had enough of you Nigerians coming to take over things in our country.”
And those were the nicest comments there. I wiped the tears that made their way out of my eyes and switched off my phone for the night. I decided to just listen to music and go to bed. I felt pathetic because I could not even fight back; they were too many for me to handle on my own.
I wasn’t very keen on going back online the next day but I knew I had to, although what I saw baffled me. My post was trending on Twitter with the hashtag #NaijaVsBullies.
A ton of Nigerian twitter users were defending me, the kids, and their country with a bunch of hilarious memes, deep comments, and sassy comebacks. My private message was full of random Nigerians asking me if I was okay, and wondering if I let the bullies get back to me.
A bunch of the hateful comments from the previous night were no longer there, because their owners already deleted them.
I whooped and started jumping like a maniac alone in my room. They didn’t know me, but they knew I was Nigerian like them, and they supported me. My 7k followers were now 12k. Yay!! Influencer in the making.
I was even more overwhelmed because all ethnicities were involved in the trend. They set aside their differences, to push back the bullies. It made me wonder; can the Delta State indigenes set aside their differences and push back the political bullies like Chief Ikenna and the governor?
I typed out my thoughts and made a thread story on what I saw and heard at the private campaign between Chief Ikenna and all the societal leaders of Asaba. I left my phone upstairs and went down for breakfast. Amaka and Dad had already gone to work, so I had the house to myself again.
By the time I came back upstairs from breakfast, my follower count was now 16k, and I didn’t even know how that happened. The engagement on the thread was mind-blowing, with people sharing their grievances about the failed administration of their governors and the president.
My phone started ringing, but it was my Dad calling. I was in a glorious mood so I picked the call.
“Nike, what did you do? Ehn?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re trending on social media because you made yourself an enemy of chief Ikenna. How can you reveal the details of his private campaign? I only got you that invitation to help you learn, not for you to cause trouble.”
“Seriously? The people deserve to know the truth Dad. The man is promising those leaders a share of the state cake if they can get their people to vote for him.”
“It is not a new thing, and you can’t change it. This is not America and only you can’t do it.”
“Who said I planned to do it alone?”
I ended the call after a little more back and forth argument with him. I wasn’t going to abandon a set of people that defended me to the mercy of these tyrants. Those innocent kids and their ugly soccer ball deserved better.
*******
I grumbled silently after Dad dropped grandma and me at the stadium 10 days later. She wanted to see someone near the stadium, while dad thought it would be good for me to stay off social media for a few hours.
I wasn’t a fan of my grandmother and she didn’t think she should apologize for what she did. An elder is never wrong she said. She said the little hole in my right ear was the reason I was so stubborn and refusing to be friendly with her.
She even suggested taking me for spiritual cleansing, because she was sure I had a spirit following me. I chose not to follow her, so I entered the stadium instead.
I saw the youths and kids all had different small football pitches on the large field. Most of the girls were either running on the tracks or laughing with one another on the bleachers. It was a refreshing sight.
I was so fascinated with the running girls that I didn’t see the group of people walking towards me. They were close enough, before I realized they were coming to talk to me.
A young guy, around my age stepped forward and offered me a handshake. “We thought it was you. Ejiro had to bring out your picture on Instagram for us to confirm. Hi, my name is Steven.”
I returned his handshake and waved at the other people in the group.
“We are sure you must have gotten a lot of gratitude online, but we wanted to deliver a personal one to you.”
“Gratitude for what exactly?”
“Your campaign and passion for making us believe we actually have a say in what happens to our country.” One of the girls responded.
“No, you all had the passion before, I just nudged it out.”
“Honestly, before your campaign started, I believed my vote wouldn’t matter, so there was no point trying. But when I saw a bunch of youths like myself coming out with you to help campaign for Dr. Irivwotu, I knew we had a chance at saving this country after all.” Steven gave me a really impressive speech.
I suddenly became shy and bashful, because the praises being heaped on me felt undeserved. I wish they knew how much I despised my heritage before all these, maybe they wouldn’t be so grateful and enamored with me.
A plump girl came forward and engulfed me in a hug. She smelled of sweat, but felt comforting. “I’m Ejiro, and I’m sorry about the recent attack on your life.”
“Thank You Ejiro. I’m happy their plans were foiled.”
Yes, I was attacked by a bunch of hooligans one evening after campaigns, but the area vigilantes and some young men in the area chased them off and caught one of them. He was handed over to the police, and nothing came of it till that moment.
I wasn’t stupid, I knew my sudden physical and virtual campaigns would garner me a few enemies.
“Well, it’s us against them. We might not win but the past two weeks have gotten Dr. Irivwotu more supporters than the entirety of his campaign. Youths are no longer keyboard warriors, but active political participants.” Steven smiled and told me. “We have a news for you though.”
“Oh, what is it?”
“One of us is related to Dr. Irivwotu, and we would like you to meet him. He has heard about you and he has seen all your efforts. We can arrange a meeting between you two and send a stronger message to the supporters and opposition.” He concluded.
I was dumbfounded and happy. I rushed out a bunch of yes while laughing at the same time.
“Come, join us on the field.”
“Oh no! I’m terrible with sports.”
“And so is Ejiro, but we let her play anyway.”
“Hey watch it.” Ejiro scolded him good naturedly.
“Alright I’ll join you. But don’t blame me if you lose, I warned you ahead of time.”
***
The reception at Dr. Irivwotu’s office was so beautiful and comfortable. My feet sank into the plush rug and the AC hit my brain in the right spots.
Steven, Ejiro, and Kevwe; the guy related to Dr. Irivwotu, all sighed in contentment as they sipped their drinks beside me.
“Why did you choose to motivate the youths out of their political apathy?” Ejiro asked me quietly.
“Honestly, I think it all started at the private campaign. Then the strangers that came to my defense, the hardworking nature of Nigerians, the unparalleled sense of humor, and a knack for being resilient. I felt it was time for us to stop complaining online and make things physical.”
“A ton of the masses would still sell their votes though. Doesn’t that bother you? All your hardwork might be for nothing.”
“We don’t have to win, but I want them to realize that the power of evolution is in their hands, only if they wield it. The likes of Chief Ikenna will continue to win elections unless we come out of the virtual world and fight in the physical.”
“Chief Ikenna has got the votes of the older Delta-Igbos though.”
“Don’t worry. The next phase of our campaign is to show them that even one’s kinsman can betray one. Trust me, I have a personal story on that account.”
“Well, let’s hope they listen.”
“It’s simple. Sufferhead no dey tire una?”
She laughed and nodded her head. “That’s an impressive slogan. Why didn’t I think of that?”
We were silent for a while and then she tapped me again. “You know, the best thing about Nigeria isn’t the land or weather or riches. It is the people. Nigerians are what makes the country worth uniting and fighting for.”
“Of course, the people are any Nation’s greatest resource.”
Before we could continue the conversation though, Dr. Irivwotu came out of his office with a mini entourage and we quickly scrambled to our feet, Steven spilled his coke in the process.
“Uncle, this is the girl you have wanted to meet. Nikki, this is the man of the youth himself. So, meet Nikki Larry.”
He extended a hand to me and I shook it. His hands were rough and calloused, a reminder of his humble beginnings. I might be prejudiced, but there was kindness in his eyes and no hint of shrewdness.
“Hi, I’m Adenike Oyelari.” And I am a Nigerian, I added silently.
So, we have come to the end of Evolution. Be sure to finish the tale, whichever way you deem fit. Did Dr. Irivwotu win? Or was it Chief Ikenna? Let me know in the comments.
