The Shame Of A Nation; Our Story; Our Lives

By Gideon Njoku

The photographs here are not the exclusive of this magazine. They are not really new. But are updated everyday.

They are not even likely to shock a lot of us. We have become  an unshockable people.

So much so that when brutal killings of ten people are published, we simply say, “only ten”, and move on. Meaning that ten are too few.  They don’t shake us.

The other day, a state governor told us, “only five people have died of yellow fever in his state, not the number reported by the media.”

Many of us are like mortuary attendants who, with a number of dead bodies before them, young and old,  eat and laugh merrily.

So the photographs of the horrendous state of our roads, federal and states are nothing to us. We look at them, sigh, shrug, and move on.

Yet, every year, billions and millions of Naira are budgeted for roads. Nobody asks questions.

Nobody cares.

Our governments, at all levels, construct roads today, and within months, the roads either become craters and gullies, or washed away.

Nobody says anything. Worse, those responsible for such crimes are glorified, honoured and given awards as the best that ever happened to us in Nigeria.

The photographs show our kids, who we sent to schools – Crèche, kindergarten, Nursery, Primary, Secondary, Tertiary institutions – sleeping and studying in environments that could best be described as criminal.

Our babies, in creche, are sleeping on chairs. There is no supervision. Those whose job it is to supervise, get compromised, and look elsewhere. Nobody cares.

Our children in primary schools have no desks, in some cases, and no roofs over their heads. They sit on the floor. They use blocks as chairs and tables. Nobody cares.

Our children drink water from ponds. Nobody cares.

But our Governments – state and federal- shamelessly corner awards as best this or best that. They flaunt their achievements, many of them, fake. They travel the world, presumably, for investments that never come. And we clap for them.

It is the shame of a nation. It is our lot. The story of of lives.

In any sane clime, the photographs will shock.

But not ours. Not us.

We look at them, and simply shrug, and move on. It is the life we have chosen to live

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