In Nigeria, there's a man called Otunba Olusegun Runsewe...
I have to change the line of attack here because I spoke to Mama Afam about what I was about to do and she wasn't too pleased. Every crazy person has someone they hate offending.
Dear Mr. Runsewe,
I hope this letter or blog finds you well. When I first thought to write it, I thought it would be funny and quite frankly, brilliant. However, as I have run out of time, it will end up being rather mediocre. This is fair to you, I think. The quality will be on par with the interview you gave in the Vanguard.
I did not understand why you spoke about culture like some dead thing trapped in a gele and bound with coral beads. It lives. It breathes. Nigeria's cultural identity was never meant to be static. It could never be static. While politicians debated this and that, culture happened. Some of us became fraudulent, finding opportunity in an under regulated internet space and a police force that was as bribeable as it was clueless. Some of us took the idea that we should discipline our children and used that as an excuse to abuse our children. Some of us developed what we call the art of getting by. We stay employed, mind our business, drink water, don't let Nigeria kill us.
I don't mean to be alarmist, but our culture is a great reaper of lives. If you let it, it will make you unhappy and then it will kill you. And when it has killed you it will bury you standing up, in an unmarked grave. People talk about the transgender crisis, the scourge of immorality, the drugs, the sex on television and all sorts of nonsense but I don't care about these things. I want to know what we're going to do about the culture of mediocrity that killed my aunt. She died during an appendicectomy. I want to know about the culture of maintenance, the absence of which has killed more friends than I can count on my fingers and toes. I want to know about the culture of poverty, because I was kidnapped earlier this year by some hungry looking low level criminals and now I find it very difficult to be driven by anyone.
What is Big Brother in the face of this? Who is Bobrisky? What are drugs? Sometimes there's a vice around my throat and all I can think is, "God don't let these people let me die here." Because if I fail to take care of myself for one minute you will let me die and you won't come to my funeral. Then you'll give an interview in support of all the archaic values and things you say are my culture; the things that killed me. You, a public official, a product of my taxes, my employee, will speak to the press and hope that they deal with Bobrisky ruthlessly. You, a public official, a product of my taxes, my employee, will list all the things in the press you think are problems but will refrain from giving me, your employer, viable solutions. Do you think you have the luxury of complaining?
I suppose the main problem is that I blame your generation for everything, so when you say anything like cultural restoration I say burn it to the ground.
I'm sorry. I'm upset. You've got your work cut out for you and you're a recent hire, but just in case you were confused, Bobrisky is not your work. You are the Director of Nigeria's National Council for Arts and Culture. I want to hear about scholarships to acting programs, writing programs, music programs. I want to hear about opportunity. I want to hear about musicals, I want to hear about festivals, I want to hear about plans for infrastructure. I want you to travel around Nigeria so much that you become dizzy. I want you to write an open letter to Dbanj thanking him for his contributions to music. I want to hear you praise Burna Boy, I want you to ask Jidenna if his passport needs renewing, I want you to send Bobrisky to New York pride because she's made being a beautiful trans-woman her business, and she's world class at it. I want you to apologise to tekno because he's done more for the country than some of your peers. I want you to throw a festival for Nollywood, I want you to go to Lagos Comic con or Abuja Comic Con. I want you to succeed.
I don't want you to be the policeman of anybody's morality. The moment you start that you start sliding down a slippery slope. You'll start to think that the crux of your job is to appear to be holier than thou and it isn't. If you do your work properly, you could marry a tree and no one would care but your wife and maybe your children, but I'll say it one more time, if you think fighting with Bobrisky and Big Brother is your work, you've got another thing coming.
Happy Days, All the Best, I hope that auntie that had a stroke recovers, I hope nobody commits suicide because their child is gay, I hope parents also doin't commit suicide when they find out it was naked booty shaking that built the house in the village, I hope we get our shit together, I hope you get your shit together, much love,
Afam.
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