Nigeria at 65, and the paradox
By Bilyamin Abdulmumin, PhD
One of my grandfather’s wives, Hajiya Ba’u, survived to live with us till last year, when she passed away. She was fond of sharing history, and in me she found a devoted student. One particular period stuck with her was the early years of her marriage, which was a few years before Nigerian Independence. She once narrated to me how oranges and bananas were considered costly gifts at the time. They only got to see such fruits when my grandfather travelled to Ibadan; these fruits were shared meticulously, as they were seen once in a blue moon.
These fruits, which were once rare luxuries, have now become common in every household, regardless of the season. One can wake up at any odd hour, walk to the main street, and easily find them. Both oranges and bananas are now available in many varieties. The sweetest orange is Dan Boko, named after its place of origin, while the sweetest banana is the variety known as Senior; it has a taste beyond ordinary bananas. Beyond oranges and bananas, fruits like apples, pineapples, and coconuts have also become ubiquitous, and the richness of fruits reaches its peak in the form of fruit salad. People of the 1960s could only dream of fruit salad in Heaven.
Hajiya Ba’u also mentioned that soap was a rare luxury in those days, and they would only use it once in a while. The equivalent of soap, if I didn’t forget, is Bagaruwa (Gum Arabic tree); the pods and bark of this tree contains substance called saponins, like in the case of sodium salts of fatty acids of modern soap, the hydrophobic part of the saponins binds to oils on skin, clothes, or utensils while hydrophilic part binds to water, this creates micelles, which trap dirt and wash them away. Some rural areas still use Bagaruwa as a means of cleaning. In other words, these rural areas are just as advanced as my community of the 1960s. This is why going to rural areas is reminiscent of time-travelling.
Today, whether it’s table soap or liquid soap, it comes in various types, sizes, colours, and fragrances. My memory was reset in 2019 when I lodged at Hotel 17 in Kaduna. There, I saw just how far the customisation of everyday items had gone: single-use soaps, single-use rubbing Vaseline, single-use sugar, single-use perfume, milk, and more. People of the 1960s would think such convenience could only be found in Heaven.
My grandma was also nostalgic about the advancement of packaging. Polyethene (black nylon, etc) was non-existent in those days, so instead they used Tumfafiya—a broad leaf large enough to serve as a wrapper. In fact, I myself bought zogale da kuli (Moringa oleifera and groundnut cake) wrapped in Tumfafiya. In a chemical process called polymerisation, thousands of two-carbon alcohols (ethylene) are woven together to form polyethene. That is more or less like laying thousands of bricks together to make a block. Thanks to the Polyethene revolution, it has now taken over, from shopping bags to “leda” bags, “Santana” bags, water sachets, milk sachets, and stretch wraps in different sizes, brands, and designs. Our packaging revolution extends to cardboard boxes, aluminium foils, plastic containers, and resealable pouches. Those living in the 1960s could only have been left speechless.
Far back in the 1960s, donkeys and camels were the standard vehicles. So, when my Fiqh Sheikh travelled to Zamfara in the 2000s, we only closed for one day. He reminded us that in earlier times, such a journey would have required at least two weeks. Similarly, cellular communication, once a dream of the 1960s, now happens in a split second. One day in the lab, a colleague, who was fond of observing social change, sent a message to England using his mobile phone. Our conversation would revolve around the miracle: the efficiency of sending the message at a negligible cost of only about ten naira.
The paradox is this: even as social change is undeniable in contemporary Nigeria, the strength of our institutions has nosedived and been reversed. A small clinic in a district in the 1960s would treat patients better than what is obtainable in our modern general hospitals. Teachers, even at the primary school level, were treated like kings. We are still in touch with the rural communities my father taught in the seventies and eighties. In one viral clip, late former President Buhari recalled how immediately after secondary school graduation, he was offered a managerial job, a new motorbike, and a competitive salary.
Late Chief Audu Ogbe, in a Daily Trust reminiscence, noted that in the 1960s, the Central Government even borrowed from the Native Authorities, which now became local government authorities. A former permanent secretary from Kebbi State once told me how, during his days at ABU in the 1980s, students had meal tickets and even their clothes washed. All these examples point to one fact: institutions were working then.
With remarkable social change beyond recognition and technological advancement beyond imagination, if our institutional trajectory is redirected, Nigeria could go to the moon.
Happy Independence Day.
