Mercy Johnson’s Story

Comfort Obi

May I start by admitting that I am not a regular of the Nigeria home video, popular as Nollywood. At the beginning, I was a great fan. Those were the times of Living in Bondage and a couple of others which followed. They had good story-lines. But thereafter, the market began to be populated by half-baked home video films, and even more half-baked actors and actresses.
They became worse than Hollywood actors and actresses. Stardom became sex, booze, gossip. They tell you who they are sleeping with, who satisfies them in bed, and who does not. Like some Hollywood stars, they want to marry today, and divorce tomorrow. And when they divorce, the media is awash with dirty, unbelievable stories which they shamelessly tell about their former spouses.
They forget that a lot of youths see them as role models. They drink and smoke in public. And have no qualms, admitting: “I smoke, and I booze, so what?” They talk carelessly. In an era when even Hollywood actors and actresses and others who put tattoos on their bodies are paying a lot of money to cover them up, it is the norm for some of our own stars. The actresses, in particular, take interest in telling you how many tattoos they have on their breasts, their laps, and their asses. They lay them bare, and expose them to the public, especially those on their breasts. They flaunt them as they flaunt their breasts! Nothing is hidden. In public, their breasts are tantalizingly exposed like free girls. For an industry which, if well managed, could be a money-spinner for Nigeria, and those directly involved; for an industry which has provided employment to hundreds of people, including those who hawk their works along the roads, we should have a better image and opinion of it than what it has been reduced to. But in all my low opinion of what is happening, I have just come across a refreshing soul, a responsible young woman, who is not carried away by the make-belief life of acting, who is still real, who cares for family, and is not ashamed of her background. Her name is Mercy Johnson.
I met her in the pages of the Sunday Sun of March 15. She made the lead cover story of the newspaper. I recorded that as a plus for her. I was like she must be saying something not as frivolous as what we have been reading to make the main cover. The main caption of the story, “Armed Robber Kissed me.. then saved my life” was not the attraction for me. What attracted me, and so made me read the story was the rider: “I was the girl with torn uniform who lived in an uncompleted building.” I was jealous that The Source did not get that interview, especially, as every week, we devote pages for interviews with Nollywood stars. When I began to read her story, I couldn’t put it down. I read it twice. And as I did, I found myself shedding tears without knowing I was shedding tears. I could connect with her story. I could connect with the story of the young lady who surmounted all obstacles, the shame, embarrassment and humiliation that, atimes, come with poverty, to become a star. I could connect with the young lady who did menial jobs, washing the clothes of her fellow students, in order to pay the school fees of her siblings. I could connect with the young lady whose family didn’t have a decent accommodation over their heads; who, along with her siblings, and father, stood, bowls and buckets in hand, each time it rained, to stop the water from the leaking roof destroying their property. I could connect with the young lady who didn’t have friends because she was poor. Mercy said her lot was torn school uniforms. “I was the girl with torn uniform who lived in an uncompleted building.”
She told the story of her deprivations, including, almost, starving from hunger. She is not, now, fond of garri, not because as some of her colleagues would claim, “I don’t eat garri in our house,” but because, she ate so much of it, often with bad soup, that she feels she has had enough of it. I could connect with the young lady who can now afford to buy air ticket for her younger brother to go back to school in Jos, not because, she told him, she is a millionaire, but because she didn’t want him to suffer what she suffered. Often, she was flogged because her school fees were not paid on time. I could connect with the young lady who held her head high, and struggled to become somebody. And I could connect with the young lady who nobody thought could afford a bicycle in life, but now has a couple of cars to call her own.
There she was, beautiful, dressed, sitting with the Editors of The Sun, poised, and exuding confidence. For once, I read a young actress who did not shy away from her background, and who rose above discussing frivolities. And I was smitten by her courage and perseverance. I was impressed that she did not fall into the category of some stars who came from a background like hers, but would claim their parents were millionaires. If Nollywood, and/or Nigeria ever needs a young lady to be the face of Nollywood and/or Nigeria, I recommend Mercy Johnson.Her story is a story of courage, and of perseverance. Here is a role model for the youths. But I have this to say to Mercy.
You do realise, don't you, that now that you have made it, by the grace of God, relations, admirers, friends, particularly, men would besiege you as bees to honey. Remember your lot. You told The Sun: "They (Boys) wouldn’t toast me because I was the girl with the torn dresses, bad stockings, with nothing to offer.” No longer. Now you have everything. The watchword is caution. With your new status comes envy and back-stabbing and back-biting. You have to remain strong to withstand them and move ahead. So, they recently labelled you a thief? What does it matter to a clear conscience? For deliberately spreading that falsehood, you lost an endorsement? It comes in the territory. Another will come. What more?
Well, only to thank the editors of The Sun for finding Mercy Johnson's story compelling enough to put it on the cover. In doing that, they rendered a service to the youths, especially, those who come from poor background, and are ashamed of it, and so live a lie . And by the way, I was not the only one who shed tears as I read the story. I passed it on to my sisters. Their reaction was the same. They remembered the past.