Our Lives: Just Hell

Comfort Obi

T his may not be the right time to write this. For a70-year-old man, soldier or not, things must be pretty difficult for President Olusegun Obasanjo now. In the past few weeks, the President has gone through a lot. From the shameful exchange of words between him and Vice President Atiku, nothing has worked out well. As if that was not enough, we had to lose some of our finest senior military officers in a plane crash. In one fell swoop, Nigeria lost 10 Generals and others. Not even Iraq has had this ill-luck. It is scandalous, almost. So, we are weeping. And the President is in mourning.

I was, therefore, tempted to write something here sympathising with Mr President, and the nation. I don't know how good his health is. But these past few days, I have caught myself murmuring: “God, don't let the President's blood pressure run haywire.” Because, unless he is a superman, a combination of what has gone on between him and Vice President Atiku, and the tragic loss of his generals, is enough to affect his health.

I know both sides (Obasanjo and Atiku) have fought dirty, but Atiku's group has been worse. It has dragged in, mischievously, the names of two innocent women. One was introduced, unsolicited, as the President's “woman friend” for whom he bought a Peugeot 607. The other, mercifully, a recipient of a Jeep, is Ajoke, the wife of late former Head of State, Murtala Mohammed. She is entitled to some pecks. But it is the “woman friend" that everybody is concentrating on. Her background is up for the public. My question is, as Jesus Christ asked in the Holy Bible: “Who will cast the first stone?” How many men, including the accusers, would honestly say they have no “woman friend.” My submission is: Bringing in the names of the two women, and the car gifts they received, was petty and meant to present Mr President as weak with women. There are weightier issues in the shameful dog-eat-dog fight than something that frivolous. There are the allegations, and counter-allegations, of corruption, fraud, embezzlement of public funds, and worse. These allegations, made by both sides, have eroded the confidence of Nigerians in their leaders. It has eroded the credibility of the two men before Nigerians. In fighting each other, both the President, and the Vice President have exposed each other to public ridicule.

Yet, in all these, my sympathy lies with the President. I'm not here taking sides with the President and/or condemning Atiku. My feeling is that in this case, Mr President has more at stake than the Vice President. Here he is, respected the world over, here he is, preparing to leave office in a few months time, here he is, looking forward, even if reluctantly, as some people claim, to a good rest, here he is, looking forward to being a world statesman after he leaves office – but here he is being rubbished, and suddenly being presented by the Atiku camp as corrupt. My submissions again: The President needs to do a lot of job to clear this sudden rubbish thrown at him.

My sympathy notwithstanding, I thought I should draw Mr President's attention to what Nigerians who travel, by road, from Lagos through Ore (Ondo State), through Benin, and to the forgotten South east region,are going through. For those who read the Bible, who know about hell, and the punishment – gnashing of teeth and the unending fire that go with it – a taste of the Lagos-Benin-Onitsha-Owerri road is a good place to start to have a good feel of what hell is. To describe this stretch, especially the Ore to Benin bit as hell, is an under-statement. If there is anything worse than hell, that is what the road is. And that is what Nigerians, in their hundreds of thousands, are going through everyday.

I had a taste of it on Thursday, September 14, and again on Sunday, September 17. Ray Ekpu, a very senior colleague of mine, and the CEO of Newswatch had lost his beloved mother, Abigail. The funeral ceremonies were fixed for Friday, September 15 through Sunday, September 17. Among others, some of his colleagues, junior and senior alike, had to travel to give him support. I decided to go by road, in my car, to Akwa-Ibom, inspite of the warnings given to me by frequent road travellers. I mean, I needed a car to take me from Uyo to Ekpu's village, which is well a little over an hour from the state capital. I broke the journey into two. First leg was drive to Owerri, pass the night, and proceed to Uyo the next day, and then from there to Ekpu's village on Saturday, back to Owerri same day, and Lagos the next day. Dear Readers, that was what I did. But it came with a price.

I have not recovered from both the physical and emotional torture of that trip. Neither has my driver. Nor my car which will be a guest of Peugeot Automobile for a few days!

I left Lagos by 8.00 a.m on Thursday, and got to Owerri by 6.00 p.m. And I counted myself lucky. There are two deadly points on the Lagos-Benin Expressway, just after Ore. The first point is better than the second. It is only a preparatory to hell. Never mind that you would spend, at least 90 minutes without movement. Problem: terrible state of the road. When you have endured the 90 minutes, and just beginning to thank God, you get to the second one. This one, nobody can describe. It is just hell, nothing but hell. The road there is so terrible that you would curse Nigeria and her leaders. And yes, there were plenty of curses for Nigeria and her leaders from shocked commuters. I was told it had been that terrible since the past three months. On both sides of the road, you see over 1,000 vehicles – cars, lorries, buses of all sizes, and trailers parked without any movement. For hours, it has to be one vehicle at a time because vehicle owners, frustrated, had to drive “one way”. There was no control. Nobody could control it. The Federal Road Safety people were nowhere to be found. Yes, there were a few policemen and soldiers, but they were helpless. They couldn't carry the vehicles on their heads. They sat, and/or stood, listening to frustrated Nigerians bemoaning their fate, their luck, and cursing Nigeria, her leaders, and all that is Nigerian. We managed to get to Owerri, drained, by 6.00 p.m.

On getting to Uyo on Friday, my colleagues who had opted to go by air, listened to my tales of woe. They sympathised with what I went through, but thanked me for bringing a car. A few of them needed to “look around” that night. And the car came in handy. On Saturday when I was ready to leave, two of them directed me to another road. They said I should ply the Owo road from Benin. I agreed. But on getting to Benin, the circumstances we have found ourselves in Nigeria discouraged me. Insecurity! I had never plied that road before. So, I wouldn't know how safe it is. My driver felt the same. But none of us voiced it out until we entered the Benin by-pass. He asked suddenly, “Excuse me, Madam, are we going to follow the Owo road?” I hesitated, and asked him: "Well, what do you think?” He told me, “I am seeing two Abia Line buses in front. Let's follow them behind, if they go under the bridge, we'll know they'll take the Owo road and follow them, otherwise, we'll use the major road." In our heart of hearts, we were both willing the vehicles to ignore the Owo road. We were afraid of the unknown. In Nigeria, no time is safe. That is the watchword. When they ignored that road, we both laughed, heaving huge sighs of relief.

But when we got to Okada town, we saw buses and other cars diverting to the right. We quickly joined them, knowing they were avoiding the hell just before Ore. So, we followed them through this road which seemed to lead to nowhere. We passed villages, then rivers and more rivers – on both sides of the road. Any little mistake, any distraction at all, will send one plunging into the black-coloured rivers. The road was narrow and bumpy. But it was a million times better than the Federal Road. So, happily we drove on. We drove past young boys carrying sticks, rods and machetes and had mounted a road block. We paid N200 and they made way for us. We thought we were now free. But no. We got to a place where we suddenly saw about 1,000 vehicles parked on our side of the road. From the opposite side, it was the same. So, we came down, asking questions. The answer we got sent a chill through my spine. A bridge across a deep, swift, river had collapsed. The villagers, kind of them, now put a lot of planks across it. Only one car can, dangerously, drive through it at a time. And it comes at a price – N500 per car. Some vehicles had been there for over four hours. And there is a second bridge worse than this. We got stuck. No movement. No u-turn. I thought about this place – no electricity, only very thick forests, and black rivers. And I said to myself, 'girl, if night comes, and you are still here, all of you will be at the mercy of the villagers.' I began to beg the frustrated motorists to move a little so my driver could do a u-turn. My reasoning was: It'll be better to get stranded along a known major road, where I could see policemen and soldiers than on an unfamiliar road with strange people, and unfamiliar territory. But two motorists advised me against it. They told me that at that bad spot on the major road a few days ago, “bad boys robbed 24 vehicles one after the other”. But I felt it was still better to get stranded there. It took my driver 20 minutes of “manhandling” the steering and the car to turn. When we got to the major road, all hell was let loose.

Trailers and lorries and hundreds of cars had blocked everywhere. Some people claimed they had been there for six hours. Many said they spent the night there. This was about 3.00 p.m. I called home to tell them I was stuck, and would probably sleep in my car, along the road. They began to cry. I called a friend of mine who became frantic, and began to arrange for security. But God was watching over us. Four hours later, we moved, and arrived Lagos by 10,30 p.m.

Dear reader, I'm glad I came back in one piece. Not everybody did. There were fatal accidents along that stretch. Vehicles got tired and refused to move. The villagers, I was happy for them, made lots of money. A bottle of soft drink sold for between N150 and N200, depending on how cold it is. One sachet of “pure” water sold for N20!

The questions are: Where is the federal government? Where are the state governments and where are the local governments? Where is FERMA? That road is a federal road. The only one that connects the South-south and the South-east to Lagos. But the worse spot is in Ondo State. Given how hellish that stretch is, is it asking for too much if the state government “patches” it or something? But more important, whatever happened to the billions of naira which the federal government budgeted for roads? What did various ministers for Works do with the money? Over seven years into President Obasanjo's eight-year term, nothing has improved as far as roads are concerned. We hear billions upon billions of naira, and no action. And it is not that Obasanjo has not released money for some of these roads. He has, but it has probably been pocketed. Again, where is the Ministry of Works, and where is FERMA? How much will it cost to, at least for now, do something temporary on that stretch? Again, what happened to the billions set aside for road? An investigation and/or an inquest will be interesting.

I don't believe this is the legacy Obasanjo wants to leave behind. A legacy of ruins and deaths occasioned by bad roads. The President should start asking questions and demanding for answers. The President should take an unexpected trip to this stretch and see what hell his subjects are going through. The President should go there, even if It is to hear what the people think of his government. He should go there and tell the people how much he had released for roads through the Ministry of Works and FERMA.

It is the same thing that happens in local government areas. Inspite of the million of naira that are released to the LGAs through the state governments every month, nothing is going on. With the exception of a few states, chief among which are Rivers and Bauchi States, nothing is going on in most local government areas across the country. Some of the governors just pocket the money and leave the people to curse Obasanjo as if his government does not care for them. Yet, no administration has given as much money to states and LGAs as this regime.