By Daniel ‘Seun Olatunde
I remember growing up in Festac Town, Lagos, Nigeria and how beautiful life was though with our average parents who we know cared for us with the little they could afford and we were contented. There were other kids whose parents were financially stronger but the gulf was not so wide.
Yes, few of us experienced private education but that was more the exception than the rule. I was privileged to attend a private nursery simply because my mother worked in one of the private schools but my primary school through university education was in public schools and same was true for many in my age bracket.
We all went through the public schools with deep bonds of friendship – we all walked to school, I cannot remember parents dropping us off at school as that was rare. Whoever got ready before the others will call out to friends. I have fond memories of our bags/back pack and cotena/bata shoes with white socks neatly rolled down or up close to our knees. we all mixed in school, with no care for class, colour, ethnic or religious differences. We all shared a bond of communal spirit and love.
Daily when school closes, we always kept money aside to buy Condensed milk, Lollypop, “Ekona Gowon” candy, the locally brewed sweet drink, “Pinto”, and other sweet things that caught our fancy or satisfies our childish cravings. Of course you shared all these as you walked home together.
In the evenings, we played together around our block, we sometimes rolled used tires all over the place while the girls engaged in “Suwe” and “Tenten”. While playing on Sundays, we were all conscious about that iconic television programme “tales by moonlight” on NTA in its glory days now long gone.
We played football in the rain and the fun part of it was when you pee on yourself and had the rain clean you up. I remember for example, Bola Meadows one of the girls who played football with the boys and what a very good player she was! We also had table tennis and devised our own lawn tennis with wooden rackets.
We organized block parties in December, where we also engaged and entertained our parents with cultural displays, drama, songs and generally had fun. We led ourselves without abuses, no hate, no race but one communal bond. We were our brothers’ and sisters’ keeper. Admittedly, It was not all idyllic, we fought, but not on the basis of creed or tongue. It was kids been kids.
After tertiary education, NYSC was what many looked forward to. We got posted to states where you knew no one, no mobile phones for instant communication to friends and family members, no emails but our postal service was efficient to deliver letters though it may take two weeks to be delivered. People of a different culture to yours welcomed you warmly. They never cared where you come from, they take you in and bonded with you such that sometimes leaving your place of primary assignment was with teary eyes.
What happened to us? How did we get to where we are? Where someone spews hate on clandestine radio, where some order others to leave a part of the country. Who taught us to hate ourselves so much? Who sold to us to kill ourselves in the name of religion? What have we become? Who did this to us? How did religion and ethnicity take away our values? How did stealing, kidnapping and armed robbery become a trade?
I remember Tosin Jegede’s song “Let there be love shared amongst us”.
Please let us have a change of mind, the blood that flows through us is red, when we are sick in the hospital and blood is transfused into our body, do we choose the religion or ethnic background of whose blood we take?
Let us come back to our senses. Enough of bloodshed, enough of hate. God is Love!
