Tag: Prof

A nrin nile, inu n b’elesin [We have nowhere else on which to walk, still the men on horseback resent our right to a little patch of the earth]

A Yoruba proverb whose origin lies in the emergence of mounted nobles as a distinct social group in West Africa.

A  lay, secular sermon? Yes. After all, this column appears on Sundays, the day on which Christians normally expect either verbal or written sermons to be delivered. This is why, dear readers, this “sermon” comes to you today. As a matter of fact, I wish to seize the occasion of this first “sermon” to now inform readers of this column that from time to time, I shall devote the column to this special genre of the secular sermon that takes its name, its expressive identity from the fact that I am neither a priest nor a religionist in the conventional sense of the term. This in effect means that a secular sermon is addressed not to a select band of the faithful, but to the considerably wide and non-exclusionary community of the intellectually curious, the imaginatively adventurous and the truly democracy inclined. This is what today and from time to time I shall serve as a discursive “dish”, a “stew” for the imaginative palate of readers of this column.

On that note, let us move to the theme for this first ‘sermon’ which, quite simply, is this: Walk, compatriots, walk. Walk even if you belong to the tiny group of super-rich Nigerians and own more than three, four or five cars; walk as often as is practicable and convenient; walk whenever and wherever you can; it is good for your health and even better for your soul. Walk, compatriot, walk.

I admit it: this theme was prompted by the question that serves as the first part of the title of this essay: “Haha, Prof, where is your car?” I have now lost count of the number of times that my neighbours at Oke-Bola, Ibadan, have asked me that question when they have seen me in any part of the city walking. No matter how far from or conversely, how close I am to my house that is located at the “Seventh-Day” area of Oke-Bola, I am confronted by my neighbours, this question is always automatically posed to me: “Haha, Prof, where is your car?” Of course, the question is usually posed with far greater incredulity when I am as far from my house as Mokola or even Adamasingba as when I am seen walking closer to home, say at Dugbe or Gbagi. The presumption at the back of this question is of course unmistakable and it is this: As a “Prof”, as a member of the tiny elite in the neighborhood with a house of my own and a car, why am I without my car and out walking as ordinary, non-elite Nigerians do as a routine part of their daily life, their normal existence?

Now before I address the reasoning, the mesh of presuppositions and assumptions, behind this question as the main body of this “sermon”, let me first of all say that my injunction to the readers of this column to walk whenever and wherever practicable or convenient has little or nothing to do with the fact that in the rich countries of the world, walking has become a faddish thing that the wealthy, the powerful and the famous do as part of their daily or weekly social or interactional rituals. Jogging or “working-out” in the gym are related or ancillary practices, but walking is the primary or the most telling indication of the abandonment of cars in order to take up other means of either necessary or voluntary physical exercise. Beside this, walking is also the ultimate mark of being health-conscious and/or being motivated by the do-gooder high-mindedness of raising money for noble and charitable causes through the so-called “walkathons”.

Of course, I am not indifferent to the fact that this particular fad around walking in the rich countries of the world has very sound justification in the proven health benefits that come from or with walking as a daily exercise. And to be completely honest about this matter, I have myself sometimes participated in “walkathons” in which thousands, even hundreds of thousands of people walk tens or scores of kilometers to raise funds for charitable causes. No, compatriots, I am not opposed to these faddish or charitable reasons for walking as a worthwhile practice, mostly in the rich countries. But these are not the reasons why, in a poor-income country like Nigeria, I am in this “sermon” asking you, my dear readers, to walk, especially those of you with one, two, three or four cars. [Some economists and sociologists swear that ours is now a middle-income economy. I disagree. But that is another matter entirely]

Now, to get back to the question itself that prompted the theme of this “sermon”, “Haha, Prof, where is your car?”, we must of course recognize that the fundamental assumption behind the question is that walking in our cities is – or has become – so unappealing, so soul-wearying that those who can afford not to walk are considered downright crazy if they choose to walk, I mean actually walk. One sure proof of this assertion is that I am yet to meet any neighbour of mine who has seemed satisfied with the answer I give anytime the question is put to me: I walk because I like walking, because once a while and if the distance is not too great, I like to abandon my car and, yes, walk. I really and truly am yet to meet any neighbour who has accepted this answer, at least on face value.

Well, who can blame my neighbours for this skepticism? Is it not an open secret that the streets of virtually all our towns and cities belong almost exclusively to the masses of ordinary Nigerians for the simple reason that, by overwhelming numbers, our elites simply never walk unless they absolutely have to and even then for only very short distances? And is it not well-known that walking in the streets of our towns and cities is often a very unpleasant experience as there are virtually no pavements to walk on, and even no unpaved but cleared dirt patches for pedestrians to walk in safe margins from the paved swathes of asphalt meant exclusively for the cars and other vehicular machines? [Some optimistic activists say that the day is almost upon us when a “Pedestrians’ Freedom Charter” will be drafted and universally proclaimed to bring these matters to the forefront of prospects for progress in our country. I wish this were true, but I don’t think so. But that is another matter entirely]

It is hard not to draw the appropriate conclusions from realities and conditions that are as palpably Nigerian as these: Just as we do not have patient-friendly hospitals and clinics, so also do we not have walker- or pedestrian-friendly towns and cities. I give the personal testimony of my own experience here with regard to the many, many times in which I have just barely escaped being knocked down and badly injured or even killed by the cars and vehicular contraptions that are the kings of the streets of our towns and cities all of which are forever struggling amongst themselves for vastly cramped and inadequate spaces. One could say that the danfos, the okadas and the maruwas are the worst offenders, but if the truth and nothing but the whole truth must be told, then it must be admitted that the glitzy cars of the elites are as well highly culpable for making walking in our cities and towns so unsafe, so dire. At any rate, I believe this is the ultimate basis of my neighbours’ skepticism anytime I tell them that my passion for walking is the only reason why I leave my car at home and take to the streets on my own God-given “footwagen”, this hugely significant fact that our cities and towns are so dangerously and even destructively pedestrian-unfriendly that it seems to defy logic – and the simple laws of self-preservation – that anyone who does not have to, anyone who has a choice in the matter will actually abandon his or her car and – walk.

I swear that as far as I am aware of my own conscious acts and subconscious impulses and drives, I have neither a death-wish nor a masochistic streak. In other words, I leave my car at home and often walk the streets of the most traffic-congested parts of the city of Ibadan neither because I wish to make a virtue of self-mortification nor because I wish to make or prove a point. If there is any compulsive behaviour at all on my part in this matter, it is this: All my life I have passionately loved walking and find that I cannot or will not give it up now that I have a car and can afford to keep its fuel tank full as constantly as I wish. And there is a quite rational, quite calculated factor as well: over the years and decades, as the streets of Ibadan and other Nigerian cities have become more and more pedestrian-unfriendly, I have learnt to devise strategies and tactics of maximizing my safety on the road while walking. For instance, for the most part, I try to keep as clear of the edge of the paved part of the road as possible. This greatly reduces the number of errant okadas and danfos that could plow into me and knock me down. There is also this: Unless it is extremely arduous and really unhelpful, I generally walk against the flow of oncoming traffic so that I can quite clearly see what I am walking against and what is hurtling towards me. [Many vehicular contraptions plying our roads also engage in this defensive countermove of driving against the flow of traffic. I doubt that they do this for the same reason that I walk against the flow of traffic. But that also is another matter entirely]

In the same manner in which our elites in recent years have more and more taken to air travel and abandoned the country’s inter-city and inter-state roads and highways for the great danger that they pose to all travelers regardless of class, our elites also more and more do not walk in our towns and cities because it is arduous, unappealing and dangerous. However, this does not mean that those of us who belong to this class who still walk are heroes; we are just diehard romantics who will try to keep walking for as long as we live above the earth before are eventually buried in it. This is why the theme of this ‘sermon’ is walk, compatriot, walk. The right and the need to walk as much as one can and wishes is a right that has been lost, won back and lost again over the ages from the time when horses and horse-drawn carriages began to crowd out human feet from the streets and roads of the world. This is what is captured in the epigraph to this essay: “We have nowhere else on which to walk, still the men on horseback resent our right to a little patch of the earth”. Horses and horse-drawn carriages have been completely replaced by automobiles and still those who have or wish to walk, simply walk, have a hard time in our cities and towns.

Thus, the struggle continues. Walk, compatriot, walk. [This may open out to and connect with the great struggles for justice, equality and dignity for all in our country. I hope so, but do not know for sure. But that is another matter entirely]

Biodun Jeyifo

bjeyifo@fas.harvard.edu