It is almost intoxicating to think that the World Cup will be kicking off in Qatar in only a few days time, ending twelve years of expectation heavily tinged with anxiety and loads of recrimination, finger pointing and torrents of abuse. When FIFA met to consider which country was going to host the World Cup finals for 2018 and 2022, no serious punter would have put any meaningful bet on Qatar getting the nod over the USA and England who also put in very serious bids. For a start all the venues for every match were already in place in those countries and having each hosted the event before, the USA in 1994 and England in 1966, they could both call on a wealth of experience which would have enhanced their ability to put up a good, if not stupendous event. Even more than these and from the point of political considerations, both the USA and England were super powers who could call on constituencies outside their respective borders to touch up their performance as hosts. It was therefore a surprise, bordering on shock when the name of the country that was gingerly exposed by Sepp Blatter, the then FIFA President was Qatar, one of the smallest countries of the world and for good measure one that was sited in a desert both physically and figuratively. There is no doubt that a lot of people had to turn immediately to a convenient atlas to find out if indeed there was such a country. Many others turned to Wikipedia to find out what made it possible for Qatar to have got the nod to stage the largest sporting event in the world and in doing so, flooring sporting superpowers with all their powers of entitlement and domination.
The odds against Qatar winning the race for hosting rights for any global tournament, let alone, the king of them all, the World Cup were so high that the dissent and disbelief which followed the announcement have abated only a little since then. And with days to the start of the event, those voices of dissent have found new strength and are making sure that their voices, like the whine of a particularly crazy mosquito, are still ringing in our ears, this time with an unmistakeable tone of desperation.
At the time that Qatar was given the rights to host the World Cup, there was only a single stadium in which a football match could be played in that country. No less than eight were needed. Seven state of the art stadia had to be built in the space of twelve years. A doable proposition if the required cash was available and with all that gas surrounding Qatar in a power hungry world, money was no problem and to prove it, the Qatari have come up with the new stadia and revamped the existing stadium until it took a brand new look. Anyone who has played a serious game of football, and there are many of those everywhere you go, will tell you that a game of football must be very near the top of a long list of things you certainly do not want to do in a desert environment, with temperatures hovering around 50 degrees Celsius and it certainly touches that limit in summer in Qatar. The solution was to equip all the stadia with air-conditioners, a scary proposition at the best of times. Scary because it carries with it, all kinds of problems; money, design challenges and engineering problems being the most prominent. Undaunted the Qatari threw themselves at the nest of problems on their hands and come the commencement date, all eight stadia, bristling with highly advanced technology developed by Qatari scientists are fully air-conditioned, ready to breathe the air of comfort into the faces of the thousands of spectators who would be packed into them on match days and of course the players who would not need cooling off periods at inconvenient moments during matches. But then, the soaring temperatures outside the venues could not be adequately controlled and lighter skinned visitors were likely to be roasted in the street. There could be no technological response to this challenge but by playing around a little with the dates of the competition, the tournament could be moved into the cooler months of November and early December, solving a ticklish problem at one stroke. The World Cup has always been played in the months of June and July, summer months in the Northern hemisphere and a time of the year when all professional football activities are suspended to give a window of opportunity for frivolities such as the World Cup. People in other parts of the world have had to put up with the demands of Europe in this respect and now that some reciprocation is demanded from the Europeans, the noise of their anguish is excruciatingly loud but at least, they have been able to summon up enough grace to acquiesce in this matter of a change in dates. The point is, the Qataris have been able to find a solution to every problem they have been confronted with in the matter of delivering a memorable and enjoyable World Cup but the detractors, all of them from Europe or their Diaspora all over the world are relentless in their asinine opposition to the an event which has entered the tunnel of inevitability. The noise coming from them is still so loud that the President of FIFA has, only a few days ago appealed to everyone to concentrate on football which, after all is the purpose for which we have the World Cup. But then, you cannot deal with any degree of reason, something which is born out of irrationality. Even as we speak, preparations have begun for the next World Cup which is to take place in the North American countries of Mexico, Canada and the USA, where the bulk of the matches will be played. It is clear that many of the problems now confronting Qatar will not raise their ugly heads in 2026. Qatar is on the verge of delivering a once in a lifetime experience which in spite of the challenges will be enjoyed all over the world. Indeed, hosting the competition in Qatar is an essential part of the human spirit. We are here to solve problems in the mode of mind over matter. The growth of mankind and let no one be deceived, mankind has come a very long way, from a time when fire was a deep mystery to him and he was part of the food chain as vulnerable then to predation as a chicken is prone to having its head chopped off and cooked over a slow fire today. You can ask the chicken what it thinks about this situation but unfortunately all you will get in answer is some unintelligible cackling, a cacophony which justifies the harsh treatment the chicken is being subjected to.
After all the questions associated with technology and weather conditions had been answered in full by the organisers of this year’s World Cup, the Europeans are now harping on what they call human rights, not the rights of Qataris or visitors to Qatar but of the millions of financially challenged Indians, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis and some Africans who have poured into Qatar to work on the many building sites in that country. Whilst it is undeniable that those poor workers have been left holding the short end of the stick, it is intriguing to note that complaints about their treatment are heating up the airwaves in Europe and parts of the world wide European Diaspora rather than in the countries from which those workers were recruited. Certainly they and their home countries see their relationship with Qatar as being of some benefit. It has been acknowledged that the contract situation of the workers has now improved and the publicity surrounding it has ensured that the dark days of the kafala is not likely to return. To keep on talking about it a few days before the big kickoff is at best counter-productive. If the Europeans find the situation intolerable because of their feelings for the marginalised workers, they should go the whole hog and boycott the whole thing. To keep up a sustained denigration of their Would be hosts is just rude, even uncouth. All thoughts now should be on the football feast that has been more than ten years in preparation. In any case who are they to cavil about the human rights record of anyone? I was particularly pissed off when I heard that the Germans, the Germans of all people are also expressing misgivings about human rights abuse in Qatar. The grandfathers of some of the players in Die Mannschaft were guards in Belsen, Treblinka, Auswich and other extermination camps in which no less than ten million people were wasted only two generations ago. Common decency dictates that they should keep their mouths shut whenever and wherever the vexed question of human rights is brought up by anyone. I hear that the City of Paris is refusing to show the matches in fan parks all over the city in protest against human rights abuses in Qatar. Do they think that the world has forgotten their disgraceful behaviour in Indo-China, Algeria, and large parts of sub Saharan African countries in the guise of pursuing a spurious civilisation mission which ensures a continuous flow of filthy lucre into their coffers? And what about the British, perfect examples of human predators the world has ever seen? It makes me ill to see their posturing over human rights as if all those black and brown people that they have enslaved all over the world; have suddenly been struck by a pandemic of amnesia and blindness to contemporary British behaviour. The whole campaign out of Europe stinks of racism and nothing else. They are confronted by a nation of brown people who have a standard of living which they cannot conjure up even in their wildest dreams and they are rattled, rattled almost beyond endurance. That the rest of the world is not bothered by what is coming out of European mouths, a large batch of Argentinians have already arrived in Doha, ready to party! But, even Australia, that former penal colony in the nether regions of the world is not allowing us to enjoy the peace that is bred by silence. They, who have hunted the original inhabitants of Australia almost to the point of no return are also talking of human rights. Reminds me most forcefully of the late, great Fela Anikulapo-Kuti who complained loudly that ‘animals wan dash me human rights’ The Australians have, to their own surprise, qualified to take part in the World Cup and the emphasis on their performance is surely in the bit about taking part. Should they decide to put their money where their mouth is and boycott the competition even at this late stage, they will definitely not be missed.
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One country which will be missed in Qatar however is Nigeria which to the justifiable consternation of Nigerians and non-Nigerians alike
Many people of my generation will remember the phrase above, not as a prayer offering but for being the title of a very popular weekly programme on the radio in the late fifties and early sixties. It was a chronicle of Alao, driver of what used to be the ubiquitous bolekaja; the wooden contraption in which goods and people were moved around the vast distances that separated numerous destinations within Nigeria. Alao the driver and his sidekick and conductor, Shakey-Shakey travelled up and down the country having any number of comic adventures which kept their audience in stitches and waiting Impatiently for the next episode in the series. The title of the series summed up the spirit of the times as travelling in Nigeria carried special dangers which may not have been apparent to strangers but were all too real to the unfortunate passengers who were at the far from tender mercies of all the Alaos steering those wooden contraptions at break neck speed through the lush Nigerian country side. Accidents were common and when they occurred were just as frequently fatal, with loss of life and limbs featuring distressingly prominently. Even now there is hardly an accident being described without the use of ghastly as a prominent adjective. A lady of my acquaintance who had lived in Britain for many years, being short of words with which to describe an accident that happened on the British motorway reached back home to describe it as a Nigerian accident and left it to the imagination of her hearers to conjure up the images of total vehicular damage which had occurred. In her many years in Britain, she had not been witness to such utter carnage and destruction but the distressing images of accidents which had happened in Nigeria many years before were an abiding memory.
The bolekaja was ugly in every sense of the word and it was with great trepidation that anyone climbed over its tailboard to hazard any journey however short. It was just a gaudily painted wooden box on wheels, held together precariously by a few strings and a prayer but quite capable of tearing around the country side at great speed. It was frequently involved in spectacular accidents in which many lives were lost and a multitude of limbs damaged beyond any form of repair. The roads on which these contraptions ran were just as dangerous as the vehicular traffic that they carried so that when accidents occurred, they were frequently described as being ghastly on account of the fatalities which they caused. The roads were narrow and wound their way around sharp corners even as they maneuvered their way around cunning bends and steep gradients all of which demanded very careful navigation. The drivers were afflicted with a virulent kind of fatalism which pushed them into bowling along those roads with joyous abandon, believing contrary to observation that they led charmed lives which could not be lost in an accident. When accidents occurred the vehicles involved were usually nothing more than mangled heaps of scrap metal, to be thrown into a convenient pit.
Bolekaja accidents were frequent and the toll on human lives was extensive but in spite of this, the drivers existed in a state of confidence, misplaced as it obviously was, of their invincibility. They took to the wheels with a nonchalance which suggested that they were in a state of immunity from any form of mishap and shrugged off any form of criticism from their trapped, if not hapless passengers who still harboured justifiable fear for their mortality. For most Nigerians of the time, setting out on a journey however short was an act of courage and determination to face daunting odds. The arrival at any destination was cause for fervent prayers of praise and thanksgiving to whatever deity one was affiliated. Since that particular journey had ended safely, the prayers were really to be carefully filed away as a starting point for the next journey, rather like a hunter offering up a sacrifice of praise after a successful hunt. In the same way that prayers marked the end of a journey, they were also offered up at the beginning and the prayers of supplication for a safe arrival marked the beginning of any journey, all of which has been shortened to the words ‘safe journey’ which on reflection and away from any background information means nothing that can be found in formal English language. Variants of this prayer have now crept into what even the local custodians of the English language refer to as Nigerian English because speakers of the language from other parts of the world may become progressively lost as they navigate the jungle of Nigerian English. Tell a Nigerian about an intended trip and his most likely response if he does not call out ‘safe journey’ is to ask for journeying mercies, whatever that really means. I doubt if speakers of English from other parts of the world have any appreciation for the heart-felt wish of Nigerians who have a palpable and utterly justifiable fear of travelling anywhere in their country.
The drivers were sure if their immunity from death or serious injury from motor accidents suggesting that there was was a spiritual side to this show of bravado as they had been fortified with the blessings of various deities, all of them giving a guarantee of survival in the event of an accident. Or even more potently, prevent an accident from happening even when overtaking around a bend or on the crest of a hill. There was also a pharmaceutical component to the fortification of the driver who would not step into his driver’s cab without taking several slugs of potent liquor guaranteed to ascend to the brain and hold it hostage for the duration of the journey. Some of them for good measure deepened the fog around their brain with fumes from smouldering leaves of Indian hemp, just to keep out the cold as cool breezes brushed against their face as they leaned halfway outside their cab, to exhibit their bravado and the better to appreciate the adrenaline rush which cruised through their veins as their lorry ate up the miles and clouds of dust billowed tenaciously in their wake.
Anyone reading this could be forgiven for assuming that the roads on which these vehicle travelled were tarred or well paved for the comfort of the traveller. Nothing could be further from the truth as only a few roads, the so called Trunk A roads had a coating of tar. Most other roads were finished in dusty laterite so that after the default prayer session after arrival, the next thing was a bath to wash away the dust which clung to every exposed surface and penetrated every item of clothing. For these and other reasons therefore, the decision to take a trip on a bolekaja was not one to be taken lightly at any time but especially towards the end of the year as taking a trip in a bolekaja was positively suicidal with drivers, drunk on the desire to squeeze in as many trips as possible within the holiday season taking the type of risks that were only allowed on the battle field and fired their rickety engines beyond the limit of safety and common sense. And in doing so, frightened their poor passengers beyond the limits of human endurance. Any accidents were put down to the evil machinations of virulent spirits hell bent on quenching their raging thirst with fresh human blood. These blood thirsty demons were supposed to live on the road hence the invocation that one be spared a journey on the day that the road was hungry for human blood and flesh preceeded and accompanied every journey. The possibility was that a great deal of the danger that the road was blamed for was indeed the work of human agents who had decided that they could handle any challenge that the road brought up in their path was never seriously considered. A Nigerian accident lurked behind every bend and over every hill but death or injury happened to other people after all the prayer was that one be spared the dangers which was present on the road but that those dangers be visited on other people, presumably those that were not wise enough to seek and obtain spiritual fortification.
Those bolekaja of my early years have since been consigned to the dusty heap of history but travelling on the roads of Nigeria are still as dangerous as they have ever been. Our public transport system is so fluid as to lack any consistent structure and the vehicles most frequently used in the transportation of human beigns were originally manufactured mainly in Japan for conveying goods along the well built roads of Europe. On retiring from active service on those roads, they are imported into Nigeria, fitted with the most uncomfortable seats imaginable and driven at break neck speeds after having been fitted with what is described as fairly used tyres which had been retired from active service on roads in more advanced countries. Watching people sitting in those contraptions with their knees in such close proximity with their nose that one has to wonder if they were trained contortionists is not a sight for the faint hearted. The drivers, great grand children of the Alaos who flogged the noisy engines of the long dead bolekaja without mercy see these tired vehicles as a vast improvement on what existed in those days and outdo their predecessors in the bravado they bring to their work. The result is that Nigerian roads, even the best of them are as dangerous or even more so than the laterite roads of old. The prayers for journey mercies, or is it journeying mercies offered up by the travelling public is now even more fervent than ever before for the simple reason that our roads, characterised over the years by a constant harvest of blood have become even more ravenous than ever before. After all, to the danger of ghastly accidents that existed before we now have to contend with armed robbers, kidnappers, fraudulent law enforcement agencies and others which defy any coherent descriptions. Added together, it is clear that Nigeria is plagued with the most dangerous roads in the world. Drivers of all shades are agents of darkness hell bent on causing all manner of damage and grief so that the shortest journey is cause for anxiety seeing that there is no guarantee of safety from one kilometre to the next.
The much unjustifiably maligned so called ember months have now arrived and the fear of setting out on the so called hungry roads of Nigeria are now upon us. The all too tangible travel fear factor has made its annual arrival in our midst making us to raise our cracking voices to a multitude of deities in supplication for a safe journey and the gift of travelling mercies to all and sundry, whatever that means.
all over the world did not do enough to qualify for this global event. The Nigerian team has since their first participation in the World Cup finals of 1994 brought their power, panache and sheer enjoyment onto the world stage, not to talk pf the exuberance of their fans. Nigeria with her plethora of players such as the irrepressible Osimhen and the ever lively Iwobi deserve to be at the World Cup but only if they can get their act together and play to their true potential. The US beckons again in 2026 but being able to attend that fiesta is a challenge that must be faced up to from now on until qualification is achieved.