I dreamt that I was going to be an author…a successful one. That was my biggest dream growing up.
I thought nothing could be more awesome and gangster than writing books for a living. Eventually, I decided I was also going to be a soccer player, lawyer and scantily the president of my country.
Lately, I am haunted by a paragraph or two and if I write a book, this will be the intro.
I never knew the legitimate source of my father’s income. Like most Nigerians who refer to themselves as politicians my father had no money management skills: so we lived in alternating degrees of wealth and poverty depending on which party he helped into power. I remember seeing those actual Ghana-must-go bags and their contents at work before I was 10. One of my clearest memories of my father was when he told me “elections are rigged in villages not Towns. Let the election observers watch the 100 bags in one venue but we can change 100 bags from 100 villages.” I learnt about Nigeria’s dirty politics from the frontlines and my therapist since concluded that it left me with “catholic guilt.” Apparently that’s what drives me.
I am certain the parties will be unhappy with my account of events, but I have never had a problem with naming and shaming. I wonder how many of us can have the guts to air dirty laundry instead of cover up for these individuals we know are the cause of our problems…