I slipped into Abuja for a few days. I would have rode in on a white horse and go looking for a bank vault to rescue some bags of naira. But, they say there is change in the air. It’s a new era. Nigeria is on a sick bed and when she gets discharged, the world should watch out. So, I rode in on an okada.
Then I got a rude shock! Reality dealt me a dirty slap, so dirty I would have settled for a clean one if I could find it. My knees buckled, my head got light and my wallet wailed like a broken siren on it’s last run.
See, last time I was in Abuja, most people were wearing an attire they gleefully called “Bayelsa”. If you remember Goodluck Jonathan, you will remember that attire. Jonathan, of course is the former shoeless Riverine lad who has successfully transitioned into former president.
I couldn’t wear that attire for a while. I was afraid if I put it on I would never get out of bed. But I was told if I wanted to dance at the edge of power that was the dress code. It was like a password to a party. You either have it or you don’t.
I thought it was a poor joke until I sauntered into NICON Hilton one night and it felt like a hat and pajama party in the lobby. I saw the light that night.
I made a call to my manager who conferenced with my bank manager. I explained why jeans and T-shirts wouldn’t cut it in Nigeria. I need my dress to show my aspiration. I need to be very Nigerian. Lots of business cards for different companies operating out of my town man’s boy’s quarters in Maitama. And I need a wardrobe full of Bayelsa.
I work in a town where vanity is king. Applying for a wardrobe loan or a loan for boob augmentation gets as much attention as, well, a credit facility for an already awarded contract in most places. Looks matter, people!
So, I got all Bayelsa’ed up. I even staggered about as if I was on a boat on a rocky sea. In my town, we say you gotta fake it until it’s real. My Bayelsa felt so real on me I was beginning to think it was my skin.
Then, I waited for the doors to power to open. And, waited. And, waited some more.
Less than two years later, I’m in Abuja and everyone is wearing Babanriga. Those in suits even wear the Hausa hats! Worse, everyone speaks Hausa now. In accents that you will never know existed! My friend who is Ibo not only speaks a few words of Hausa fluently, he’d taken to spitting too – until I told him this is not the 1960s. My uncle who once practiced his cursing skills on a cousin because she dared bring home an Hausa boy who was top of his class in the University now has a “mallam” prefix in front of his name. I got friends watching Hausa films as if they’re studying for a crucial examination!
Now, my Bayelsa wardrobe is useless. I couldn’t even jump the queue at a roadside mama put café in Ajegunle in that outfit. I can’t even sleep in it because I’m afraid I’ll have nightmares about the bank loan. I have to replace it and I have to re-learn to speak Hausa too. Speaking is not a problem. A girl I dug in college made it a condition for a date. I thought she meant it was a class requirement. I failed the class and went on the date.
I must change my wardrobe. I must look for the door of power everyone speaks of in Nigeria. So, I return to my bank manager who lamented that the previous wardrobe loan is yet unpaid. She went on a tirade in an open bank where my once so-so reputation took a hammering and became a boo-hoo reputation.
She had no clue that the key to power in Nigeria is the wardrobe. You must dress the part! Which makes me wish a skirt-wearing tribe will produce a president one day!
It makes me angry when people pile on President Muhammadu Buhari for appointing mostly northerners to the plum positions. Well, it is true the man did say he will reward those who voted for him. And, he is doing so. You can’t blame a man for saying the truth and standing by it, especially a Buhari who won millions of hearts because of the sanctity of his words.
But the whole dress revolution has compounded the man’s life and job. He probably looks at the mountain of resumes in front of him and thinks Nigerians have now adopted a national outfit. Trust Nigerian big men, it won’t be texts alone on the resume. There will be pictures too, pictures of them in Hausa dress. What’s a president to do? No one told him he needed to take a class in the psychology of fashion and power before he took the job.
And you gotta feel for Nigerian women. They could fake the Bayelsa but this new fashion thing is beyond them. How does a Hausa hat fit on all those weave? They could have consulted the wise old men with divine vision for a way in but the soothsayers themselves are busy with their tailors. Women who have been overlooked for an entire lifetime and who clean up the mess left by men are now thinking – how do we fit in?
But, it could have been worse. Just imagine for a moment if Sanusi Lamido Sanusi had taken a different turn and arrived in Aso Villa instead of the Emir’s palace. What if we had to call him “his excellency” instead of “his Eminence’? We would become a nation of bow tie wearers. We would start a new industry devoted to sewing bow ties. And, the world may just confuse us for Elijah Mohammed’s Nation of Islam.
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