The Emergence of a New Nigerian God
How much is 10 million naira? It’s just a change that can’t do anything; give it to me today and ask of it tomorrow; you’ll know what I mean by then.
“How much is 10 million naira? It’s just a change that can’t do anything; give it to me today and ask of it tomorrow; you’ll know what I mean by then. How much is the 2023 Aston Martin Vantage Coupe? That’s even extreme; how much is a 2020 Toyota Camry XLE? How much is a mansion in Lagos? Do you know the price of an original Rolex watch? Bro, no dey talk that kind thing again, o, do you think 10 million naira is a huge amount of money? Forget o. How much is 10 million?”
istening to a random guy in a Nigerian university spewing blatant shits with his gang members who didn’t cease to give him the attention he craved. Apart from my irritation at his inconsideration of other busy students who needed serenity to focus, I found his brief sermon lacking essence. It so much sounded like the arrogant speech of a derailed man who grew up in a flawed culture. Well, he did grow up in a flawed culture. It wasn’t the first time I’ve heard such talks, and they have always been unintelligent opinions, usually coated in confidence and eloquence. I had an impulsive thought to spill my gut and lend him some wisdom, but he didn’t seem like the type to sacrifice his pride for learning. Or perhaps I just knew he would be too slow to decipher my message. Pardon my pessimism. It took a substantial amount of self-control to hold back. My friend who sat by me asked why I backed down, having noticed my impulsive interest and my subsequent abrupt stop.
“Do you know Brandolini’s principle?” I asked her.
She slipped into Google and let out a wide smile after finding out. Of course, the effort required to refute a bullshit in an order of magnitude is greater than to produce it; that’s Brandolini’s principle. Ironically, I couldn’t take my mind off the bullshit sermon even after the nuisances had left, and I thought that daily conversations, arguments, and controversies among students never seem to go beyond the walls of materiality. Looking at it, I theorized that this culture of monetary and materialistic obsession stemmed from either an attempt to cover their insecurities or simply feel-good shits to portray themselves as someone else—someone affluent and conversant with the big sums. Then, this culture evolved to the habit of feeding one’s ego by delusively devaluating money. It is delusive because your mom probably sells akara by the roadside, while your dad earns a meager salary monthly from his teaching profession. While you, a self-proclaimed affluent student, have never in your twenty-two years of existence worked to earn half a million naira, yet you shamelessly open your stench mouth to ask how much is 10 million naira. An initiative so ridiculous that your struggling parents won’t dare imbibe.
When I was young, I used to promise myself an uncountable million dollars, and this was way before I understood what a dollar is or what a million is, but I pretty much had an hunch that it was a lot of money. Quite a number of us did the same thing, and anyone with a lick of sense would understand this as a form of ambitiousness that grew with kids. Along the line of growth, reality set in, and I finally knew how many beans make five. I understood that the money isn’t something you chase directly; you have to chase what money chases, and then it will come to you willingly. And that ostentatious life isn’t always worth the sacrifice. I thought that was the same for everyone until I met folks talking about money like a commodity sitting on the bench in a mart. They search and discuss it effortlessly every day. Certain persons might somewhat want to justify this with poverty, but I think it’s an erroneous justification nonetheless. Poverty isn’t an eroding factor of intellectuality. While it might shut doors of opportunities and have significant effects on a person, it doesn’t warrant a lifestyle of mediocre display and a flawed way of thinking. To me, that’s a choice of whether you want to be defined by your circumstance. Like a gladiator who finds pleasure in having the whole empire wait for him so he could savour the cheers that erupt when he finally appears, the thought of money fuels people’s pride, and they crave it in abundance. They devalue it even in sums that could change their life forever. Money is the new music; the lyrics permeate their soul, and they are blinded by it, but can I blame them?
The enticing voice of money echoes even from the apex of government to the base level. At 18, the Nigerian democratic constitution deems you eligible to vote and be elected, yet the presidential nomination form costs 70 million naira on average. What kind of 18-year-olds could afford to pay 70 million naira for a presidential form? Of course, the high price is technically a screening technique and could be for the party’s operational costs, but it’s so implausible that it eventually puts a benchmark on what leadership should be about. The richest candidate isn’t necessarily the best, and vice versa. What do you expect from someone who paid an exorbitant fee to secure the seat of power to do when he gets it than to strive for the returns on his investment? Nigerian democracy is a system lined with the luxurious skin of moneyocracy. The affluent ones get there, make their returns, and replace themselves with puppets.
Law enforcers shamelessly stoop so low to be bribed by offenders. It was always offenders offering bribes before; now the enforcers make bribery proposals to their culprits. Police ask for change from drivers and threaten them when they prove uncooperative. The government uniform used to be worthy of dignity, and the Nigerian police force used to be honorable, but now they have sacrificed their honor to the new god.
Should we talk about how money dominates in the least expected places? Places believed to be houses of God are now business centres where religious leaders make their fortunes. A friend of mine quit his church when his pastor, a supposedly man of God, humiliated an elderly woman for dressing decently yet always giving 200 naira as Sunday offerings. He insinuated that the woman was capable of giving more but decided to spend the extras on material things. My friend said it’s a matter of time before he and his 50 naira weekly offerings get their own share of the humiliation. When did money become the new god? And how did the religion of this new god grow exponentially?
Clerics at mosques are not any more honorable. The imam concludes prayer, and the first thing he does is bark at the kids to carry offering boxes around. Indirectly, he makes obscene remarks to those that can’t afford to spare some change as the boxes go around the congregation. He skips the sequence of programs to the parts where he gets to collect money from the Muslim faithfuls. He, together with his colleagues, collectively argue and throw tantrums about money at a funeral prayer without honouring the presence of the bereaved. He even goes as far as boasting of his extortive skills of making money in order to boost his profile among his peers. I ask, what dignity does he have to be a religious leader?
Lecturers at universities skilfully lead innocent students to surrender their already budgeted money by demanding they buy useless manuals at certain fees. They threaten to quit classes or deduct marks if their demands are not met. They reward their patronages with marks and threaten their defaulters even more. Imagine a lecturer selling a 10-page handout to 200 students for 1500 naira; that’s 300 thousand naira, more than the average Nigerian salary. I heard one of them even go as far as denying defaulters attendance and tests; all attempts to appease her proved futile, and a number of folks fell behind on the distinction race. Everyone screams money in Nigeria, and even the so-called elites or learned aren’t left behind.
Along this line of thought, I could have sworn parents would be the sole disciplinarians in this scene. Interestingly and rather unfortunately, parents are also some of the biggest worshippers of money. I know, and I’ve seen enough to believe that it’s unfortunate to have certain persons as parents. I’ve seen a father shamelessly ridicule his only son for not joining the band of cybercriminals who dominated their neighbourhood. He publicly boasted of his nephew and his friend’s sons, who made their millions through cybercrime, while he scolded his son for treading an academic path. “You go school for four years, but you no fit feed yourself. Na every day you dey waka go dey look for job where your mates dey make money dey take care of their parents. Dey waste your life you hear.” On the other side, devoted mothers of the new religion are blinded by the gifts their criminal sons give them. They rejoice and believe that indeed the fruits of their labour are ripe for harvest.
While money is absolutely important, I agree that the majority of Nigerians are blinded by the obsession with it. They are so obsessed that it runs in their veins, clouds their reasoning, and blocks their conscience. With the culture of money Nigerians particularly have imbibed, it’s a no-brainer that certain standardized ideologies and heritages are at extinctive risks. Say, the value systems of education, intellectualism, and morality are somewhat jeopardized as people believe that the motivation behind them is ultimately money. Hence creating a societal gap between us, Nigerians, and other people from other parts of the world. While being reasonable, those that justify this degradation as an outcome of poverty and bad governance are merely oversimplifying the problem. It’s true in the contributive sense, but not in the dispositive. The proclivity towards money and materials somewhat says a lot about the increasing cybercrimes, abduction, and money rituals. And since it is the new god, it’s only deductive that this flawed proclivity is the new religion.