The Bright Continent

I woke up on election day in Nigeria with a sense of foreboding. The country’s history with democracy—and government period—is highly unencouraging. The long reach of military dictatorship and thuggish, thieving, uneducated politicians that have pocked the road to democracy since 1999 has left a sour taste in the mouth of many Nigerians, at home and abroad.

Yet today was the most fun I’ve had in Lagos possibly ever—because of the exceptional citizens behind the elected officials. Over about 15 kilometers of walking, Lagosians of all ages and tastes offered me bagged water, a place to sit, a ride across an empty bridge, and, even while mocking my Yoruba skills, clamored to tell the only journalist in sight just why they vote.

Everyone I spoke with seemed interested in razing Nigeria’s name from the list of failed experiments with democracy. In my experience, the worst thing you can do is tell a Nigerian she can’t do something. From what I saw today, we can. 

I chatted at length with a member of the Nigerian military, 43 years old and 25 years into his service—under General Muhammad Buhari (incidentally the CPC party’s 2011 candidate for president) Ibrahim Babangida, Olesegun Obasanjo and Sani Abacha. Despite being one of the profiteers of extended military rule, he said, perhaps obviously, “We don’t need the military to be running this country. We can’t go back.”

I had also come out to see how the process works. Despite the controversial cancellation of last weekend’s parliamentary vote, I commend the national electoral commission (INEC) for the tripartite vote and for opening up thousands of polling stations across the country. As a result, none of the stations I saw in Lagos were overloaded with voters, most of whom stood in the sun for no more than an hour to earn a purpled thumbnail—the telltale mark of civic engagement. If INEC representatives were late to deliver ballot materials (in Lagos, mind you), it was by a window of 15-30 minutes. Representatives from most of the political parties were present and monitoring the accreditation, voting and counting process—but more importantly, each patient voter (the majority of whom were armed with mobile phones) served as a type of lay election monitor.

Reports from the rest of the country are trickling in, with the chief complaint being registered voters mysteriously missing from the rolls. Depending on what part of the country and what party you’re supporting, this matters. Vote-rigging and violence may still be on the horizon—I personally observed an ACN-PDP shouting match, and one irregularity. A fatigue-ridden polling station off Igbosere Road ended voting 30 minutes early. After spirited debate about whether it was appropriate to do so, a young woman from the Nigerian Youth Corps began tallying the votes (ACN: 52; PDP: 38; CPC: 12; Labor: 2). Just then, a straggling voter turned up—and was rudely shouted away by the local police officer observing the process.

But I visited eight other polling units where things ran smoothly. At Obalende on Lagos Island, I met Billy Oamen, a 29-year-old volunteer for the ACN, who bought me some water and took me on a long walk through the barracks—a sprawling informal housing development intended for Nigerian police and their families. In this area, women and younger voters were strongly represented. Some women selling beans and garri just beside the voting station chastised me for not coming earlier. “We were here! The queue was down the street!” one said. All told, however, the turnout was depressed at many of these polling stations because of last week’s postponement. Of 684 registered voters at one unit, only 287 cast votes. Femi, a 27-year old resident of Obawale, assured me that “it will be on” again for the presidential vote next Saturday.

Earlier, I had met three young men who had arrived to vote at dawn the week before, at dawn today, and intended to do so again next week. “It’s my right, isn’t it?” said one 32-year old.

Indeed. I wore a progressively sweatier tee-shirt with a worn, Shepard Fairey image of Barack Obama, and the words “hope”—but no one seemed to care about American democracy (and why should they?). This was a Nigerian affair, through and through. The great fun of the day was not just the cohesion found in a city too often suspicious of itself. But the awesomeness of empty streets, barren bridges, the city’s tall buildings forming canyons that revealed, everywhere, pockets of democratic energy. I’ve never been more grateful for my press pass.