Never tell a successful Nigerian you are thirsty (II)

In 1996, following a peacekeeping stint with the United Nations mission in Somalia (UNOSOM II), I undertook a series of fixed-term appointments in the Department of Information (DoI) in New York. Two years later, I joined the Security Council Affairs Division (SCAD) of the Department of Political Affairs.  That was a dream come true as […]

In 1996, following a peacekeeping stint with the United Nations mission in Somalia (UNOSOM II), I undertook a series of fixed-term appointments in the Department of Information (DoI) in New York.

Two years later, I joined the Security Council Affairs Division (SCAD) of the Department of Political Affairs.  That was a dream come true as I had always wanted to learn how the Council functioned.  The department was headed by a United Kingdom diplomat.

Naturally, I wanted to join the Secretariat staff, but I would apply to agencies and bodies of the Organization as well.  As anyone knows who has tangled with the UN, in practice merit is rarely the most important quality required of job applicants.

For instance, in 1998 at SCAD, I trained an intern from the UK.   Within weeks of completing his degree program in the UK, he was curiously on the UN payroll in New York.  Within a few more years, he had vaulted into the P5 cadre.

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But corruption in the UN is a different file.  This one is about my encounter with Nigerians in and around the Organization for two decades and what it says about our country.

As I said last week, my career track meant that I often met older diplomats who knew me.  In the case of two such persons, a man and a woman, once we had established a relationship, they would request help with such things as keynote addresses, statements at UN events, strategy papers, and manuscript editing.  For years.  I never asked for money, and none was ever offered.

My family and some friends knew of these relationships, and how, years down the road once I needed a favour, they resorted to lying.  In the case of one such person (“Nigerian I”), he had himself made a job promise early in our relationship, but for two years he never honoured that offer.  Even when my mother died, he gave me a stash of books and folders and magazines to pen a speech for him!  I did.

Nigerian II was eventually kind enough to confess, as she asked me to edit a second manuscript for her in the fourth year, that she was embarrassed to ask because I had never asked her for anything.  We agreed on the professional rate, but she wanted the edit within two weeks.  I delivered.

A God-fearing woman, she never paid for it, and has avoided me for the past seven years.

Nigerian III befriended me by email.  She would then make long phone calls to praise my advocacy and talk about how such good people as herself and her pastor-husband wanted so much for Nigeria.  When she learned that I was looking for work, she requested my resume, pledging that the gentleman who headed one of my organizations of interest was a bosom friend of hers.  She has not spoken to me once since then.

Nigerian IV headed the Administration wing of a department at which I was new.  When I had not been paid after three months and I threatened to walk out, my boss arranged for me to go and see him.  I was in his office for two hours, during which he simply wanted to discuss “the trouble with Nigeria.”  I simply believed that he had someone resolving my problem.

My boss called him again the following day when I reported that I had still not been paid.  The man was aghast, saying that when I had come to see him, I “did not look hungry!”

Nigerian V was leading a department of a UN agency when I answered a job advertisement there.  Told of my interest, this gentleman—with whom I had worked harmoniously at DoI—encouraged me.  We would see what Allah would “command,” he said.

Over the next year, hundreds of applications were processed for the position.  As I scaled each stage, I informed “IV.”  When I reached the final interviews, which featured three candidates, I chatted with him about my hopes.

On the day, my interview was delayed because the panel chairman was “running late.”  That chairman turned out to be my friend, who could have recused himself but did not.  Although the lady panelist told me afterward that mine had been the best interview and that she looked forward to my coming on board, I knew right away that I would not be hired.  I was not.

One year later, IV’s boss offered me a senior position—the same mechanism by which IV had himself been appointed by someone else—but he objected.  He argued privately that it would not look good for a Nigerian to hold that position.

The year after that, his boss gave me a brief to draft two newspaper articles, due in five days.  After I began to write, IV called to ask me to accept an absurd pay rate that was one-quarter of what I had been offered.  I refused but completed the jobs anyway.  They were published unedited.  Although the UN Office of Project Services called me several times to collect the slashed payment, I never did.

Back to Nigerian I.  I was contacted by one former office of mine, now under his supervision, to help find urgent temporary help.  I knew just the person: a very qualified mother of three who had been summarily divorced and abandoned by her Nigerian husband in New York.

The woman was overjoyed to hear of the opportunity, but I advised her not to celebrate until she received the appointment.  The papers went to “Nigerian I” for routine approval, but despite her recommendation by the originating sub-unit and my personal note—or perhaps because of that—he squashed it.

My point is: whatever one might say of excuses, an absence of opportunity is not an excuse.  And in Nigeria, opportunity is not simply in short supply, it is routinely denied.  If you are a Nigerian, you know how prevalent this practice is.

Keep in mind that the “successful” people to whom I refer in this article were often personal “friends” of mine.  What if I were unknown to them?   What happened to people they did not know or befriend?

In a 2014 article, I recalled US President Barack Obama’s visit to Africa and the Power Up Africa project.  In Tanzania, he was presented with the “Soccket,” a soccer ball which, when played, generated electrical power for household use.  It was the invention of a Nigerian-American, Jessica Matthews and her colleague.

Jessica eventually presented the ball to President Goodluck Jonathan in Abuja, where he and other officials crowed about Nigeria’s human resources.  But would she have had the same opportunity in Nigeria?  Where is the socket in Nigeria?  Where are the talented makers of robots, helicopters, space rockets and amphibious vehicles that I cited in that article?

That is the issue.  Nigeria is a putrid theatre that thrives on lying, manipulation and cheating as officials throttle talent and competition.  The strongest, best trained, and most qualified that constitute the foundation of progressive societies are systematically crushed.  Women are routinely compromised, but to whom do they complain?  Greed and hypocrisy are us.  It is why we make no progress.

If you are hungry, sick or need a job, to admit it to a Big Man or Woman who can do something about it is to invite their ridicule or punishment.

And that is no excuse.