By Olukorede Yishau
Show me where paradise is on earth and I will show you the world’s greatest liar. While we all seemingly concur that paradise is far-flung, no one wants to live anywhere close to hell. If our country cannot be like paradise, let it at least be far from hell, we all scream every day. The things that make citizens feel they owe their countries loyalty and patriotism include access to the basic needs of life such as electricity, good roads, education, security, and a general sense of belonging.
For Nigerians, these things make countries such as the United States and the United Kingdom attractive; here we long for these things, and the more the country ages, the more it looks like we are getting farther from these things that make life worth living.
For many of us, only a country deserves our loyalty as patriotic citizens, but in his second collection of poems ‘A Woman’s Body is a Country’, Dami Ajayi, who is also a psychiatrist, opens our eyes to how a man’s body is loyal to the country that is the female country and is ever paying obeisance. Ajayi does much more in his book. The man tactically vented about challenges that make many of us as Nigerians feel no compulsion to be loyal or patriotic to our nation. On the periphery, the collection looks at other ‘smaller’ issues, but tucked here and there are these necessities Nigerians long for but have not been able to get.
Nigeria has been unable to provide a stable power supply for its people, a situation which has led to the collapse of many a business and has frustrated small and medium scale entrepreneurs. The poet subtly criticises this when he croons about “listening to the orchestra of generators”, which, he adds, “sing a symphony of a failed State”. The government’s failure dirge also resonates in the poem ‘Sunday Afternoons’, in which the poet cries about how “NEPA strikes again and hand fans replace ceiling rotors”.
Insecurity is a challenge the country has been battling. There is no part of the country that is not battling one security challenge or the other. If it is not banditry, it is terrorism; if it is not terrorism, it is armed robbery and separatists’ violence.
The missing Chibok girls have become the symbol of our insecurity. The poem ‘Twenty-two couplets’ laments the missing Chibok girls, but it is in the poem ‘On Chibok’ that the poet really examines the travail of these girls held captive while seeking knowledge. Ajayi also mocks suicide bombers who die hoping “to fuck virgins in heavenly suites”, and wonders why they always shout God is great as though it is a hidden fact. If you are not careful, you may miss the poet’s jab at Lord Lugard for the creation of Nigeria, which the poet sees as an “eternal mistake”. He alludes to the power of hashtags in fanning revolutions wondering “who waters the placards planted under Falomo bridge”— a reference to the Lagos arm of the Bring Back Our Girls movement.
Infrastructure is another area the country has failed. In the poem ‘Poet Harcourt’, Ajayi laments the absence of gardens in the Garden City, which only boast of “roads that shine black with night drizzle”. This subtle jab at the Rivers State capital reminds us about the inability of leaders to protect inherited good things.
Greenery helps protect the environment, but here we take pride in getting rid of it to provide space for mansions and malls and other inanities. Unlike Port Harcourt, which receives a mild rebuke, Lagos gets blows from Ajayi for its social failures. He describes it as a city where dreams die in the poem ‘Lagos Bunnies’ and ‘Lagos Bunnies 11’. When dreams die in Lagos, the poet says “we incinerate them” and he says day dreams suffer more because “we impale them, banish them to cisterns”. He also sings about Ikoyi, which “rarely sees beyond finery” and “an occasional power cut”. His jabs at Lagos, of course, include the ubiquitous gridlock that makes commuting within the city a curse.
The poet also takes a jab at international humanitarian organisations. Do you remember those UNICEF adverts that give the impression that there are no rich kids in Africa? They do not escape the social commentator in this poet. In ‘Die A Little’, the poet asks if he has met a little girl and answers “perhaps in some UNICEF poster”. He laments the facts that “anaemia is the antithesis of capitalist ads” and “bad air blotches mosquito-kissed skin”. Poverty porn and malnutrition also receive ‘honorary’ mentions.
On page 57, Ajayi, with the line “my madam-at-the-top”, brings back a memory of the spokesman of the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps (NSCDC) who wobbled and fumbled during a Channels Television interview and trended for his line “my oga at the top”.
Ajayi’s collection is not just about the ‘serious’, the ‘mundane’ such as sex also gets his attention. In the poem ‘Four phases of passion’, Ajayi tells us about voyeurs, sexual tension, and curling toes induced by orgasm. He also remembers to tell us that “only the bearer of fluid tires (olomi lo ma re)”. In the title poem, Ajayi continues the ‘sexual connection’ and tells of how a man gets aroused because “she shakes herself” and how “the loyal swelling of a man’s body” amounts to patriotism since “a woman’s body is a country”.
With ‘A Woman’s Body is a country’, Ajayi delivers a collection that screams, and loudly too, and reimagines perceptions, probes interactions, and makes day-to-day events haunting. The poems sing, hum, breathe, and walk on all fours. Ajayi is a dazzling, convincing, and stirring poet who deserves the attention of all and sundry.
My final take: We are not asking for paradise. All we require of our leaders is the provision of basic amenities and the provision of these things can guarantee our loyalty and patriotism. Let there be light, let there be water, let there be good schools, let there be good roads, let there be security of life and property, and let there be a general sense of belonging. I’m sure those are not too much to ask.
• Yishau is a newspaper columnist and author of ‘In The Name of Our Father’ and ‘Vaults of Secrets’.