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Home |   About Us |   Contact Us |   Members |   Search |   Subscribe |   Disclaimer |   THE GUARDIAN CONSCIENCE, NURTURED BY TRUTH LAGOS, NIGERIA.     Friday, June 18 2004   news   editorial/opinion   politics & people   focus/record   business   sports   metro   capital market   weekend   golf weekly   Guardian Chat Click to join the chatroom In praise of sloth By Reuben Abati IT is a miracle how we manage to be productive in Nigeria. Each one of us is a victim of environmental factors which pose an abiding threat to any form of hardwork. Sloth is what prevalent circumstances impose on us. When any Nigerian declares that he is busy (who is not busy, by the way ), what he is not saying is that he spends more than half of his quality time doing things that amount to nothing, things that in the end do not count, but which nevertheless seize his time and attention. Every waking day for anyone who really means to work hard is a nightmare; your capacity to compete is reduced; your stress level is unduly raised; and you end up under-achieving. A typical day in my life as a Nigerian would be considered a tribute to slothfulness in better organised countries. It is 6 a.m. I am woken up by the persistent ringing of the phone. For God's sake, who can this possibly be at this hour Yes, who is this May I know who is on the line It turns out that it is someone you met a few weeks ago at a book launch. He would like to come to the office to discuss an idea that has suddenly showed up in his big head. So is that why he is calling at 6 a.m But you try to be polite. Okay, fine, please call later. We can arrange an appointment. You put down the phone. Let's see if I can catch some sleep. But the phone rings again and again. Someone is trying to say hello, long time, how are you Another person has something important he wants to discuss; he got your number from a friend of his, and this thing that he wants to discuss is so important it cannot be discussed on the phone. He puts you in a state of anxiety and suspense. Every other five minutes, a text message arrives. You are asked to send someone's phone number. Or you are required to assist with a forthcoming chore. I once tried to switch off the phone at night, and keep it that way until much later. But the following day, angry calls took the better part of the morning. "What happened, I have been calling you since 12 midnight Did you switch off your phone. I even called yesterday, the phone was ringing, you didn't pick it up. I have been told that you don't pick up your calls. That is very bad". What can you possibly say to this early morning lecture on etiquette Since the introduction of the GSM, Nigerians have become phone-crazy. If you are not careful, you can spend the whole day answering phone calls. And if you switch off the phone, or refuse to pick up calls, you could offend a lot of persons who would accuse you of ignoring their calls. My job requires moments of solitude. There are times I feel like being alone, completely away from the rest of the world, alone in my own safe corner, not feeling like hearing other people's demanding voices. But the GSM makes that impossible. You are only a few buttons away, and you are required to receive every call, respond to every text message. Again, how did we survive when there were no telephones in this country The reality today is that a GSM phone is like a toy for all Nigerians " everybody is busy punching buttons, and talking away, or cursing the friend who has refused to pick up a call, or the service provider that has failed with interconnectivity. Eventually, I manage to leave the house. There is heavy traffic on the way. Early morning rush. Everybody is in a hurry, so they are all driving crazily. There are potholes on the road, so you have to keep avoiding running into one of those potholes that can tear one of your tyres to pieces. It is the raining season. In fact, it rained overnight. The drainage system in Lagos collapsed a long time ago. The roads are flooded, and the flood is so high you can no longer see the asphalt. The car is forced through the flood. Suddenly, you get to a better terrain. And the journey continues. In the midst of all this, the phone rings again. There is somebody on the line. I am sorry I am in the traffic, can I call you back The fellow at the other end is not listening. He is insisting that he won't take more than a minute. He goes into a long story. If the call is from a big man, then it is a different ball game. You cannot tell a big man to wait, or that you'd be arrested by either the police or traffic authorities for using the phone while driving. You must show respect. The logic is that it is not easy to be a big man in Nigeria. If you disrespect a big man by trying to do what you think is proper, you could end up in the dustbin, all your dreams turned to ashes. So, what do you do You quickly drive off the road, park the car and attend to the Very Important Personality at the other end. As you are doing this, paying proper obeisance as culture demands, there is an Area Boy knocking on the car window. You don't know what he wants. He is eyeing the phone you are using. Or it could be a group of beggars asking you to assist them. The conversation ends, and you are finally on your way. You run into yet another traffic hold-up. Okada cyclists and their passengers are screaming that you should get off the road and allow them free passage. They bang the boot, or the trunk of the car. The malicious ones use the edge of their motorcycle to draw a line on the body of your brand new vehicle. You won't see this until much later, or until someone in the office slyly draws attention to how you have been maltreating company property. The Okada sadist and his poverty-stricken passenger go their way. But your attention is soon distracted by the wailing sirens of a convoy of cars ferrying an important big man from or to the airport, sometimes it is a bullion van, and if you dare stand in the way of the convoy, your car could be gun-butted, or smashed, and before you can raise an alarm, the convoy is already far away in the distance. You must know that siren-blaring convoys have the powers of life and death, so why stand in front of a moving train. In due course, you are within 400 metres of the office. But it is not uhuru yet. You could be stopped by LASTMA officials who can accuse you of anything including driving too slowly on government road! If you argue with them, your car could be impounded, the whole day would be wasted, and before the car is released, you could pay up to N35,000. FERMA officials are worse, if you run into them on a Federal road in Lagos and your car is impounded, getting the car released may require a trip to Abuja to secure the necessary papers. When it is neither LASTMA or FERMA standing in the way, it could be the police. I have been stopped on many occasions within a few metres from the office. "Where are you going" The police officer could ask. Without doubt, this is a stupid question. Where am I going But I dare not offer such retort. "Good morning officer, I am going to the office". Where is that Obviously, this is an irritating question. The Guardian is boldly written on at least four sides of the car. I am fully attired in official uniform - a formal suit, that is. If the policeman is neither dumb nor deaf, he ought to know that where he is standing is actually within a stone-throw from The Guardian. But I dare not be irritated. So, I state the obvious. Then, I get asked, as always, the most offensive question: "Are you a journalist " But if you are patient, the policeman would allow you to go. One morning, one officer asked me: Inner light I couldn't understand. "Put on your inner light " he repeated. This was in the morning, and I wasn't driving a condemned car from Europe, otherwise known as Tokunbo. I am usually lucky. I always manage to make it to the office. I am tired, distracted and a bit angry. What kind of country is this I enter the office. There is a pile of invitations awaiting my attention. The Secretary comes around. She tries to sort out the invitations. One or two persons had been calling the office all morning. They would call again. They want you to attend their event by all means. Usually, it is a dinner or cocktail, or a fund raising, lecture, book launch, or television programme. You look at the invitations and chuckle. Is it me they are inviting or the title that I currently bear in the organisation, the office that I occupy Now, it is time to work. The first task is to go through the papers to check the main news of the day, and to see what our competitors have done, or are not doing, against the day's edition of The Guardian. But then, the office phones begin to ring. When a call is not coming through the direct line, it is the intercom. The Secretary feels obliged to announce every call. Now, let us do some work. You check the e-mail. But just then, the Secretary announces that there are visitors in her office, waiting to see you. Visitors I did not give anybody any appointment. How did they get to the office upstairs How did they beat two different security checkpoints, without anybody alerting you The Secretary pleads that you should see them, even if for a minute each. Okay, tell them I am very busy. The visitors come in. This one is looking for a job. That one needs Industrial Attachment placement. Another one needs financial assistance. They use up valuable time. And at least two of them would round up the discussion with: "Bros, please help me with transport fare. I am totally down". You feel like screaming, but you don't want to appear nasty. So, you part with some money and a plastic smile. The visitors leave. You plead with the Secretary not to allow any more visitors or phone calls. You are not really sure whether the Secretary is working for you, or the endless stream of visitors. Some even come around just to shake your hands! Now, let's do some work. You ask after Taiwo, the fellow in the Computer Newsroom who builds the pages and sees them through production. The Secretary comes back to announce that Taiwo is not yet at work. At 3 o'clock in the afternoon You start screaming. The problem we have is that there are too many carpenters in this company! The Administrative Assistant comes around to announce that he had heard that Taiwo closed very late last night, that is why he is not yet in the office. So, you have no option but to wait. Soon after, the Administrative Assistant returns. Taiwo is now in the office. He would build the pages shortly but meanwhile, he has gone to eat. You start cursing, again. Nonsense. When he gets back, tell him to call me. I need to speak with him. Eating during production hours is against company policy! The problem with you people is that you are always eating. A short while later, Taiwo phones from downstairs. "It is not my fault sir. It is the file server. The fileserver is down. In fact, I can't find the materials in the system. But the computer people are looking at it". Meanwhile, you are told that your wife is on the line. She reports that she had just been informed that somebody had died - a relative, a friend's mother, or whoever. Naturally, you express sympathy. But that is not enough. She goes on to describe the deceased person's biography, the cause and circumstances of his/her death, how the children are reacting to the loss, the plans for the burial and how other persons are reacting. You are neither an udnertaker, nor the Pastor/Imam who would preach at the burial, but still, you are required to listen. Finally, the pages arrive. Necessary corrections are made and effected. You have fulfilled the minimum requirement for the day. You start preparing to leave. The phone begins to ring again. It is Daniel, my second son, on the line. "Daddy, when you are coming home, please buy us Mr. Biggs". You remind him that you bought him and his siblings Mr. Biggs only yesterday. "Daddy, I am not talking about yesterday. I am talking about today. Be a good Daddy and buy us Mr. Biggs on your way home". You do a mental calculation of what percentage of your salary Mr. Biggs takes every month. No point. You give up. It is a miracle how we manage to be productive in Nigeria. � 2003 - 2004 @ Guardian Newspapers Limited (All Rights Reserved).  Powered by dnetsystems.net dnet�

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