Living in Nigeria is a trying experience, writes Paul Nwabuikwu
“They raped me! I was raped! They raped me!”
The woman in the hijab screamed. Over and over. Each scream louder than the last, her head spinning maniacally, she was almost incoherent with grief. A few moments before, this obviously well-educated, middle-class woman had been talking animatedly about her experiences in a kidnapper’s camp after she was abducted. And then, somewhere in her mind, a dam burst, overflowed its banks and disgorged its contents. And she let out awful secret of her violation. Her interviewer, a woman of about the same age – late fortyish – broke down as well.
This scene, from a video clip on social media captures a fragment of the searing experience of victims caught in the awful web of the nation’s ongoing multi-dimensional and multi-locational violence that has significantly worsened under the Buhari administration. The headlines capture the numbers and some broad details – the villages and towns and local governments and states where Nigerians are attacked, brutalized, abducted and subjected to all kinds of unspeakable treatment. The names of victims, not always comprehensive, are also included in the reports.
But the human toll on individual victims, their families and society at large are generally glossed over. As terrible as the experience of the lady in the video was, she is fortunate compared to thousands of other victims who remain in captivity, going through the same awful experience – or worse. Eight years after the kidnap of secondary school girls in Chibok, Borno State by Boko Haram that sparked global outrage and inspired copycat abductions by other groups, such incidents and the inevitable horrors have become normalized, no longer deserving of automatic front page treatment.
It is difficult to say how many Nigerians remain in the hands of kidnappers of various stripes but a recent report by SBM Intelligence, gives an idea of the scale of what may be described as the kidnapping sub-sector of the Nigerian economy. According to findings of the report, “The Economics of Nigeria’s Kidnapping Industry”, which covered the one-year period between July 2021 and June 2022, at least 500 incidents of kidnapping occurred within that time frame, 3,420 persons were abducted in various parts of the country while 564 persons died in the course of the incidents or as a consequence of them. The kidnappers and their sponsors and associates also reaped handsome profit from their grisly investment in violence and fear. Some N6.531 billion ($9.9 million) was demanded in ransom but N653.7 million ($1.2 million) was paid as ransom for the release of captives.
But the report included caveats which suggest that the profits were not fully captured: ”We have taken care not to include the later ransom payments for the Abuja-Kaduna train incident as most of those victims were released in July 2022… It was reported on 25 July, 2022 that eight Nigerian hostages parted with ₦100 million each, while a Pakistani hostage paid ₦200 million”.
What was not captured – perhaps could not be captured – was the anguish of victims like the distraught lady in the hijab, and the pain of family members, friends, neighbours and others who share the vicarious horror. The emotional scars, the constant reliving of the experience, the disruption and shredding of individual and family lives and careers are not easily amenable to statistical treatment and analyses. It’s difficult to capture raw, helpless fear, pounding hearts and pulverized flesh in a graph.
Life in Nigeria, even before the current climate of casual, brutal violence, has been an ordeal for many for many years. The worsening economic environment which has left millions of citizens jobless or marooned in poorly remunerated employment, unsure of the next meal and wrestling with ever-increasing bills is a source of constant anxiety. On the social plane, navigating the intrusions of western values and lifestyle continues to be a challenge for many in relationships and marriage. The outbreaks of sectarian violence over the years, such as the Maitatsine violent disturbances in Kano in the 1980s and other horrendous reenactments in Kaduna, Jos and other parts of the north left a harvest of destruction, death and traumatized victims. Other forms of violence like the regular communal upheavals in Ebonyi, Benue and Cross River States have also left their dark imprints on communities and psyches.
Politics has contributed its fair share. The historic June 12, 1993 elections were defined not only by its iconic status as the “freest and fairest elections” in Nigeria’s history but the aftermath was marked by significant street and state-sponsored violence that led to mass migrations from Lagos and other cities by terrified Nigerians across parts of the country. Robberies and rapes have been common throughout the country’s history. It’s an old story. In the 1970s Fela captured the impact of poor infrastructure on the Lagos poor in Shuffering Shmiling:
Every day my people dey inside bus
Forty-nine sitting, ninety-nine standing
Them go pack themselves in like sardine
Them dey faint, them dey wake like cock
Them go reach house, water no dey
Them go reach bed, power no dey
Them go reach road, go-slow go come
The bottom line is that based on the nation’s history of violence which has escalated in recent times, Nigerians are constantly stressed, with many exhibiting symptoms similar to post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Of course, some have it worse than others but no one can escape the negative impact of living in Nigeria.
The question is: where do we turn to for help with stress and ubiquitous stressors? As I noted in this column two weeks ago, humour in its many varieties is a popular refuge for Nigerians. Everything is ultimately a joke in this country which is not always a good thing because the normalization of horror saps the passion and energy needed to deal with them.
For decades, the churches, mosques and other religious platforms have been the most popular options for Nigerian wrestling with psychological distress. They remain hugely important. Despite the growing criticism of religion especially by disaffected young people, the role of faith-based structures which provide identity, community and support for millions of Nigerians who have nowhere else to turn is vital. Many are far from perfect but given the current harsh realities on mental health and the absence of government in critical spaces, the situation would be much worse without their efforts.
The recent signing of the Counselling Association of Nigeria (CASSON) into law by President Buhari is one of the few bright spots in the dark sky of Nigeria’s mental health situation. The long-awaited bill should strengthen the current inadequate, largely informal architecture led by faith-based organizations, a few NGOs like the Mirabel Centre in Lagos and community platforms. In an effusive statement issued after the presidential assent, CASSON’s president, Professor Elizabeth Omotunde Egbochuku stated that the new law will empower CASSON to operate as a full-fledged Counselling Practitioners Council of Nigeria which will regulate the counselling profession in the country, determine the standards and skills for persons seeking to qualify as counsellors and conduct relevant exams for this purpose.
She defined the professional counsellor as “a highly trained individual who is able to use different range of counselling approaches with their clients to resolve personal, social, or psychological issues. They are trained to counsel clients in trauma and abuse, addictions, family, and relationship issues, problems and many more”.
Time will tell if these lofty goals will be achieved. But there is no doubt that given the state of the serially traumatized national mind, Nigerians urgently need more professional and effective options for dealing with the psychological dimensions of pervasive violence and other myriad challenges they confront every day.
Nwabuikwu is a member of THISDAY Editorial Board
