Reflections

Hello friends,

It's been a while. I've been working, travelling, juggling motherhood with everything else on my plate, so it does happen that updating my blog takes a back seat sometimes. But I do miss having a journal, and I want to reignite that small but important aspect of my life. Actually, what I really miss, is writing in a diary, with a pen and having hours of time to myself to just scribble down my thoughts uninterrupted. But in this stage of life I'm in, time is such a luxury, so I'll have to make do with blogging once in a while. Hmmm.

I travelled to Nigeria in March and returned to the UK in August with my family. We were based in Port Harcourt for the four months, with a couple of trips to Lagos. I have to say that it was one very weird and eye-opening experience for many reasons. We are considering moving back sometime in the future, so this was a trip to "test the waters" and see what it would be like. But by the end of the trip, I returned to London with very mixed feelings. 

Some aspects of the trip were funny. I experienced culture shock, as usual, even though I still went back to visit in 2012. Upon arriving, the simplest things struck me as different. Seeing people carrying lots of cash around to pay for goods. Seeing people immediately count any amount of cash you give to them. Seeing Nigerians everywhere I looked (living in multicultural London, you see such a variety of nationalities). Seeing the huge and very obvious gap between the rich and poor. And so on. But for my three year-old, it was very amusing to watch her adjusting to a very different life from what she knew. For example, the fist time the electricity went off, she came to me and started apologising. She thought I had turned off the TV because I was upset with her. I laughed and laughed and after trying to explain that "sometimes the light goes off in Nigeria", seeing her confused face just made me laugh some more. She saw a cockroach for the first time and asked me, "What animal is this?", more laughter. We took a walk down the street and saw some muddy gutters and she said "Mummy, look! There are puddles in the road." Oh dear.

Now, actually living in Nigeria was unsettling. I think, in the past when I went back for visits, I didn't fully immerse myself in the day-to-day things that people did, so that didn't affect me. Or maybe because I was usually only staying a few weeks, so it was just a case of "I'll be out of here soon" so I tended to overlook a lot of things. But after a while, certain things about Nigerian society become obvious. The police. Where do I start from? The terrible customer service. Again, legendary. The roads, the lack of constant electricity, and the simplest things that I used to take for granted. The government? Who? Sigh. The religious fanaticism that is simple unbelievable. The level of dishonesty. The terrible work ethic. Then, the culture. The culture! At some point, I began to wonder if I had really grown up in Nigeria. Or if I had changed so much, that Nigeria was now a foreign place to me. I actually started doing research, asking people lots of questions, and taking notes so that I could understand my own people again. In fact, I started watching Nollywood films everyday, because I wanted to know (or remember again) what was normal and acceptable in Nigerian society. And what I found was (mostly) not pretty. In fact, a lot of things were downright disturbing. For one, the immense pressure on Nigerian females to suppress themselves and fit into a mould of cultural expectations was quite alarming. I didn't understand it for a long time, why some of the ladies based in Nigeria that I interact with online had some weird ideas about relationships, marriage, sexuality, ambitions, etc. But after returning to Nigeria, I started to understand. Then, realising how much misogyny and patriarchy is so deeply rooted in normal day to day life, made me bristle. I wondered, how do women put up with this? How do they cope? How do they not question these things? 

Case in point: I was watching a Yoruba Nollywood movie with my niece. One of the characters mentioned a proverb, "Omo to da, ti baba e ni, omo ti o da, ti iya re ni" which translates to "A good child belongs to the father, but a bad child belongs to the mother." Immediately I heard it, I was like "Why? WHY does the father get credit for a good child, and why does the mother get blame for a bad child? Aren't they jointly responsible for the upbringing of their children? Why doesn't the mother get any credit if the child turns out good? Or am I missing something here?" My niece tried to explain the proverb by saying that it means a woman has to do everything she can to make sure her child is not bad. But then, I argue, so what is the father doing? If a child is becoming bad, does he sit and fold his arms? That led to a long argument and discussion, and in the end, I realised that women in Nigeria have a very long way to go.

I could rant so much about so many other examples that I came across, but I wonder if it would make any difference. Maybe a little. Anyway I read an article on Sabi News by Joy Bewaji (click here to read) that sums up a lot of what I saw. The article is witty and funny but also very very sad. A year ago, I would have been naive enough to believe that she was exaggerating, but now I know better.

Well, the upside of going to Nigeria is that there is plenty of inspiration for crazy flash fiction stories (lol). Stuff that would strike people as unbelievable happen every day in Nigeria. You don't have to look far to see, hear or experience drama. So hopefully, when I need inspiration, I can dig into my Nigerian experience and come up with something. I'm hoping to publish another collection of flash fiction stories before the end of the year. Fingers crossed.

In the meantime, I've been busy working on Accomplish Press. We've completely redesigned the website and updated our publishing focus and services for writers. If you're interested in taking your ideas from inside your head to books reaching your audience, then check us out @ Accomplish Press. We can help make your publishing dreams come true. We're also co-hosting an event for writers in London in November, and I'll be sharing more details about that soon.

If you're still reading this blog post, thanks for staying with me. I appreciate it and I hope you'll leave a comment. Or two. Or come back again. Cheers and have a great weekend!

On Life: Domestic Staff

I've been thinking about the way the vast majority of middle and upper class Nigerians treat their domestic staff - people like housemaids, gatemen,/security men, drivers, gardeners and so on. The other day, I was discussing the issue with some friends and we all agreed that, in general, they were treated in an appalling way.

From what I've observed, they are treated like second-class citizens in the homes where they work. They often don't share the same living quarters with the rest of the family. Or they are given the worst spaces possible. They use a different set of utensils to eat, for some reason. They are given cast-offs of the children's clothes to wear.

Then they are spoken to in awful ways. Sometimes I would visit a friend and she would be speaking with me nicely and politely, and then turn around to use a harsh and intimidating tone on her housemaid, and call her abusive names. I don't understand it. Sure you can use a firm tone when you are giving instructions to an employee but is there a need for the constant stream of abuse? Would any of us take that kind of attitude from our managers at the office?

Which brings me to my next point. Domestic staff have little or no employment rights. They don't have regular working hours, due to the nature of their work. They also don't have any benefits. They don't have holidays, they don't get days off, they don't have anything called a social life. They don't get sick days off or sick pay. Sometimes they don't go to school and can't learn any skill while they are working for their masters. I'm sure none of us professional ladies would ever imagine working for a company that didn't give us any time off or holidays, or allow us any social life. We would protest, but we give the same treatment to our own employees. I have even heard women complaining bitterly when it's Christmas time, and their maid wants to take a couple of weeks off to go and visit her family. It's almost like, she's not human and she doesn't need time off to go and see her family. Never mind that madam has time off from her own job so that she can enjoy her Christmas holiday.

Furthermore, the physical violence towards them is just horrible. Women who won't raise a hand to strike their own children seem to see no qualms in beating their maids to a pulp at the slightest offence. For some reason, the maid always deserves a beating whenever she makes a mistakes, whereas their children do worse things, but they don't get beaten. Why? What makes it different? Would any of us tolerate physical abuse at work? Why do we think it is okay to hit our domestic staff?

The funny thing is that these mistreatments are not limited to any type of woman. I have witnessed women from all spheres of life mistreating their domestic staff. Even women who should know better, like pastor's wives, lawyers or human right's activists. We can speak out against so many injustices in the world, but for some reason, we turn a blind eye to the ones we do right under our nose.

We can argue that we can't trust them, they are rogues, thieves and what not. But for the amount of money they are paid, and the useful service they provide to us, most of our domestic staff don't get treated well. So of course, they don't have much of an incentive to behave properly. Domestic staff do a very difficult job around the house. They allow many professional women the ability to have a career and a social life. Yet we don't appreciate what they do and the assistance they provide.

Has anyone tried to put themselves in their maid's shoes? Think about it for a moment. You are a young girl who should be in school. But you're taken away from your family and sent to the city to work for a strange family. You could be scared, lonely and homesick, but you have to put all those emotions aside and get on with it. You have to endure working from sunrise to sunset every single day of the week. You must be at the beck and call of your employer at all times. If you are really lucky you will end up working for a nice family that will treat you well. But the majority are treated harshly by everyone in the family - from the madam, to the oga, to the children. And you dare not complain. In fact, who will you complain to? Who will believe you, if you say your madam is mistreating you, or your oga is making sexual advances towards you? The best you can do is to run away. But where does that leave you? Out of a job, broke and lost in a big city. Or worse.

I hope we can all start making some small changes to the way we treat our maids. It may just be a small change we make everyday, but it would make a whole world of difference to someone. I would like to imagine a world where housemaids can point to the time they spent with their madams and say that those years were one of the best times of their lives.

Food for thought.