It has recently been reported that words like “japa,” “agbero,” “eba,” “419,” and “abi,” among others, have now been included in the English lexicon, precisely in the Oxford English Dictionary.  This, in a way, offers some comic relief, and this comic relief makes me recall a conversation.

On one occasion, two friends, an Italian and a Nigerian were poking fun at each other about the ways and tones they use while speaking in the English language.  Narrating a biography of the English language in order to ridicule the Nigerian, the Italian said: “The English language was born in England, took ill in America, and died in Nigeria.”

Now, it is a well-known fact that a typical Nigerian is never short of words.  Mocked or insulted on the streets, he does not go home to learn how to respond.  And the response can be as amusing if not more amusing than the mockery.  So, the Nigerian in this story retorted: “The English language died in Nigeria and was buried in Italy.”

When one is used to speaking a certain language as first language, it is not unusual to speak a second language with the tonality of the first.   That is why, for Ibadan supporters of Shooting Stars, “Up Shooting” has become “Up Sooting”, in a show of influence of the Ibadan Yoruba accent on the English language. 

In times past, on Nigerian television, Chika Okpala, Chief Zebrudaya of the sitcom Masquerade entertained Nigerians by speaking the English language in a thick Igbo accent.  Usman Baba Pategi was hilarious in his typically Northern Nigerian accent in the sitcom Samanja.  Funso Adeolu of Village Headmaster, completing the WaZoBia triangle of comedy, did the same with his Yoruba accent as Chief Eleyinmi, the “second in command” to the Oloja of Oja Village.  Many other examples could be cited.

But there is another side to the Nigerian use or misuse of the English language that is not so amusing because of its mischievous political undertone. It is exemplified in the short biodata of a Nigerian author on the back cover page of his book.  In it, the author described himself as “born in X City, native of Y City”.  In proper use of the English language, the two statements cannot be true at the same time.

The word “native”, by etymological derivation, comes from the Latin “natus”, which in the English language is translated as “birth”.  From it comes the word “nativity”.  In proper use of English, one is native of his or her place of birth.  But alas! In Nigerian misuse of the English language, you are not native of your place of birth.

Underlying this misuse of words is an unseemly political option by which our Nigerian identity is habitually abbreviated.  Even if he has lived all his life in his place of birth, the Nigerian becomes less Nigerian in his place of birth once his place of ancestral origin is different from his place of birth.  The Nigerian is considered less Nigerian, even less human, once he steps out of his local government of origin.  It is even worse for the Nigerian if he has never lived where his ancestors come from. Such a Nigerian is seen and treated as a foreigner “at home or abroad”, a non-native in his or her place of birth, and a non-native in his or her ancestral home.  There are in fact cleavages within some of our local government areas such that, one step out of one’s section of his or her local government area would result in this unfortunate abbreviation of citizenship, identity and humanity.

Sadly, all this played out during the 2023 elections where some Nigerians were forcefully disenfranchised because they were seen and considered to be foreigners where they wanted to vote, where they were considered to be neither sons nor daughters of the soil.  And that did not happen in just one part of Nigeria.  By way of a convoluted logic, if you vote for a candidate from your ethnic community, you are automatically branded a tribalist by members of another ethnic community who themselves voted for a candidate from their own ethnic community.  If, on the other hand, you vote for a candidate who is not from your ethnic community, you are branded a bastard or a saboteur by members of your own ethnic community.

While the Nigerian is today afflicted with an identity crisis by this deliberate abbreviation of his or her citizenship, there is another symptom of the crisis that is often ignored.  It is a symptom that is perceived when a Nigerian falls in love outside his or her ancestral origin or when his or her parents are not of the same ethnic community.  Thus, if your parents are not of the same ethnic community, you are a non-indigene on either side of your parentage. It may affect your chances of being elected into public office. Similarly, as we are now learning, if you want to run for public office in your state of origin, and your spouse or one of your parents is of another ethnic community, that would provide a potent ammunition to be used against you in the season of uncivility that every electioneering campaign season is in Nigeria.

The problem being highlighted here is not just inter-ethnic.  It is also intra-ethnic.  It rears its head within ethnic communities.  In all but one of the thirty-six states in Nigeria, there is ethnic dichotomy, sometimes a trichotomy.  And even in the only state where there is neither ethnic dichotomy nor ethnic trichotomy, it cannot be said that there is harmony.  It goes to show our obstinate refusal to build a nation of nations, a multi-ethnic nation whose diversity will be seen and used as invaluable instrument and asset for development.

Nigeria needs a constitution that provides a robust defence of fundamental human and civil rights, a constitution that makes it very costly to violate these rights. Until such a constitution is in place, political actors will continue to manipulate our ethnic, regional and religious diversity to divide and rule Nigerians.

A nation is an association of peoples.  A free association for that matter.  It would therefore seem we have some options before us.  Shall we, in our diversity, opt to live and flourish together in peace?  Shall we, because of our inability or political unwillingness to manage our diversity, divide in peace or disperse violently?

What Nigerian merchants of inter-ethnic hate speech in cyberspace seem to fail to grasp is that, even if we disperse, we shall remain neighbours, and neighbours will need to live in peace. Current incivility of hateful rhetoric bears the potential of militating against a future of peaceful and prosperous geographical neighborhood even if Nigeria were to divide.  We shall then create a problem for generations yet unborn.

If, however, the first option is to be taken, it would mean Nigeria is in urgent need of transmutation from a state held together at gun point to a veritable nation. Not only do we need a constitution that enables us to manage our diversity, we also need leaders of multiple competence—administrative, technical and ethical—to operate such a constitution.  We need leaders who will unite and not divide.

A good constitution is a roadmap to and in nationhood.  We have a long journey to and in nationhood.  But we have not even began the journey. That largely explains why Nigeria is not working for all but only for a few within and around corridors of power.