WHEN THE NAIRA FELL
The Fall of the Naira. It was all people would talk about every year: the blogs, the newspapers, and my father and his friends. They spoke as if the Naira were a star football player who had fallen during a match and suffered a serious injury that would prevent them from ever playing again.
Though this trajectory of the Naira’s doom was set years before I was born, I understood its fall on this day.
My father was sitting in the living room drinking his malt, and his friends, all “Uncle this”, “Daddy that” and “Brother this” to me, were with him drinking their beer. They began their occasional gathering as usual, with the pleasantries, catching up, teasing, and gossip, and then the real discussions I had come to love began.
Today, the closure of the borders by the government sparked the conversation. Uncle Chris worked at customs and he was narrating how women cry every day at the borders as their wares were pilfered and seized by him and his colleagues.
“Bureau de Change will not let us rest. Since they entered, we are just going from frying pan to fire, to oven, to hot water.” My father said, “Haba! How can a whole giant of Africa live this way?”
“Giant for mouth.” Daddy Freedom sneered as he retorted. He was always a bank of conspiracies. “They just keep telling us these lies to make us comfortable while they use us as the quarry for their economies. Giant ko, giant ni. Leave that matter abeg.”
“But to be fair, we really were the Giant of Africa at one point. You can’t deny that. Even until Yar’Adua we still tried.” Uncle Solo said.
“WERE! Thank God you said ‘were’. You never hear? I get before no be property.” They laughed at Daddy Freedom’s words. he continued, “Na why dem kill Yar’Adua sha. That Giant of Africa was becoming a reality so they had to cripple us. They are not ready to let go yet. Our potential scares them so they attack our stability.”
In my earlier years, I used to wonder who this ‘they’ was.
“But my brother, I think it’s time we leave that blame game and start doing something to change it. How we even relax like this dey look till it got so bad? What do we want to leave behind for our children like this? Uncle Chris said as he sank back into his flesh-and-fat-filled pillow of a body after reaching to take a piece of Nkwobi.
“And what do you want to do? Some fights you leave for God o honestly. As long as you’re living right and doing your best, just leave the rest for God. Nothing pass am.”
“Hmm! Pastor don come again. See, if God was interested in fighting all our battles, he would not give us hands, legs and brains that were able to create technology. Dey wait for God. I’ve said it before. Anytime we are ready, the fight will reach Aso Rock and we will collect what we deserve.” Brother Ike was fuming now.
“You did not even start with peaceful protest before you entered fight.” Uncle Solo said and they all laughed. Some years later, peaceful protesters would be killed in Lagos and they would gather here after Brother Ike’s funeral to mourn him in their own way. And I would wonder if they thought back to this day when they had laughed at him.
“You people know I retired two months ago ba?” Daddy Ridwan asked and they all nodded. “See me o, I decided to buy land with my gratuity. I know say the Naira no kukuma get head again but I thought at least I could get one or two plots. I have worked all my life now. I need to have something to show for it you know. We have to leave something behind for the children.” He paused to shake his head. “Well, una no go believe wetin happen o.”
Their eyes twinkled with amusement because they could guess and believe it. “My brothers, I no even see half plot buy ooo.” They laughed. My father didn’t this time. “I just vex, go convert to dollars and open dollar account. Can you imagine! The currency I worked for all my life is not enough to afford me a worthy retirement gift.”
“You should go and buy Bitcoin. That’s where the money is now. Don’t say I didn’t tell you.” Brother Ike who I believed to be the youngest of them spoke and their hisses followed his speech.
“When these Yahoo boys run with your money your eye will clear.” Daddy Freedom said and they all laughed. Again, my father didn’t. He did not say anything either. I knew though, that he had converted some naira to dollars some days ago and bought some bitcoins through Brother Ike.
I was watching and listening to their conversations from the dining room table, where I pretended to do schoolwork like I always did.
When I was younger, my ruse of schoolwork was due to the cash gifts I got as they left. Growing older, their cash gifts dwindled to only graduations and birthdays, but their conversations began to have relevance in my mind.
“The naira has fallen so terribly bad, and the greed in us won’t let it recover, maybe forever.” They went quiet at my father’s words. Each reflecting with nothing to say. Like they were finally understanding what this meant for their lives. Like they were mourning a beloved friend. My father gazed at me with a faraway look in his eyes, and I wondered if, in that moment, he regretted his self-imposed integrity, which had put him into early retirement because he would not ‘dirty his hands’ for his bosses at the Port.
And I imagined the Naira walking along a smooth pavement that suddenly sloped downhill. I saw it wobble and fall. I saw it roll and roll away, trying to grasp onto the smooth floor as it crashed down the never-ending hill. Taking with it, hopes, dreams and lives, all to be as lost as it was forever.
I would remember this day always in the years to come because it seemed to mark the beginning of the end. It replayed in a loop in the back of my mind the day I begged the doctors for my father’s life while my mother ran helter-skelter, trying to obtain cash in the heat of the new currency transition. The hospital was adamant about paying the bill strictly by cash.
I remembered it especially when my mother spent a good portion of our morning prayers hurling curses at the government.
I will remember it always because it began the part of my life I hate. The part that began WHEN THE NAIRA FELL.