ELECTIONS IN NIGERIA - by Vivian Ikhomiya

Growing up in the slums of Ajegunle, Lagos, Nigeria, was a harsh reality where chaos and crime were the order of the day. Cults clashed, women argued, boys stole, and rugged stuff happened often. The government hardly remembered us, except during election times, which we always anticipated with mixed feelings. My very close friend, Kayode, or Kay as I normally call him, was a hustler. Our friendship started on a very weird note when I caught him pickpocketing a lady's bag. He used hand gestures to plead with me and offered to share the money equally. It was bad, but I agreed, and it was like the daily norm – everyone had to be vigilant. Kay was the first child of four, and his parents earned little or nothing from their little work, so he tried his best to care for his family. The little money Kay sometimes got was from politicians during election periods, where some politicians would pay some guys a few thousand naira to destroy ballot papers and cause chaos in some polling units. I often warned Kay against it, but he would turn a deaf ear to my advice, saying it was his only option and it wasn't every day it happened. It took a wild turn when a familiar politician, Comrade Adeleke Isaiah Abiodun, who was always contesting for the senatorial election and never won, arrived this time to campaign for the gubernatorial election for Lagos state. People celebrated and cheered as promises that were never fulfilled were made. After that campaign, Kay started behaving unusually. He'd leave the house early and come back late, hardly speaking to me during the day and giving me little or no information about his whereabouts. I decided to confront him one day, and he told me how one of Comrade Adeleke's men had called the strong guys together for the upcoming elections, training them on how to use guns and giving them spiritual protection so they could be ready for the election. I was dumbfounded – it was more than just destroying ballot boxes; now it involved life and death. I pleaded with him not to engage in such activities, as it would put his life at risk. He told me how they were promised four hundred thousand naira each, a sum of money we'd never had the chance to see or touch, and they'd already been given an advance of two hundred thousand. If Comrade Adeleke won, the remaining amount would be completed. I still begged him, but he said in Yoruba, "Obirin ni è, kò le ye è," a dialect we normally speak in Lagos, meaning I'm a girl and wouldn't understand. It didn't take too long for me to understand the gravity of the situation when their ambush failed and the soldiers were set for anyone who tried to disrupt the election. Some of their men were killed, and Kay was caught and arrested, putting his family in distress. His mother had cried until they were no tears left in her eyes. Comrade Adeleke Isaiah Abiodun won the election, enjoying his office while my friend, Kayode, who almost lost his life for his cause, rotted in jail. As youths, we need to stay away from all kinds of violence, especially as the elections are fast approaching. I hope this story teaches us a lesson or two about the dangers of getting caught up in violent politics.

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