I BECAME DEBBIE - by Khadijah Mohammed

I learned the word _classism_ in Abuja, but I first felt it in Lagos, in a primary school where children already knew how to measure worth by houses and surnames. Her name was Debbie, the most popular girl in my primary school. She was pretty, polite, and wealthy. Everyone wanted to be friends with her, and she wanted to be friends with me — the poor, short, skinny girl. Her friends would always wonder why she was friends with me. I was attacked, bullied, all because I wanted to belong in a world that wasn’t my world. That is the story of most Nigerians living in Abuja. Though my first experience was in Lagos, it is nothing compared to what I have experienced and witnessed in Abuja. You can say in places like Lagos, classism is old, more organic, tied to commerce. But Abuja was a city built for the elites, and those who weren’t were allowed to see it and never to experience it. Abuja is divided into two, and they are deeply intertwined. One part of Abuja is filled with busy people — the lower working class citizens — all struggling out of Kubwa, Mararaba, Gwagwalada, Lugbe at the same time to go to work. And we have the upper-class citizens, in their Benz, their Bolt rides, their Toyotas, cruising out of Maitama, Asokoro, Apo and heading to work. These two sets of people are heading to the same place, performing different roles, yes, but heading to the same place. One set of people look at the other with admiration, wishing to be them, acting like them to fit in. And most of the time, they blend in well. They interact like equals. But the moment they reveal where they live, the connection changes. The upper class, once in a while, reminds them who they are and where they are from. This behavior is seen everywhere — in our schools, in our offices, and even in our families. Even in language, they will remind you they are not equal. Abuja is a town for everyone, but experiences are different, and this town makes you remember it. For instance, a person can live in Lagos and never set foot in Victoria Island. However, in Abuja, you will go through Asokoro, Maitama at one point and envy those who live there. For a long time, I wondered why it existed until one day, I realized I became the popular girl — the one everyone wanted to hang out with because of where I lived and who my friends were. I became Debbie. Classism is not just about being an elite. It’s about power, connections, and influence. And Abuja has it all. I believe everywhere in Nigeria suffer classism, but Abuja will always have it worse.

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