“Anyone who achieves their life’s dream while living in Nigeria should be considered a hero of some sort. Why? Because simply living and surviving in Nigeria is itself a major achievement, one deserving of an award in its own right.”
I will share a few examples from my life during my years in Nigeria as an academic.
Most often, I worked on my laptop. A typical scenario occurred one morning when I woke up to send an emergency email.
PROSTRATE 101 – Early prevention and Lifestyle care
As soon as I opened my laptop to type, ‘NEPA’ cut the electricity. I rushed outside to start my generator. I pulled the starter handle, but it didn’t start. I pulled it a second time, still nothing. A third, fourth, fifth, and sixth time, and it refused to start.
Thinking the problem might be fuel; I opened the tank and saw that it was almost full. I removed the plug, cleaned it, and blew it to remove any accumulated debris before inserting it back. After checking everything else, I pulled the starter handle again. This time it simply died, refusing to even budge. At that point, I gave up.
I checked the time. It was about 9 a.m. I couldn’t send the email because my laptop was dead and there was no electricity. I couldn’t do anything else unless I fixed the generator. I lifted the generator into my car and drove to the repairer’s shop.
On my way, around First Market, Ifite, I saw a crowd gathered around heavy traffic. A large lorry had broken down in the middle of the road, blocking all vehicular movement. Everyone was yelling at the driver, who looked helpless. Okada riders were blaring their horns, and Keke drivers were shouting at the top of their voices. But the lorry remained stuck—and so was everyone else. I was stuck too.
I checked the time again. It was 11 a.m. My day was quickly slipping away. Nothing accomplished. Email not sent, generator not repaired, time ticking away. Stuck at Ifite.
After one grueling hour of commotion, a big truck finally arrived and pulled the lorry off the major road. Everyone rushed onto the narrow tarmac at once. Chaos erupted as drivers tried to squeeze through the only available path.
As I maneuvered through like James Bond, an Okada rammed into my car. I was furious. I jumped out, and the Okada rider did the same.
“Oga, wetin you dey drive?” he yelled, charging toward me.
“My friend, are you mad?” I shouted back. PROSTRATE 101 – Early prevention and Lifestyle care
I inspected my car. The damage was minimal. I ignored the Okada rider, who was now primed for a fight. I avoided the confrontation and drove off.
When I arrived at the generator repairer’s shop, he wasn’t there. I called his number, and he said he had gone to Onitsha to buy parts. I didn’t know what to do next. Wait for him or drive to another repairer. The thought of driving again felt overwhelming. I imagined battling through the relentless Okada and Keke drivers once more. Being on the road was like a free for all fight: no referee, no rules. Just raw survival instincts. Hitting the road again would be a complete mess. PROSTRATE 101 – Early prevention and Lifestyle care
I called the repairer again to confirm when he would return. He said he would be back in about three hours. I checked the time. It was 1 p.m. I decided to wait. Then my phone rang. It was Okorongwa, my neighbor.
“Okey, please rush down to your house now. I just saw people entering your brother’s land.”
“Okay, what’s happening? Have those criminals come back again?” I asked.
“Yes, they’ve come to sell your brother’s land again,” he said.
I immediately called the generator repairer and told him I had left the generator in his shop and had an emergency to attend to, so I would return later.
I drove off again and entered the dreaded Ifite Road. As soon as I hit the road, moving with calculated speed, I couldn’t even go five poles before running into a massive traffic jam. The police checkpoint that usually operates along Ifite Road had just come out and mounted a roadblock. They were stopping almost every vehicle to check papers. I knew this routine all too well.
I waited for almost an hour before it was finally my turn. They stopped me. One of the officers peered into my car.
“Oga, how are you today?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I answered with a straight face.
“Can I see your papers?” he said.
I reached into the pigeonhole, brought out my papers, and handed them to him. He didn’t look at the papers; instead, he stared at me—longer than necessary. He spent more time studying my face than examining the documents.
I kept a straight face and remained silent.
“May I know you?” he asked, still not looking at the papers.
“My name is Professor Okechukwu Nwafor, a professor at Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka,” I answered, maintaining my straight face.
“So na because you be professor dey make you look like dat? Why you no go appreciate your fellow man?” he asked, still holding my papers.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” I replied.
“Oga professor, you dey pretend say you no sabi wetin I dey talk now. Oya, pack well,” he said, gesticulating toward the side of the road for me to pull over.
I drove off the tarmac, and once he saw that I had parked, he walked away with my car documents.
I watched as he approached one of his superiors. He spent some time speaking with him. The superior murmured a few words, visibly angry, before the officer returned with my papers.
I overheard the superior saying, “I don tell you many times make you no dey stop all those bookery people. One day you go bring trouble for yourself.”
He returned with my papers and handed them back to me. “Oga, you can go,” he said.
I refused to go.
“But why did you delay me for all that time?” I asked him. He seemed surprised that I wasn’t excited about the freedom I had just been given.
“Oga professor, I don ask you to go now, kilode! Abeg go!” he shouted at me.
I entered back onto the tarmac and drove off while he stood there watching me, disappointed by my un-Nigerian posture.
Yes, in Nigeria, when the police finally let you go, it usually calls for a celebratory mood. And I had clearly betrayed that mood by challenging the policeman about why he delayed me.
I got home and went straight to my brother’s land, but I didn’t see anyone there. I then went to Okorongwa’s house and knocked on the gate. He came out and told me that the land thieves had already left.
It had been a hectic day. Now, it was time to go and bring my children back from school. I knew I had to drive through Ifite Road once again. It wouldn’t take long because their school is very close to where I live.
They attended Unizik High School and Primary School along Ifite Road, but I wouldn’t have to drive too far. I would get to their school before any okada or keke riders tried to engage me in a fight.
I arrived at their school. It was almost 4 p.m. My phone rang. It was the generator repairer; he said he was back.
“Oga, your carburetor is bad. We need to buy a new one,” he said.
“How much?” I asked.
“It’s 5,000 naira. With the other things I need to service it, everything will be 10,000. With my service fee, it will be 15,000,” he said.
“Okay, do it. When I come, I will pay you,” I told him.
I picked up my children and returned home.
It was only when I got home that I realized the whole day had gone by without me accomplishing anything. The two page document I wanted to type and email wasn’t done.
“Up NEPAAA!” kids around the neighborhood shouted. Electricity had just come back for the first time since morning.
Without delay, I plugged in my laptop.
It was still taking some time to boot and open.
As soon as the laptop finally opened—and before I had typed a single word—NEPA cut the electricity again.
I saw the sad expression on my youngest son’s face. He had just switched on the TV to watch cartoons, but now he was frustrated by NEPA.
“Daddy, please put on the generator,” he said.
“Unfortunately, the generator is with the repairer,” I told him. His sadness deepened.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to bring the generator now,” I assured him.
I drove off to get the generator. Ifite Road was even more chaotic. Heavy traffic always builds up in the evening; that was rush hour. Lecturers living in Amansea were heading home after the day’s lectures. Students living in Amansea were returning to their hostels. Government workers from the area were also going back home. The chaos was unbearably sad. But I had no choice. We needed electricity that night; otherwise, mosquitoes would have a field day on our bodies.
By the time I got to the repairer’s shop, it was already 6 p.m. The day was far spent, yet I had accomplished nothing.
He started the generator to show that it was running properly. Then he connected it to his power supply, switched on a bulb, and I confirmed that everything was working.
He helped me lift the generator into my car, and I drove off.
By the time I navigated Ifite Road and finally returned home, it was already nightfall.
The sound of nocturnal insects and birds greeted me. It was like a reminder of a wasted day.
I immediately put on the generator and switched from NEPA to my own power. Ah, electricity at last! Fans would make our night’s sleep enjoyable. The fans also doubled as our frontline soldiers that fought off mosquitoes as soon as they came to suck our blood.
Mosquitoes are number one blood sucking demons in Nigeria. In fact, you literally fight with humans and insects.
Daytime is for battling humans; nighttime is for battling mosquitoes. Nigeria is truly an action film with unpaid human and insect characters.
I had just gone into the room to change my clothes and switch on my laptop when I heard a loud knock on our gate. I checked the time. It was already 8 p.m.
“Who is that?” I shouted from the window.
“Oga, it’s us o!”
“Who are ‘us’ o?” I asked.
“Students living beside your house,” a female voice replied.
I came out and went to the gate.
“Please, what do you want?” I asked.
“Sir, we came to beg you to let us fetch some water. Our sumo has been spoiled for two days now and we don’t have any water,” she said.
I opened the gate and allowed them to fetch water. They were five students—three women and two men.
This story will never end, but I’ll pause it here before it turns into a full-length Nollywood series. Another episode will surely come—Nigeria always supplies new material. For now, I hope you’ve tasted a bit of what it means to live in my corner of Nigeria and attempt ordinary tasks. I’ll be patiently waiting for my bravery award for surviving and achieving anything at all. Thank you!
Okechukwu Nwafor, 02/01/2026
