This was my fairytale, even though I'm a man I was Cinderella, the talent show I hoped would change to my night at the ball and these judges would be my fairy godmother. Now if I could find my pumpkin I'd be on my way.
The birds and rats that visited my apartment would never sing for me and help alleviate my suffering, no they would usually flying and eat my food without so much of a— how do you do?
It was believed that my building was owned by the sultan of Sokoto, Sir Ahmadu Bello who died by a bomb in this very building. So I lived in a palace in a foreign land that was still somehow my one Nigeria but by the next day, my household would be evicted.
Evening came that day at a blink and I walked the for hours to the venue. At the entrance, I noticed there was a different bouncer at the venue.
He was a tall man, well built with lean muscle. He looked so professional, a more befitting guard for this event when compared to the former bouncer who was short chubby and very playful.
As tried I to walk past him, he put his hand on my chest and said “where you dey go?” which was pidgin for “where are you going to?”
I told him I was part of the singing contest. He asked what my name was. I told him Nnamdi. He sucked his teeth and said I should get out before he breaks my leg. I didn't understand what was going on until he said “Nyamiri” that I understood what was going on. He did not want to let me in because I was Igbo. Then I looked at his face and saw the tribal marks that formed whiskers at the corners of his mouth.
This was 1996, one would think that twenty years was enough to heal tribal wounds but they were still as evident as the situation we found ourselves. I couldn't leave the venue, it was my hope for food, security, power supply, shelter and so much more all at once being taken away from me openly by tribalistic intolerance.
Then trotting in was Adé— smiling and greeting as he approached everyone. The bouncer formed a salute as he got close and shouted “ah oga!” which was a more enthusiastic version of saying “Hi sir!” Adé looked to the side and saw many contestants sitting at corner wondering their next move in life.
Then that moment that looks like when your mother punishes you but your grandmother steps in happened. All of us were Igbos and we're let in.
After all that happened, I was understandably nervous. It was supposed to bad day for all the Igbos that made it to the final. But Adé saves the day for all of us.
Adé wasn't Igbo, he was Yoruba— a privileged tribe and was a judge— in a privileged position. Oppression can never end unless someone who is privileged listens to the voice of the oppressed and does something.
