of the world can respond to the same story
if it says something to them about their own history and their own experience. 4
A Lucky Generation
It has often been said that my generation was a very lucky one. And I agree. My luck
was actually quite extraordinary. And it began quite early. The pace of change in
Nigeria from the 1940s was incredible. I am not just talking about the rate of development,
with villages transforming into towns, or the coming of modern comforts, such as electricity
or running water or modes of transportation, but more of a sense that we were standing
figuratively and literally at the dawn of a new era.
My generation was summoned, as it were, to bear witness to two remarkable transitions—the
first the aforementioned impressive economic, social, and political transformation
of Nigeria into a midrange country, at least by third world standards. But, more profoundly,
barely two decades later we were thrust into the throes of perhaps Nigeria’s greatest
twentieth-century moment—our elevation from a colonized country to an independent
nation.
The March to Independence
The general feeling in the air as independence approached was extraordinary, like
the building anticipation of the relief of torrential rains after a season of scorching
hot Harmattan winds and bush fires. We were all looking forward to feeling the joy
that India—the great jewel of the British Empire—must have felt in 1948, the joy that
Ghana must have felt years later, in 1957.
We had no doubt where we were going. We were going to inherit freedom—that was all
that mattered. The possibilities for us were endless, at least so it seemed at the
time. Nigeria was enveloped by a certain assurance of an unbridled destiny, of an
overwhelming excitement about life’s promise, unburdened by any knowledge of providence’s
intended destination.
Ghana was a particularly relevant example for us subjects in the remaining colonies
and dominions of the British Empire. There was a growing confidence, not just a feeling,
that we would do just as well parting ways with Her Majesty’s empire. If Ghana seemed
more effective, as some of our people like to say, perhaps it was because she was
smaller in size and neat, as if it was tied together more delicately by well-groomed,
expert hands.
So we had in 1957 an extraordinary event. I remember it vividly. It was not a Nigerian
event. Ghana is three hundred or more miles away from us, but we saw her success as
ours as well. I remember celebrating with Ghanaian and Nigerian friends in Lagos all
night on the eve of Ghana’s independence from Britain, ecstatic for our fellow Africans,
only to wake up the next morning to find that we were still in Nigeria. Ghana had
made it, leaving us all behind. But our day came, finally, three years after hers.
Now let it be said: There was a subtle competition between the two countries. There
was a sense in which one could say that Ghana and Nigeria resented each other and
competed for supremacy in every sphere—politics, academia, sports, you name it. It
is possible that Nigerians were less accurate in thinking of our “rival neighbor”
as being perhaps “too small to matter.” Of course Ghanaians came right back by saying
that “Nigeria is bigger than Ghana in the way in which threepence was bigger than
sixpence.” If one were to look at the various denominations of coins in those days,
one would discover that three-pence was very huge, much larger than sixpence, and
the quality of metal used in making the smaller denomination was clearly of inferior
value and had less purchasing power in the marketplace, where it mattered most. So
the relationship between Ghana and Nigeria has always been very important. Ghanaian
nationalists were heavily influenced by their Nigerian counterparts.
—
The father of African independence was Nnamdi Azikiwe. There is no question at all