Buhari's first year: Five ways Nigeria has changed

1. Are we safer?

Those of us who travel reg­ularly in Nigeria’s north-east had become used to what should be a 15-minute journey turning into an hour-long ordeal.

You had to stop dozens of times at roadblocks and dis­embark, while heavily armed soldiers inspected your vehicle for traces of the Islamist mili­tant group, Boko Haram.

Today, the number of check­points has fallen significantly - even on the road to Chibok - thanks to enhanced confidence in the security of the entire re­gion.

The army has regained swathes of territory that the Is­lamist militants had occupied as part of their so-called cali­phate.

Boko Haram has been con­siderably weakened, resigned to attacking soft targets using sui­cide bombers.

Thousands of women and girls kidnapped by the group have also been rescued, in­cluding one of the 219 school­girls from Chibok abducted in April 2014.

But while there is progress in the north-east, trouble in the Niger Delta, the country’s oil-producing region, is resurfac­ing.

Recent attacks on oil facili­ties have caused a drop in pro­duction and helped push up the global price of crude oil.

 

2. Where’s my money?

In the months preceding last year’s elections, the pop­ular chant on the streets was “Sai Buhari, Sai Buhari”, which means “Only Buhari” in Hausa - the most widely-spoken lan­guage in the north where the president originates.

“Sai Buhari” became an al­most magical greeting, capa­ble of earning you a discount from the sweaty chap pushing a wheelbarrow of tiger nuts or sugar cane.

It could even elicit a smile fol­lowed by permission to move along, from the miscellaneous airport officials who usually en­sure that your passage through Nigerian customs and immi­gration is fraught with agonis­ing delays.

A year later, the chant has changed to “Buhariya”, which roughly translates to “Buhari’s way” or “Buhari’s time”.

The slogan is now used to ex­plain every unpleasant evidence of Nigeria’s troubled economy and a time of austerity.

“A basket of tomatoes has gone up from 3,000 naira ($15) to 18,000 naira?”

It’s “Buhariya!”

“How come the naira is plummeting against the dol­lar on the black market?”

It’s “Buhariya!”

 

3. Where’s our money?

This time last year, friendship with Sambo Dasuki, the former national security adviser, could have altered your economic cir­cumstances forever.

He would have been besieged with invitation cards to be the chief guest at various events.

When he entered a room, al­most everyone would stand in respect.

Today, he sits in an Abuja jail, awaiting trial for the alleged mismanagement of billions of dollars meant for the war against Boko Haram - charges he denies.

Several other big men, previ­ous untouchables, such as for­mer service chiefs, top politi­cians and government officials, are also sitting in jail awaiting corruption trials, or out on bail.

And, if you’re looking for a second-hand luxury car to buy, now may be the time.

A number of people former­ly linked to the government are desperate for cash and selling off their fleets.

It would seem as though the leaking taps that gushed dol­lars to be spent carelessly have stopped flowing since President Buhari came to power.

 

4. Where are the women?

Ensuring women’s participa­tion at all levels in political, eco­nomic and public life is one of the targets of the UN’s sustain­able development goals (SDGs).

But only six out of Mr Buha­ri’s cabinet of 37 are women, a meagre 16% and way down on the previous administration’s 31%.

The president’s wife, Ai­sha, is also the most silent first lady Nigeria has had in dec­ades, barely seen or heard - ex­cept maybe when she is visiting unkempt children in a refugee camp or donating food items to victims of Boko Haram. She ap­pears as the stereotypical good African wife.

Her invisibility is suspicious when you consider that Presi­dent Buhari, during his election campaign, said he would abol­ish the office of the first lady - but then retracted the sug­gestion when challenged by feminist voters.

 

5. What are we wearing?

In Abuja the government in power influences the style of dress throughout the admin­istration.

Staff of the government, friends of the government and aspiring friends of the govern­ment all aim to dress like the person at the top.

Northerners ruled Nigeria for most of the country’s first three decades after independ­ence from the UK in 1960.

Over time, their tradition­al outfits, babarigas (flowing gowns) and kaftans, became firmly entrenched - even when a non-northerner was elected in 1999.

Olusegun Obasanjo is an eth­nic Yoruba from the south but throughout his eight-year pres­idential tenure, he mostly wore babarigas.

Cartoons depicting a typical Nigerian “big man” will usually feature him dressed in the flow­ing robes, his potbelly distort­ing the layers of cloth.

All this changed in 2011, with the election of Goodluck Jon­athan.

He was Nigeria’s first presi­dent from one of the country’s smaller ethnic groups, and also the first from the oil-producing Niger Delta, in the south.

Mr Jonathan preferred the long shirt and trouser outfit that is traditional among his Ijaw community.

Suddenly, the babariga was nowhere to be seen.

Government offices and ho­tel lobbies began to feature an inordinate number of men dressed in the presidential style of the time.

Some even went as far as the fedora hats and walking sticks that go with the outfit.

Eventually, the style gained its own special nickname - “re­source control” - in reference to the fact that most people who wore it seemed to be the ones controlling Nigeria’s oil re­sources.

Indeed, it seemed to be the preferred outfit of many of Ni­geria’s newest millionaires.

Not any more. Within a year of Mr Buhari, “resource con­trol” outfits have almost com­pletely vanished from view. The babariga is back.

Beyond these five areas, there are many more profound changes that Nigerians are ex­pecting from our government, but those will take time.

The structure of corruption and mismanagement which previous governments left be­hind must first be dismantled before a new foundation of pro­gress can be laid.

And President Buhari is no modern-day Hercules.

Cleaning Nigeria’s equiva­lent of the fantastically filthy Augean stables of Greek myth is certainly not a one-year job.