A few weeks ago, I had to register my phone. This is a common practice introduced last year by the government as a means to combat the infamous 419 fraud scams and the rash of kidnappings in the Niger Delta. New SIM cards must be registered with fingerprints and a litany of the usual information: occupation, address, mother’s maiden name, etc.
However, there are a few questions that threw me off a little bit: “Mother’s maiden name? Yada yada...Okay...Hobby?”
“Excuse me, what?”
“Hobby?”
“Like what do I do for fun?” This is perhaps the strangest question I’ve ever been asked during a routine registration procedure. I mean, what does the government actually expect from this question? “I like to kidnap Chinese oil workers...Damn! WRONG ANSWER!” “Oh, I’m actually the wife of former president Sani Abacha, and I need some help getting some money out of the country. If you could just give me your bank details...oh man, TRICKED AGAIN!” In the end, I declined my usual answers (puppy bowling, internationally renowned gentleman gambler, ruling several small fiefdoms in Central Asia) to give a rather blasé response: “reading.” I think I was a little flustered.
However, if hobby took me by surprise, the next question left me without any answer at all: “Religion?” In the United States, this is a distinctly no-go area. Religion is considered private, personal, but in Nigeria, most job applicants list their religious affiliation on the first page of their CV/resume.
Religion dominates life in Nigeria. It seems like every building, hair salon, bush taxi and motorbike has some motto or religious slogan begging God or Allah’s protection, blessings, a fabulous haircut or finely pressed pants. Sundays are devoted to worship, and every shop, restaurant, and bar seems to close for the Sabbath. This mirrors the specific times that the Muslim traders close shop to pray. Billboard advertisements from the recent elections tout specific candidates with slogans such as “With God, Change is Possible.”
Many politicians in the States cloak themselves in religious conservatism, but I am glad we haven’t progressed far enough down this path to directly invoke God in our political campaigns. For one, it seems facile, without substance (though admittedly, few campaign slogans actually contain much substance), as if inserting God can replace any real dialogue on the economy, education, health care or foreign policy. More importantly, linking religion to a political candidate carries with it the danger that any opposition to the politician may be construed as an opposition to religion. In Nigeria, the confluence of religion, politics, and ethnicity has done wonders in tearing apart communities and inciting bloodshed.
So, back to that crowded street corner and the booth where I registered my phone: “Religion?”
I paused, “None.”
He looked at me, confused, as if one of us hadn’t heard the other correctly. “None?” he asked.
“None,” I repeated. I think it’s the first time in my life that I’ve ever denied a religion. I come from a very conservative community in the States. I could rattle off fifteen different Christian denominations that are present in my small town alone. However, I couldn’t have told you anything about Sufi Islam before living in Niger. (Sufi Islam? Ya, he used to be Cat Stevens, right? Little Boy Blue and the Man in the Moon, when you coming home Dad...That’s Harry Chapin, idiot. Sufi Islam sang Peace Train. Oh...my bad.)
Fact: Most Nigeriens have never heard of this sexy man.
Because of my past, I always defaulted into Christianity, but for personal reasons, I don’t think I can do that in Nigeria. Here, faith is a very public marker for an identity that is, to me, intensely private. In addition, my work here is to help bring together Christians and Muslims for a sustainable peace in Plateau State. Professionally, I don’t think I should claim one religion or another in my daily interactions.
I don’t write this as an attack upon any type of religion (or on Cat Stevens/Yusuf). Every person is spiritual in some way, and I am no different. One of my favorite writers, David Foster Wallace, spoke at Kenyon College’s commencement ceremony in 2005 and said, “here's something else that's weird but true: in the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship.” I’m compelled by Kierkegaard and some of the other existentialists to constantly reexamine what it is that I worship. And even if that means I have to explain myself constantly to those who ask, I’m assured that in that process of explaining myself, I’ll find the right answers.
No comments:
Post a Comment