By Chidi Iketuonye
Most densely populated urban cities in today’s world, including Lagos have been described as urban jungles. Sad as the analogy is, there are some lessons to be learnt. First is that every animal in a jungle must necessarily have recourse to an escape route when confronted by challenges which prove momentarily overwhelming. That is a survival strategy.
We all need some form of escape in order to cope with the mania and phobia of living in increasingly dangerous and dreary circumstances. For some it is blind faith; for others it is stoic religion; while for yet some others, it is zealous hedonism. There are however, some sensitive souls who find themselves unable to detach their charged emotions from the routine and harsh reality of their daily predicaments; who have not learnt to pray, laugh or drink it off. These are the sad cases, some of who eventually make the tragic headlines of suicide, often reported in the news.
There is suffering in the land, and like the clichéd saying, if you know, you know. But even if one is fortunate not to be at the forefront of the daily war with ordeals that many face in order to survive, there is still the news, telling us that indeed there is suffering in the land. Take for instance the perennial horror of the floods faced by certain communities in Lagos. Recall the stories of homes suddenly over flooded, property ruined, and tenants or homeowners displaced as it were in one fell swoop of rains.
The imagery of water is often associated with refreshing and life but it can also be used to depict an overwhelmingly sad state of affairs. The Psalmist wrote about the proud waters which overwhelm the soul, and indeed this is metaphor for the challenges faced by many in today’s Nigerian Urban setting. Imagine the case of a young man or woman who after having gathered all available resources to secure a rented space, returns one rainy evening or wakes up one early morning to find that all his belongings, right up to his bed has been overrun with dank smelly waters; the once coveted trophy apartment now a house of chilling horror.
The flood is also a metaphor for the vagaries of life in the city. The many heart breaking and untold stories of lives constantly assailed and sometimes crushed by the vicissitudes of an embattled existence. The stories are often surreal until one puts a face to them and until they are no longer a story about a certain man or woman but about a friend, neighbor or relation. Even beyond the dramatically tragic examples of suicide, the jumping off third mainland bridge, the drinking of deadly chemicals, the daredevil grabbing of high tension electric cables, and gory slipping under moving heavy duty trucks, the story is just a little less unpalatable when we take a look at our own circumstances. We may consider ourselves more fortunate than the victims that make the headline but are we much better off? Tragedy has been defined as suffering that goes on in a quiet untidy corner and that definition somewhat accurately describes our experiences in a dysfunctional society as we live in presently. The state of affairs arises chiefly because we have inverted the rationale of communal existence to put selfish considerations above every other imperative of collective welfare. Invariably the fall out is that everyone is a state unto himself, and must provide, educate, and generate every other infrastructural support for himself and immediate family at the expense of everyone else to the extent that it becomes necessary – a rather Hobesian state of coexistence.
Thus we plod on in our isolated jungles to find funds to pay for the prohibitive cost of child education, rent, power, transportation and other services taken for granted in more organized societies. What’s more, the perennial cycle of these constant demands on us often drives us into panic mode, as each weekend, each new school term, each new tenancy year approaches. Our mood is akin to that of frightened and cornered animals, and we often run around in desperation seeking every possible way to make ends meet. So we are usually under pressure, but the thing is that each of these cyclical and seasonal obligations comes with a certain emotional charge, a certain appearance of urgency that multiplies the pressure geometrically, and that at the same time leaves us in a state of mental paralysis as to available options.
In our countdown to our individually perceived day of doom, whether it is an appointment with a creditor, Landlord or school authority, we loose count of the years we made it through divine providence. We easily forget that somehow eventually everything works out and heads seldom roll for that to happen. There is a popular inspirational verse in scriptures where hope is linked to experience, showing that having passed through certain things; we retain the memory that there was a way of escape even in the midst of past troubles. This resilience or hope should normally keep us going in the next round of battles, but often, we forget quickly, all too quickly!
Not only do we forget how we were saved in the past, we also loose the vision of the future that galvanized our daily pursuits in the first place. It was a dream that brought many to Lagos and other Urban centers in the world. It may have been provincial like the desire to escape poverty through acquisition of wealth or more evolved like the desire to make a positive impact on society and attain a measure of greatness. Whatever the content of that dream, it certainly did not engraft the picture of a self executed hangman’s noose, conventionally termed suicide. That vision or dream was a picture of dignity, life and fulfillment. It was of the same order that informed the Jeffersonian declaration or the early prophetic charter in the book of Jeremiah where the intended future for us was described as a good end. In good times we romance with this picture but when the chips are down, when in street parlance, the jungle matures; we tend to abandon this picture to the extent that weaker wills consider suicide. Such forgetfulness is like the fate of a Ship lost at sea without an anchor or lighthouse. It is like the response of a child to a rainstorm, who reads all ominous portents into the raucous clash of thunder; quite unlike the restful pose of an adult who knows from experience the transient nature of the weather. We all need escape when the challenge is overwhelming but perhaps the greatest escape is not hopelessness but rather recourse to memory and hope.