How did our cousins, nieces, nephews, aunties, and friends, who used to visit us without notice when there was no phone or mail, and elicit so much joy, become witches and burdens, that must now call to inform us before coming?
How did family and marital disputes that used to be resolved by close family members and elders, become matters for social media inlaws?
How did children who speedily went on errands with canes and bicycle wheels, sticks, and car tires, and made sure the saliva the elder spits on the ground does not dry before they return, suddenly translate to entitled brats?
How did closely knitted, fenceless communities, where kids used to go pick fire with palm chaff from any neighbor’s compound, become fenced-in against ourselves?
How did communities that lived in clusters, ate and drank from the same platter on mats and leaves, with their hands; like most Indians and Arabs still do, become so acquiesced to dining tables and cutlery?
How did kids who played together, shared folk tales under the moon, and went to bed late, become so stiff and afraid of neighboring peers?
How did our parents who never signed any marriage certificate manage to stay married, and younger folks who collect three marriage certificates are now leaving marriages to go meet parents who didn’t collect any?
How did communities where no child was an orphan, where children were trained by everyone, become so protective of children that parents will now go to war if anyone corrects their child?
We used to be a wholesome community. Not a bunch of individuals living around us. We were not afraid of ourselves. Our strong bond of communality is what distinguishes us and defines our essence and culture.
Technology and advancement were supposed to enhance this bond and not weaken it. Like the Japanese and many other advanced indigenous cultures, technological advancement was meant to provide us with tools to strengthen our distinctiveness and not to blur it.
Our jurisprudence requires that when one commits a crime, the entire clan pays the price, to ensure the whole clan watches out and prevents crime. We went to the farms together and drank from the same open streams but are afraid of drinking from the same boreholes today. The juice and honey of our existence was the joy that you are because others are – Ubuntu!
Have we lost it? I sincerely don’t know. I can neither confirm nor deny that but I know things are not the way they used to be. We are progressing in borrowed footsteps. We are foraging on foreign habits that are injurious to our nativity. We may never be able to heal from this malaise but we can have a revival if we give a thought to what we have lost.
Yours sincerely,
Citizen Agba Jalingo is the Publisher of CrossRiverWatch and a rights activist, a Cross Riverian, and writes from Lagos.
NB: Opinions expressed in this article are strictly attributable to the author, Agba Jalingo, and do not represent the opinion of CrossRiverWatch or any other organization the author works for/with.