Outside the Gates of the US Embassy in Nigeria

I arrived the US embassy in Nigeria in a bright yellow taxi cab on a bright Monday morning - quite early I should add because I was advised to- and was surprised to see a mob of Nigerians in a corner outside its gates. They were waiting for the appointed hour to queue up, so they could gain entry and attend various appointments. Because there are usually lots of people, every applicant strives to arrive early, really early, so they can be attended to. The sign on the huge gate stated that applicants could begin to queue at five-thirty am, I had arrived by six-thirty am and since my appointment wasn’t till 11am, I had a long time to wait. I had brought some reading material, but quite unlike myself, I put it aside and chose to study the throng of people I was waiting with.

The security guards were very much alert, perhaps due to the recent terrorist attacks on some US embassies in foreign countries. We were briefed on the items that we would not be permitted to carry through their gates for security reasons. After the announcement, I returned my attention to my fellow would be immigrants. They came in all shapes and sizes, conditions and demeanours. There were husbands and wives towing toddlers; there were single men and women, some looked educated and sharp, while others (some scantily clad) left my seatmate and I pondering aloud how they intended to earn a livelihood when they got into the United States - if they got into the United States; then there were college-age youths who looked naïve and excited. They all had hope, desperation and anxiety etched on their faces.

Is our motherland Nigeria, such a hopeless case that our best and brightest are shipping out in droves to more affluent countries? Cars drove past, in between the waiting crowd backing the lagoon, and the embassy gates; its occupants looking out on us both in wonder and embarrassment. How many billion dollars worth of oil do we ship out daily? How many hectares of fertile land do we have? The answer to these questions leave much more unanswered. While musing, something occurred to me. I had been sitting outside for over two hours and had seen no activity at the neighbouring embassy. It was almost as though it did not exist. I came to the conclusion that people were not very enthusiastic about migrating to a country less affluent than the United States.

My long wait for my appointment was over. The time was eleven am. There was a surge to form the queue, and everyone was shoving and jostling for a more prominent position in the line. I found my former seatmate close to me once more and he quipped that this was another form of slavery except, unlike the colonial times when people were kidnapped or hoodwinked into going abroad; nowadays people are willing to be shipped. How many people enter for Visa Lotteries? How many of those people win the lotteries? How many of the people who win, get the Almighty Green card, finally make it over there?

Endless questions. I did not have time to answer them, though they weighed heavily on my mind. I concentrated my efforts on maintaining my position on the line. I want the American dream James Truslow Adams spoke about. Most people worldwide want the American dream. How many can have the American dream? I strongly believe it’s time we fixed up our country and the continent at large and created the Nigerian dream, or perhaps the African dream. Then other persons in other countries will jostle at our embassy gates for Nigerian visa's and passports. For now, the best and brightest (me included) will continue to leave the Nigerian shore in droves.