The rich brag about their spas and SUVs, but real economic development has to benefit everyone
By Chibundu Onuzo
'How does one spend
£30 on a burger, and a very dry burger at that? How could the cheapest
tickets to see the musical FELA! be priced at more than £100.'
Photograph: Akintunde Akinleye/Reuters
On my last trip to Lagos, I drove past a new supermarket in an
upper-middle-class part of the city. It was a huge concrete thing with
sliding electronic gates, CCTV cameras and the sleek live wires that
have replaced barbed wire in all fashionable districts. I remarked to my
cousin, who was driving, that the building hadn't been there a year
ago.
"You have to see inside then," she said, swinging her car around. Hidden inside this building, which looked like a small military base, was an exact replica of Tesco, she explained to me. There were wide aisles, Dairylea and the greatest joy of all, trolleys. Despite my cousin's best efforts, I could not muster any enthusiasm for what was in essence an incredibly exclusive grocery store, and after I insisted on going home to my dinner, she gave up, saying with disappointment: "And I thought you were interested in development."
For the sake of this thing called development, the UK has created an entire government agency, the UN has employed countless people, and billions of dollars have been pumped into the African continent. But what exactly does development look like when it has happened? Surely not this gated shop with its parking lot filled with buffed SUVs. Yet, increasingly, friends and family in Nigeria will confidently point to such places as proof that the country is advancing.
There is no doubt that the rich have become richer since I left Lagos seven years ago. When I first moved to the UK, I would convert everything mentally into naira – which, at about 200 naira to the pound, made even lip gloss seem prohibitively expensive.
Now, when I go back, I convert everything to pounds, and wonder if everyone has gone mad. How does one spend £30 on a burger, and a very dry burger at that? How could the cheapest tickets to see the musical FELA! be priced at more than £100 and how, for goodness sake, did the show then sell out? This is the new Lagos my family and friends are keen to show me. It is a Lagos of spas and shopping centres and franchises. Everything is foreign-made and imported, right down to the scented candles and the ketchup on the menus.
I often tease my relatives, who are proudly living this Nigerian dream, about the hollowness of their situation. Only in Nigeria do the Mercedes-driving, Gucci-wearing, champagne-drinking inhabitants of a mansion still have to worry about running water. Money, I point out when their bragging becomes unbearable, can do only so much to cushion the effects of living in a third-world country.
One day, the Nigerian upper-middle classes will have to act on the realisation that there are some things you cannot import. Lasting development that will put knowledge into the minds of our youth, and bring roads to my father's village and electricity to our homes, is more than a shipping container away. Economic advancement for a few will never be a substitute for development.
Towards the end of my trip, I found myself in one of the global franchise hotels that are springing up all over the country. The hotel restaurant was French-themed and, to my untrained eye, it looked reasonably authentic. The chefs in their tall hats, the racks of wine, the dark wood furnishings – all continental enough for me but, when I put my spoon to my mouth, the lights flickered and died.
"Nepa," someone said – cursing the National Electric Power Authority, which has never managed to create a steady energy supply.
"Nigeria," another added.
When the lights came on, I swallowed my soup and returned to France.
"You have to see inside then," she said, swinging her car around. Hidden inside this building, which looked like a small military base, was an exact replica of Tesco, she explained to me. There were wide aisles, Dairylea and the greatest joy of all, trolleys. Despite my cousin's best efforts, I could not muster any enthusiasm for what was in essence an incredibly exclusive grocery store, and after I insisted on going home to my dinner, she gave up, saying with disappointment: "And I thought you were interested in development."
For the sake of this thing called development, the UK has created an entire government agency, the UN has employed countless people, and billions of dollars have been pumped into the African continent. But what exactly does development look like when it has happened? Surely not this gated shop with its parking lot filled with buffed SUVs. Yet, increasingly, friends and family in Nigeria will confidently point to such places as proof that the country is advancing.
There is no doubt that the rich have become richer since I left Lagos seven years ago. When I first moved to the UK, I would convert everything mentally into naira – which, at about 200 naira to the pound, made even lip gloss seem prohibitively expensive.
Now, when I go back, I convert everything to pounds, and wonder if everyone has gone mad. How does one spend £30 on a burger, and a very dry burger at that? How could the cheapest tickets to see the musical FELA! be priced at more than £100 and how, for goodness sake, did the show then sell out? This is the new Lagos my family and friends are keen to show me. It is a Lagos of spas and shopping centres and franchises. Everything is foreign-made and imported, right down to the scented candles and the ketchup on the menus.
I often tease my relatives, who are proudly living this Nigerian dream, about the hollowness of their situation. Only in Nigeria do the Mercedes-driving, Gucci-wearing, champagne-drinking inhabitants of a mansion still have to worry about running water. Money, I point out when their bragging becomes unbearable, can do only so much to cushion the effects of living in a third-world country.
One day, the Nigerian upper-middle classes will have to act on the realisation that there are some things you cannot import. Lasting development that will put knowledge into the minds of our youth, and bring roads to my father's village and electricity to our homes, is more than a shipping container away. Economic advancement for a few will never be a substitute for development.
Towards the end of my trip, I found myself in one of the global franchise hotels that are springing up all over the country. The hotel restaurant was French-themed and, to my untrained eye, it looked reasonably authentic. The chefs in their tall hats, the racks of wine, the dark wood furnishings – all continental enough for me but, when I put my spoon to my mouth, the lights flickered and died.
"Nepa," someone said – cursing the National Electric Power Authority, which has never managed to create a steady energy supply.
"Nigeria," another added.
When the lights came on, I swallowed my soup and returned to France.
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