A recent UNICEF
paper castigating Nigeria for the lack of safe water and improved
sanitation facilities which have remained one of the major reasons for
mortality and morbidity among children, reminded me of a more mundane
incident in Lagos.
Despite the common
‘Do not urinate here’ graffiti, that sub-specie of policeman unkindly
nicknamed ‘Yellow Fever’, was busy on a hot and humid afternoon doing
exactly the opposite in between directing traffic at a junction.
“Go away, we’re not
in America. This is Nigeria,” was the constable’s arrogant reply when
challenged by a passer-by. He then proceeded to upload his underwear,
buttoning-up a pair of black trousers, and returning to traffic duties,
in a bright orange shirt.
Perhaps there is a
law in America or elsewhere prohibiting urinating and defecating in
public places, but what about Nigeria? The situation in this country,
with or without laws and by-laws, is mixed.
First of all,
consideration must be accorded the poverty-environment nexus, in the
sense that people without means of livelihood such as water, food, and
jobs often suffer under the burden of sanitation and hygiene. Not the
best excuse.
During the 1979
campaigns before the first post-military elections, Obafemi Awolowo had
shot back at a question on NTA over public health, that he did not
expect anybody without supply of running water to be individually clean
or to bother about sanitation.
Sucking his pencil
nervously, an overawed journalist declined asking further questions, as
the chief then turned what was designed as a dialogue into some
monumental monologue on water resources management. The moderator dared
not cut in or cut him off. It was fun viewing!
Nigeria’s National
Council on Water Resources approved a National Rural Water Supply and
Sanitation Strategic Framework, subsequently publishing the National
Water Supply and Sanitation Policy in 2000. As expected, little
adherence to the provisions of these policies is demonstrated by all
tiers of governments in the country.
As far as
sanitation and hygiene are concerned, there is unclear leadership, and
no clear-cut arrangements for implementation of these policies. No
horizontal and vertical co-ordination between the different key
stakeholders exists.
Sanitation is
regarded in Nigeria as an individual household responsibility by our
governments. But high levels of individual hygiene will never turn into
enhanced public sanitation if policy documents are never opened beyond
the day of their launch.
Nigerians must be
the most travelled of Africans, but clean environments they experience
in other countries, including many in Africa, never seem to leave any
lasting impression. Not even the national disease burden of AIDS,
respiratory illnesses, malaria, diarrhea, typhoid, guinea worm, and
gastro-enteritis motivates our leaders to a more coordinated,
comprehensive, and integrated approach for sanitation and waste
disposal.
Around the delicate
question on hygiene and culture, each ethnic group in Nigeria holds the
others responsible for filth in the environment. A journey across the
country reveals that with the exception, perhaps, of Calabar, we are
not a particularly clean people.
Visit a block of
flats anywhere – Lagos, Abuja, Kano, Ibadan, or Awka and the impression
is that the so-called civilised occupants are not in agreement on when
the staircase should be swept and mopped and by whom. Yet, the
limousines in the parking lot are washed every morning by an army of
servants. Misplaced priorities!
The homes in many
Nollywood films, with fine draperies, carpets, leather sofas, and
magnificent bedrooms represent a far cry from the Nigerian realities.
But then, Nollywood is art and entertainment, not a true reflection of
wider society.
