Every Day Is for the Thief

The narrator is concerned about the state of Nigerian air travel, as he’s planning a trip to Abuja. Planes crash frequently, leading to many casualties. After the most recent incident, in which many schoolchildren died, the mothers arranged a peaceful protest to demand improvement but were teargassed by police.

Nigerians’ attitude toward air travel is conveyed in their phrase idea l’a need, which means that the attempt at something is good enough. Nigerians are comfortable settling with the idea of something rather than a robust version of it because they’re used to it. Nigeria accounts for a quarter of plane crashes, in part because they use secondhand planes and have poor regulations. Corruption is a further concern. The narrator claims that Nigerians “do not always have the philosophical equipment to deal with the material goods they are so eager to consume” (139).

In contrast to Lagos, Abuja is a modern-looking city, but the narrator sees it as a facade: The president is concerned with image and views his critics as the primary enemy of Nigerian progress. Many people turn to the supernatural rather than the rational to explain things, and militant Christianity is rampant. To the narrator, this explains why so little is done about the safety concerns on airplanes: “[P]rayer is a sufficient solution” (141).

Passing by Ojota, the narrator sees that Nigeria now has a Chinatown, and it’s like Chinatowns all over the world. This emblemizes other immigrant populations arriving in Nigeria. When the narrator was young, his white mother was a rarity to the Nigerian people, but now that there’s money to be made, immigrants from around the world have come.

Still, the narrator senses an uneasy lack of control throughout Nigeria, leading to an inability to relax. The narrator’s aunt tells him that their two dogs both died on the same day; they were likely poisoned, possibly by thieves who were planning a home invasion. The narrator sees the dog kennels every night and is filled with an uneasy sense of foreboding.

Riding home from visiting a local fast-food chain, the narrator ponders advertisements for bulletproof glass and churches claiming miraculous healing. When he returns home, he takes a call from Mrs. Aboaba, whose son has given the narrator some books. He offers to come to her, but she insists on sending someone over to pick them up.

The man, Chinedu, arrives, and the narrator offers him a drink. He is a law clerk who is used to running errands like this one. Chinedu is eager to know the narrator because he wants to go to America, too, and he sees knowing an American as an opportunity. The narrator is struck by the social gap between them and the man’s desire to cross it, thinking, “[H]ere are millions who, justly or otherwise, feel they deserve better” (152). When Chinedu asks for his phone number, the narrator lies and says he’ll stop by the office where Chinedu works to give it to him, since the phone he’s using belongs to his aunt. He watches Chinedu leave, thinking of the great many people looking for an opportunity.

The narrator comes down with malaria and must miss his flight home. While ill, he’s visited by another old friend, Oluwafemi. When the narrator confesses he has malaria, Oluwafemi tells him he shouldn’t say that; saying it makes it true: If the narrator didn’t believe he had malaria, he wouldn’t have it. In Oluwafemi’s attitude, the narrator finds a key to understanding the Nigerian people. He is well enough to go home a few days later, still ill but recovering. As the plane takes off, he thinks about what home is to him.

Back in the US and unable to sleep, the narrator has a memory of Lagos from his trip. He’s near St. Paul’s Anglican Church in Iganmu, wandering the labyrinthine streets. He arrives at a small street bustling with activity; several carpenters are at work in a small side street, and their only product is coffins. He’s moved by these men at their meditative work, who “simply serve life by securing good passage for the dead” (161). He imagines the different kinds of funerals that begin in this place, the different forms of grief that the carpenters have witnessed.