The tragedy of low ambition, By Donu Kogbara

I’ve always been fairly unambitious and selectively lazy. My mother wanted me to go to one of the two most elite universities (Oxford and Cambridge) in the United Kingdom, where I grew up. And, if I say so myself, I certainly possessed the brains to make her happy and make it to either of these globally revered groves of academe. But while I was willing to stay up all night voraciously reading books that interested me (quality fiction, tomes about history, anthropology and classical civilizations); I couldn’t be bothered to study for the intellectually challenging Oxbridge entrance exam. And I wound up cheerfully going to a respected but less prestigious university that had considerably less stringent entry requirements. My mother pleaded with me to do law because she reckoned that a legal career would provide me with prestige and a decent income. But I wasn’t having it. Perish the thought! Too much like hard work. I did a considerably less arduous combined arts course instead and decided to become a novelist because creative writing seemed like an easy option. I visualised myself happily chilling at home for the rest of my life, allowing my fertile imagination to run riot and occasionally committing the vivid daydreams that filled my head to paper. When I graduated, I didn’t apply for any jobs. I started, instead – from the rent-free comfort of my parents’ London residence – to languidly think about what my first novel should be about. When I wasn’t thinking about what my first novel should be about, I spent the allowance I received from my father on cultural activities – visits to museums and art galleries – and social frolics with friends. After a year or two of basically doing nothing, disaster struck. My family suffered a major financial setback. And I suddenly needed to earn a living like yesterday. Novels take ages to complete, so I had to quickly find another occupation that would enable me to pay bills immediately; and that’s how I wound up in journalism. I did surprisingly well at a time when the white folks who ran British journalism did not give many ethnic minority folks a chance to shine. I became a pioneer and poster girl of sorts. But if truth be told, my successes were more about luck and patronage than effort. I wasn’t ferociously focused. I didn’t doggedly fight my way into the upper echelons of the UK media industry. I was pretty laid-back and passive overall and only reached some professional peaks because I was invited by a few left-wing white liberals and right-wing white meritocrats who thought me talented and decided to promote me, either because I was black or despite me being black! When I was in my late 30s, in 1999, I moved to Abuja. And the same pattern has prevailed for the past quarter of a century. I haven’t struggled to gain financial benefits or professional recognition, but Naija decision-makers have occasionally thrown good gigs at me. Still, I could have done much better on the Nigerian scene if I had been highly motivated. But I’m the kind of person who doesn’t feel the need to hustle or push or beg if I have nice accommodation and enough money for necessities and a handful of modest luxuries. Long story short, I am fairly easily satisfied, so I totally understand people who are also not very ambitious. But I have been shocked by something that recently happened within my household in Abuja.Eighteen months ago, I decided to hire a teacher for my female housegirls because they could only speak pidgin English, despite having been through secondary school systems in Kaduna and Rivers states. And I figured that I should maximize their chances of getting better jobs in future and marrying educated men. The teacher told me, at the outset, that they had reading ages of four and five-year-olds. And I explained the multiple advantages of lessons to them and looked forward to watching them gradually become more articulate and capable of reading newspapers and so on. But guess what? They have not made much progress because they are not interested in self-improvement; and they’ve just thanked me for arranging the lessons but informed me that they would like to quit the lessons! So, times are hard. And I am not going to force them to continue with lessons that cost me N70,000 a month at a time when I am finding it difficult to keep my head above water and pay my bills. But isn’t this rock-bottom low ambition tragic? Imagine throwing away an opportunity that many poor children would gladly grab!And, by the way, the 419 Kaduna and Rivers schools that collected money from their impoverished parents and declared these almost illiterate girls sufficiently educated should be shut down! LETTER FROM A READER He wishes to remain anonymous. I can empathise with his feelings. Good morning, Ma’am. I am depressed. I’ve given up hope about Nigeria – we’re not a serious people. The elitist few and the ginormous mass of poor people have their separate agendas – the former does everything in its power to pauperize and subjugate the latter in perpetuity, while the latter are scared of the former and would remain subservient till the Second Coming of Christ. We’re all in the slough of despond, and only the Nigerian people, the hoi polloi, the ordinary masses can emancipate themselves from this unending sociopolitical mental slavery going on before our eyes. Everyday I see the folly of the ordinary citizens, and every night I watch the asinine portrayal of leadership on Tv. Even God must be tired of our cowardice and endless nonsensicalities as a people, and it doesn’t help our case that hunger is ravaging our feckless citizens all over our motherland. 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