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This chapter shifts its focus away from Nigeria at large and narrows the discussion down to a more specific area: the coastal regions of Southern Nigeria, with the city of Lagos as the chapter’s focal point. It examines the city’s origin, beginning as a small, relatively insignificant coastal town peripheral to the old and well-established Benin Empire. From humble origins, this chapter will explore the region’s rise to prominence, prompted primarily by the expansion of the Transatlantic Slave Trade. For Lagos specifically, its ascension began at the turn of the nineteenth century. Lagos became a regional center of the slave trade due to the ostracization of the Kingdom of Dahomey, a major exporter of slaves, by European powers. After the center of the slave trade shifted to Lagos, the city and region at large experienced a flurry of economic activity, the details and consequences of which will be explored in detail. The latter half of this chapter will explain the gradual transformation in the trade systems away from the slave trade toward a system of “legitimate” trade, which would facilitate the erosion of indigenous state power and eventual colonial acquisition of Lagos and the Niger Delta area at large.
The historiography of Nigerian independence from colonial rule has not often considered the role played by trade unions. This chapter seeks to correct this gap in the literature by tracing the history of Nigerian trade unions from the precolonial period to 1960 and beyond. Far from a British import, trade unions were rooted in local craft organizations that predated colonization. The protectionist goals of these organizations informed the development of the first formal trade union in Nigeria in 1912, named the Civil Service British Workers’ Union. This union and others soon expanded their purview from labor conditions to a broader anticolonial agenda, especially because of shared leadership and institutional affiliation with nationalist organizations. As trade unions became politically radicalized, nationalist groups borrowed tactics developed by the unions such as strikes and collective bargaining. Trade unions were instrumental in the nationalist movement and remain powerful engines of social and economic justice.
Over the past 200 years, rival political camps in southwest Nigeria have offered competing ideas of good governance. The Yoruba progressive tradition emphasises an epistemic approach to governance, embodied in the Yoruba concept of olaju (civilisation or development) and the figure of Chief Obafemi Awolowo. More populist challengers have long countered this elitist approach with a more socially embedded offering, emphasising closeness and connection between leaders and followers, and material exchange. This second populist tradition has been associated with the more nefarious aspects of Nigerian politics, from the distribution of patronage to the dominance of ‘godfather’ figures. This chapter adds nuance to debates about godfather politics, with analysis of key figures in Oyo state politics. By 2011, a new generation of politicians in the progressive tradition, led by newly elected Governor Abiola Ajimobi, repudiated the amala politics associated with the region’s godfathers and affirmed donor-originated ideas of good governance. In tracing how assorted politicians in Yorubaland have sought to honour the epistemic, social and material elements of governance, this chapter concludes that we should be sceptical of any claim to a monopoly on good governance.
Drawing on original fieldwork in Nigeria, Portia Roelofs argues for an innovative re-conceptualisation of good governance. Contributing to debates around technocracy, populism and the survival of democracy amidst conditions of inequality and mistrust, Roelofs offers a new account of what it means for leaders to be accountable and transparent. Centred on the rise of the 'Lagos Model' in the Yoruba south-west, this book places the voices of roadside traders and small-time market leaders alongside those of local government officials, political godfathers and technocrats. In doing so, it theorises 'socially-embedded' good governance. Roelofs demonstrates the value of fieldwork for political theory and the associated possibilities for decolonising the study of politics. Challenging the long-held assumptions of the World Bank and other international institutions that African political systems are pathologically dysfunctional, Roelofs demonstrates that politics in Nigeria has much to teach us about good governance.
This chapter attempts to “study some of the many intersections between narratives and politics.” The human life or experience is seen as a story, a compilation of narratives that explain our realities. Similarly, politics, the apogee of any society, designed to establish and maintain it, is a “human narrative,” independent, and can be comprehended in relation to other aspects of the society. To expound on the theme of “collective action,” the chapter answers three questions: how people come together for a common goal; why enforcers of collective actions turn to stories; and the significance of storytelling in triggering a collective action. The chapter finds answers in “affinity” (feeling of oneness, proximity, and brotherhood) and “solidarity” (feeling of a common goal). The chapter broaches the issue of the inhibition to narrative politics — the “perceived reliance on imperial system of knowledge,” as well as its emancipation — “the elevation of repressed narratives.” In addition, through the author’s personal experiences, encounters, and references to scholarship, he mirrors some African narratives, especially the Yoruba and their importance in spurring positive change.
The chapter begins with the concept of satire for the reader’s understanding of its broad and deep meaning and its significance. It proceeds to show the methodology of satire, which is to “highlight” and “ridicule” an act of folly to effect change in an individual, group, or society behind the act. It does this using figurative tools such as humor, hyperbole, irony, or sarcasm. In context, the chapter examines the use of satire and satirical expressions in works to mirror the African society. Importantly, the chapter notes that for satire to be birthed, there must be a set societal standard by which the subject’s action is measured against that which has been breached. While “morality is often the end goal of tales, parables, proverbs, etc., for satire, the concern goes above morality to include public interest.” The chapter finds satire in “songs of abuses,” which is very prominent among the Yoruba. These songs are often sung or performed when people are deemed to have fallen short of societal set standards. Or when criminals such as murderers, thieves, witches, and other extreme violators of social conduct are caught and especially exposed.
This chapter explores cultural themes in Africa with “narrative politics” and its cultural values central to the discourse. In expounding “narrative,” the chapter brings to the fore its two most potent modes (literature and history), which reflect reality but are different in their modus operandi – through imagination (creativity) and verifiable facts. Written beautifully and with references, this chapter blurs the contrast between the two “narrative devices” and focuses instead on espousing their working togetherness. This is because a co-adoption of both in the narrative adds creativity to facts presentation, which thus makes it interesting to read and sustain readers’ interest just as their Yoruba derivative, Alo and Itan, is often a mixture of both.
The chapter also asserts the importance of autoethnography and how through personal experience and identity, the society’s “collective consciousness” is exhibited and manifested. Also, there are references made to the cultural relevance and implication of “time and season,” “taboos and superstitions,” “greetings and reverence,” as well as “namings and places” in Yorubaland.
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