I CRIED

Watching Obama make his victory speech that memorable day in November 2008 will forever remain etched in my mind. For one I can’t remember the last time someone’s speech made me cry. Compared to the familiar drone of politicians nearer home I am reminded vividly of the stirring and transformative power of words. So far it’s all words, but somehow buried in his words were the passion and the dawn of an era like never before. So the tears flowed, whether as a result of the words, the enormity of the occasion or the sheer joy of a man like one of us in words, values, color or age is difficult to say.

Perhaps I cried because I was witnessing the result of a daring, seemingly unachievable dream become reality. Perhaps I cried for the many times we fail to dream because of the deemed unassailable circumstance of our immediate milieu. Perhaps I cried for myself; for missed opportunities. Perhaps I cried because this strange man-child with the wiry frame of a nascent adult but the tough inner core of a man of destiny seemed to have surmounted not only the apparently murky politics of Chicago, but had gone on to emerge as the democratic frontrunner and now president of America.

Now I have cried; I trust that the tears have been cleansing, redemptive and re-invigorating. Perhaps I will dare to dream again because of those words – “Yes we can” ringing in my ears. Better still I may now seek to redeem the time remaining for who knows … And perhaps as is evident passion and conviction can instill in the most wiry frame the heart and frame of might to overcome all odds.

Also I must now find words that resonate within my milieu. Through the ages, words have been the platform, the conveyor of the hopes, aspirations, dreams, fears and insecurity of mankind. Words have driven many to the pits of despair and others to the heights of exhilaration. Words have led men to die for causes they knew little of and others unto the precipice of an unknown future. Perhaps in the midst of my colorless drone of reluctant leaders, avaricious predators I may find the words that can stir and transform my generation. Perhaps I will find words that reach into an inner core of being beyond the receptacle reserved for familiar platitudes. Perhaps, if I can’t articulate the words I may find someone who can, who will.

I want to cry again, but this time because in my backyard that once in a lifetime historic socio-political event is taking place. I want to cry witnessing truly passionate, transformation desiring, seeking leadership stir my heart with words. Perhaps words of hope, words of change, words of compassion and words evoking true leadership. Perhaps I should stop desiring and start acting. Prior to Obama, the last time I cried was 14 years ago watching Nelson Mandela walk out of prison hand in hand with Winnie. Before that it was watching the “I have a dream” speech by Martin Luther King many years after his death.

One thing I have resolved: I must dream. I heard a lady recently say and I am paraphrasing – the mind was not meant to be filled with facts that can be recorded but rather it ought to be given the space for imagination, dreams and perhaps words for crafting a future that must be seen and embraced. Trained as a lawyer, this goes against the grain but in my desire to dream and perhaps find the words that would resonate with my time and my context I cannot but agree that I must free up space in my mind to dream.

There are many dreams that I want running in my head. Question is which dream do I start with? Is it the dream that in my lifetime, the story of epileptic power supply will be the stuff of socio-economic and political commentary of a bygone era in Nigeria? Or is it the dream that young able bodied men would not have to undergo impromptu maniacal sprints alongside cars and the ubiquitous “okada” in heavy traffic literarily risking life and limb all in the name of making a precarious living. Young men whose human capital worth in the prime of their lives is pitiable; especially in a world whose shift to the power of knowledge for success is now firmly established. Or perhaps I ought to dream about something on a lower scale of achievability, perhaps of a ban of mothers and children traveling as passengers on okadas weaving through heavy Lagos traffic with the ever present risk of being maimed for life. Perhaps of all the dreams in my head I should dream of a time when every child irrespective of economic status would have access to qualitative education.

Whilst I choose among my many dreams, which to start with, I would like to imagine that the same selective process has started in your mind too. Perhaps the collection of our dreams and our (at least my desire) desire to cry would lead to something more. Perhaps like Obama we will find our own words to convey our dreams with sufficient force that culminates in the cry that overwhelms us when we are living witnesses to our own epochal events.

Kemela Okara

Victoria Garden City

Lagos

1^st February 2009