I took my Wife & Baby Girl to the Nigeria High Commission here in London.

The public waiting room is dilapidated, with torn chairs and visible drainage pipes on the walls. One or two of the light bulbs are dead, and there is no ventilation. I don’t have enough space and time, to describe the horrible state of the toilet (It’s picture is at the beginning of this post).

But the staff offices are luxurious and posh. And ALL the meaningful, important positions are occupied by Hausa speaking staff (infact, Hausa is the official language). The staff in the lowly positions like cleaners and security Guards are Igbos, Yorubas and others.

ALL the people in the waiting room are non-Hausa’s. We later discover that this is because there’s a seperate entrance for Hausa people. My Wife was number 181. But after they called in 179, they jumped over her to 200 and something. That was when her Britico personality gave way to the one of Ikeja Girl. Shereacted, and nearly turned the place upside down, until one Oga came to calm her down. He took her and the Baby upstairs.

In the data room upstairs, she saw scores of Hausa people that were there for the same application, but she didn’t see ANY of them downstairs during the hours she spent in the waiting room.

One Nigeria … INDEED!!!

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