Nigeria is Faced with Serious Refugee Problem at Home and Abroad

Babatunde Raji Fashola, Minister of Works and Housing, laments that the fear of more people becoming refugees in Nigeria very soon is real.

When my friend and brother, Jimi Olusola, asked me to be the speaker at this event, I had no hesitation in accepting because he indicated that it was Papa’s 10th memorial. Although I was unaware that it was World Refugee Day and neither was I aware at the time that a book was to be presented, my mind was already invoking thoughts about refugees.

When he responded to my inquiry about what he would like me to speak about by saying: “Tunde he was also your father, choose your topic,” that decided me.

I was going to speak about refugees because that was Ambassador Segun Olusola’s final signature and most compelling work of art that he left us with. (Pun intended. Ambassador Olusola was an artist’s Artist).

His passion, commitment, sacrifice and dedication to the cause of refugees, a compelling humanitarian undertaking to which he devoted his personal resources, mobilized others to form and to join and contribute, immersed his immediate family and friends in, was arguably his most selfless of his many undertakings while he was with us.

Having now settled on my subject, a big problem then arose - What was I going to say about refugees that my audience does not already know about?

After all, there are refugees everywhere so what is new? Then I thought to myself speak about the fact that he created Village Headmaster, he was Elsie Olusola’s husband and Nigeria’s Ambassador to Ethiopia.

While I was flirting with my options, the casual invitation by Jimi was formalized by way of a letter signed by no less a person than Chief Mrs Opral Benson, OON, the Honorary President of AREF, and on the letter was boldly printed the names of the patrons of AREF, starting from Dr. Christopher Kolade to Major General Ike Nwachukwu to Aremo Taiwo Alimi. And that stopped me dead in my tracks. These were Ambassador Olusola’s peers, many of who stood in Loco Parentis to Jimi and I.

What was I going to tell them about Ambassador Olusola, Aunty Elsie, Village Headmaster or his stint in Ethiopia?; events and stories they partook of when I was in my toddling and adolescent years.

In the hope therefore that I would have something worthwhile to say, I have titled my intervention HOME AND ABROAD.

Around these two words and their simplest and extended meanings, I think there is sufficient elasticity to interrogate my subject, which is the issue of refugees, from multiple perspectives.

I think it is too pedestrian to attempt a definition of what or who a refugee is, except that we can agree that a refugee is one who is seeking refuge, who has lost his sanctuary and in this sense his HOME and depends on the help, charity or benevolence of others.

Very often for us who have a HOME to go to at the end of each day, when we return to our house as a HOME, we return to the embrace of our family as the people that make our house a HOME because they are not strangers, it is easy not to pay attention to the plight of refugees because we are far removed from it.

I got quite close to the world of refugees in very unusual circumstances that provided a rude awakening, over two decades ago. It is a story I find relevant for this occasion. Please permit me to share it.

It is the worst kept secret that I still attempt to play football long after my school days and myself and a group of friends constantly indulge in veteran football as a way of keeping fit and also strengthening bonds of friendship that were struck decades ago.

One day, we got an invitation for a friendly veteran match somewhere in Ogun State, in a place called Oru that I had never heard about.

My recollection of the details is hazy, but my experience remains indelible.

As we arrived at the destination, I saw a sign indicating that it was a refugee camp, I cannot recollect if it was an AREF camp but my hazy memory suspects that it was.

As we alighted and we were introduced, we interacted with men who looked as healthy as us. As they spoke, I immediately discerned their accent.

It was distinctly Liberian (Mrs. Opral Benson has not lost hers and this is something about the place called HOME that I will come to shortly) and the first wave of reality hit me.

The conflict and war in Liberia were not as far away as we thought when we saw it on the television or read about it in the newspapers.

It had come to the place we called our HOME. Not only had we sent troops there, they had sent some of our brothers and sisters to us, albeit against their will.

The conflict had taken their HOME from them and sent them ABROAD against their will.

Football became immediately unimportant and even though we still played, I don’t remember who won.

My image of refugees before experiencing Oru, was that of poor people, people at the bottom of the pyramid, dislocated by forces of nature mudslides, earthquakes, tsunamis etc. This was different. As we interacted, I found there were lawyers like me, professionals of all capabilities who had lost everything but their lives.

Their HOME has changed from the house they built in Liberia to a contrived shelter in rural Ogun State. Their family members were not necessarily their spouses and children or siblings, it was the nearest person in the boat of their tribulations.

That experience was and remains numbing to me. A situation that makes me take flight, that makes all the things that we value, become minor distractions except life, and translates one from self-sufficient to totally dependent still sends chills down my spine.