My spluttering South African indignation left the receptionist at the Sheraton Lagos cold. ”How can the bill be $350 when this quote says $242?” I asked, showing him our faxed confirmation.
That too left him cold. ”Taxes, madam. And breakfast [the fax said it was included]. Service charge.”
”Call the manager,” I said, in that fail-safe resort of the consumer. ”It’s $350,” the manager confirmed. And then it clicked. This was ”systemic corruption” in action. It went up and down the hierarchy; across the public and private sectors. The manager was in cahoots with the receptionist. The customs and immigration officials was in cahoots with the queue touts who grab disembarking visitors.
The next morning, en route to Abuja, there it was again. ”What a well-serviced airport,” I thought in my South African naivety. At the airport were an army of ”officials” dressed in uniforms saying ”aviation officer”; or others carrying walkie-talkies and proferring help. All touts, I found out later. The walkie-talkies, the uniforms, the badges were the props of the crooked to catch out greenhorns like me. You get hit (or ”dashed” in the local lingo) for a range of permits, taxes and services, which included one offer to help us to jump the queue on the flight. Somewhat wiser by then, we first asked: ”How much?” He replied: ”Anything your heart desires.”
Put your hand in your pocket in Nigeria and you can get anything your heart desires, it seems. Don’t, and you won’t. The dash economy is a parallel structure, entrenched and vital for survival; the black money market a spot under the trees that you stroll across to and choose your ”teller”. In 40 years the system has become debauched and filters down to the most ordinary of transactions: nobody ever has change; a travel agent charges a fee to confirm a booking and issues confirmation that later proves to be fraudulent.
My time there to cover the Commonwealth Heads of Government meeting was short, with minimal need for a public service. Yet I came away feeling fleeced and exposed, as vulnerable as a lamb. What of those who live there?
Smart-talking Nigerians call corrupt officials ”the mister ten-percenters” for the amount they generally cream off the top of contracts granted by the state. It was always a mystery how the last dictator, Sani Abacha, had managed to steal $10-billion, but if the micro and macro systems are corrupt, now it’s understandable.
We must never get like this and this means dealing mercilessly with corruption. With apologies to President Thabo Mbeki: all must become ardent fishers of corrupt men.
Back at Lagos airport, heading home this time, my friend shoved fistfuls of naira into a customs officer’s hands to get her to finish the inspection of a bag. The plane was gunning its engines. ”What are you doing?” I hissed. ”She asked. You have to or you won’t get anything done.” This is the way things fall apart.