I'm obsessed with toilets ("water system" type) and the main entrance to school or college campuses (for those that have one). I fight with my family over toilets all the time. Partly because of this, one of my brothers didn't speak to me for almost five years! I can't help it. I find innermost peace in the clean toilet; it's my safe haven. At the other extreme, my mind also tells me that no teaching/learning institution can claim to be good if its main avenue or entrance to the school is unkempt or unattractive/unappealing.--These twin obsessions go back to my first year in grammar school (Yes, Grammar School! If you attended "Community Schools" I feel very sorry for you). I was charged with cleaning the two "water system" toilets next to the chapel as my daily "Morning Function" in Class One. The toilets were the exclusive preserve of the Rector/Principal and members of the Knights of St. Mulumba who held their meetings in the school chapel every month. It was the cleanest and the quietest part of the school.
Even if "Ojukwu Bucket/Ogbunigwe," the Biafran mass-killer bomb, was exploding in my intestines, thanks to the dinner ration of half-cooked beans, I somehow managed to hold my ground until I off-loaded the unexploded ordinance the next morning after mass, at 6:30 a.m. The risk of fouling up the chapel in the midst of the faithful lining up for the Holy Eucharist was nothing compared to stepping onto the mountain of other students' business left helplessly at the entrance to the pit latrines because the administration probably didn't think light was necessary at night in the outhouse. Sometimes I sought refuge in the clean flush toilets to escape the tyrannical hazing by Class Two students and the Via Dolorosa-type punishment from Alan Satan, the Labor Prefect.
On Saturdays I and two other students would coat every stone on the road leading to the school, The Main Avenue, with "whitewash" paint. The stones were lined up in such a straight line parallel to the equally awe-inspiring straight-lined whistling pines leading up to the stairs to the chapel. Every first-time visitor to the school had the feeling that God must be watching their every step in those hallowed grounds. Kicking at, let alone knocking down, a single stone earned you a date with the hard-to-cut elephant grass while other students took their siesta. Not even the Virgin Mother, whose statue stared immaculately and watched with so much maternal affection, could save you from this instant sanction. The school is after all, the Immaculate Conception Seminary, Ahieke, Umuahia in present-day Abia State of Nigeria.
So, during that my most pliable and formative year, I developed a deep appreciation for, and imbibed the culture of, clean toilets and a well-kept entrance as a veritable statement of who you are and how seriously other people should take you. Sometimes I wonder how cute it would be to have a Minister for Toilet Affairs in Nigeria!I had a brush with unkempt toilets again at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka (1979-1983) on those occasions when the taps didn't run at Zik's Flats (you're not really a Lion if you never lived in Zik's Flats as a freshman!) and at Alvan Ikoku Hall ("Franco") where I lived for three years. There were stories at the time of students at the Enugu Campus of the university sitting atop toilet bowls over-flowing with the putrid stuff while chatting with their "Learned Friends," the law students, I mean. It's hard to drill bore holes in Enugu because you encounter coal at every attempt!
It was therefore no surprise that the first thing I looked for in the last two years whenever I participated in program accreditation visits to Nigerian universities on behalf of the National Universities Commission (NUC) was toilet facilities. Less than 10 percent of the overall accreditation assessment is for Physical facilities--classrooms and lecture theaters, office space, laboratories/workshops, computer labs, common areas (e.g., Student Union/"Commons"), toilet facilities for staff and students in the academic blocks. Hotels, cafeteria, laundry, etc. are generally not part of the program accreditation; they're supposed to have been verified before the granting of operating licenses.
One of the private universities we assessed in Abuja had decent flush toilet facilities on every floor open to students at all times in the academic blocks. Another private university in the southwest had non-flushable urinals and a few locked toilets that students could use in the academic (as opposed to residential) areas. Three government-owned (one federal, two state) universities had toilets for faculty but none for students. The bush behind the office blocks served as "natural" toilets--easier for the boys, but we didn't get clear answers how the female students coped. You got the impression that message of the WHO/MDG radio jingles about hand-washing hadn't reached these tertiary institutions. Female students in one private university in the south-south bitterly decried the "Shot Put" exercise they engaged in daily despite the N600,000 to N800,000 they paid as school fees. Once the electricity generating plant (which is turned on at 8 p.m.) is turned off at 12 midnight, you simply did your business in a plastic bag, tied it up, and flung the damn thing as far away as possible into the nearby bush behind the hostel.With the exception of the private university in Abuja, none of the others had a "Commons" area where students could sit, chat, or otherwise be regular young people while waiting for the next class. While newspaper stands and "Free Readers Association" members could be seen in the public universities, they were not allowed on the grounds of any of the private campuses. Not really much to do to "kill time."
The classrooms in the public universities were shocking and an eyesore. In one state university the louvers in the "classrooms" had all fallen off and the asbestos ceiling boards were threatening to land on any head that approached. The wooden board on many of the desks had been ripped off, exposing jagged and sharp iron edges that happily feasted on those "fresh" blood. The shocking part of what we saw in one state varsity was the scores of black plastic bags (why do they call them "leather" bags?) that littered many of the classrooms where PhD holders taught future leaders, while "Cleaners" loitered around protected by their Labor aristocracy. In one cartography and geology lab, my team could not help but angrily ask how many buckets of water was required to wash off the half-inch thick dust on the floor and on the cartography boards. Ironically, they had several new and expensive equipment, and a rich variety of rare rock collections sitting in the lab.
The entrance to all but the private university in Abuja were no cleaner than the road to the mortuary in the hospital in my home town--over-grown with weed, water-filled pot-holes, red muddy earth; a sea of billboards (some begging for fresh coat of paint) that competed for space along the road, signaling the chaos one would encounter inside. Many buildings, often including the Vice Chancellor's offices/central administration buildings, looked like familiar sights in a war zone. In one state university in the south-east, elephant grass, some as tall as five feet, had overgrown the foot paths that crisscrossed a campus we were told seems to be producing better breeds of snakes than educated men and women ready to play their role as responsible citizens. Can we expect true "citizens" to come out of these jungles?
ASUU may, indeed, be right in that their cause seems to be unassailable. Many commentators have noted the deteriorating condition of the physical plant in many Nigerian universities as far back as the 1970s. I've also confirmed it in this write-up. What I can't understand is why the empirical account of the level of rot like the one I've given here should persist, granted that the universities are not well-funded. Is it all a question of lack of funding? ASUU as a union watches--and often partakes--in the stealing of funds for maintenance of existing facilities. Their union may be able to arm-twist the government but they seem incapable of—or even unwilling to—challenge the even more dangerous non-academic staff unions that have stopped many a crusading VCs in their tracks.
No wonder few smart graduates nowadays see any attraction in staying behind as future lecturers. Most of the assistant lecturers are not ashamed to tell you that "I'm just teaching," meaning they'd leave the moment something better comes up. Many of those that stay haven't known anything better, and so shouldn't be expected to give what they don't have. Does anyone know what percentage of the current crop of ASUU officials obtained their doctorates outside Nigeria? Come to think of it: How much does a tin of "white-wash" paint cost? How much does it cost to buy tile cleaning materials in the market? How much does the university spend on newly-inaugurated Governing Council members, to hold one Convocation/graduation ceremony, or to celebrate the VC's 50th birthday that everyone knows is five years too late? And, how many toilets could we build with the money spent on these "Owa Mbe" events?
In this environment, I'm not sure a N1 billion in infrastructure would make a difference without dealing with the most serious problem: ingrained anti-human culture of, and an attitude that condones and partakes in, corruption. No matter how you cut it, ASUU has its work cut out for it. The union must adjust and lead the democratization of Nigeria's authoritarian and corrupt university culture or it would be swept out by the impending hurricane.
--
Okey Iheduru
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