It’s summer. It’s a hot day, it’s almost noon right now. The road to the end of our neighborhood is quite far. Sister Dilbar is carrying 2 buckets of water from a distance. Iular is the main character of our story today. It has been about 5-6 years since the Dilbar sisters moved to our neighborhood. They live here with their spouses. But they still have no children. Almost every day, my mother prays that your skirt will be full of children, that you will have sweet children. The reason is that she is a very open-minded, free-spirited woman. She is white, has thick eyebrows, tall and beautiful figure. His spouse, Salim, is also a very kind person.
One day, I caught sight of sister Dilbar, who was barely walking from the beginning of the neighborhood. Even though it’s hot and humid in the summer. But I’m going out to play. When I recognized them from a distance, I ran to them. – Hello sister Dilbar – How are you, Nargiza? – I’m fine, where do you come from? – From the hospital. – Was it peace? – Yes, I have something important to say today – I will tell you…
When I said that, I fell into the game again. When I returned home, my mother was washing dishes in the kitchen. I went in front of them and greeted them. Mom! – Where have you been? My mother started to fight with me asking if you have been walking on the street all day and you are a girl, can you take care of my housework? – Listen to me too. I was at my friend’s house. It’s been a long time since I haven’t seen him, so the vacation is over.
Then they started talking about my mother, Dilbar, and your sister. I am also impatient, and when I was waiting for his words, he said, “I have something important to say, today, sister Dilbar, come to our place.” I bit my lip for a while, thinking that I forgot about the game. And then my mother quietly laughed and said, “Oh, wow, you’re so impatient, I’ll tell you the same thing.” When your sister Boya Dilbar was going out, I called you because you didn’t come out. Then we sat and talked a lot. By the way, your lovely sister will be a girl soon. I said yes, I was surprised that they were coming from the doctor today.
– Yes, it’s getting late, I’ll go in and sleep – Can’t you eat, girl? – No, mother, I’m full, thank you – Yes, you know, take your time and come in – Ok
After some time, sister Dilbar disappeared
I went in front of them and began to question my mother.
– Oi Oi Oi Oi Dilbar, where did you disappear?
– Yes.
Mom said they would be back soon. I silently left the room
The reason why I love sister Dilbar is that she is similar to my sister named Ayisha. It’s almost a trick to talk. My sister died in a car accident at the age of 15, when I was a 6-year-old girl. You think a 6-year-old girl understands something. I didn’t know anything even when Pyim screamed and cried. I can only remember that they took a 6-year-old girl by the hand and brought her into the room where the body was lying to say goodbye to your sister. I felt my sister lying on the ground like ice, but I couldn’t cry for some reason. At that time, the thing that got on my nerves was that the corpse is ours, the dead is ours, but all kinds of women came crying in frustration and yelling at me that it was not enough. After that, they sent me to my younger uncles. When I turned 10, I returned to my home in Tashkent. Sister Dilbar, the first woman I fell in love with when I came here, that’s why I love them so much.
A little time passed. My school has started. One day, when I was coming home from school, there were 3 or 4 beautiful cars parked near our house. Aren’t you going to make loud noises? I wondered what was going on, and later I found out that my lovely sister had come. She was named Malika when she was a girl. But they welcomed him with cash. I was surprised by this/ One question was bothering me, whether they welcomed me with such a celebration then. Now in youth.
Many months have passed since then. During that time, I went to Bukhara to prepare for studies. I had to submit to institutes in Tashkent. I returned home.
It’s early morning. There is a knock on the door. I went and opened the door. Dear sister
– Wow, Nargiz, are you back?
– hada sister
– Where are your months?
– My mother is gone
– I’ll give you the key then
– Hop, sister, hop
– Yes, Salim, your brother is taking us to the mountain
– Ok, come and have fun another time
– yes, stay well
They went to the mountain, their daughter had grown up, she was 8 months old. The road was suddenly covered by a black cloud, the rain was pouring down on it, and Malika was crying loudly. Brother Salim did not pay attention to this. After that, Dilbar’s sister also started to feel sad. “Let’s go back,” said Salim, saying that he had arrived.
And finally they arrived after walking for 5 hours. There was no sign of the dark clouds from the heavy rain.
– Tin
– It’s okay though
– Be quiet, listen to the sound of nature, there is no such air in the city.
– Yes, I know
They entered the yard with joy. The yard was not very big, 4 rooms. But there were strange pictures painted on the walls. Dilbar looked at them a little daydreaming and his eyes fell on his wife. Salim went out carrying his daughter. And Dilbar is looking at them from the window.
– Dad, come home, a dark cloud is coming
– Right now
Brother Salim was happy. In order to play with his daughter, he began to shoot her up. It rained so much. They didn’t want to go inside even though the ground was slippery. Later, the princess did not like this and began to type. Suddenly, due to Salim’s carelessness, the baby fell to the ground. The baby’s head hit the stone. Salim was afraid that he would go after his daughter, so he was also injured. His leg was broken. Dilbar could not move, he could see this situation but could not do anything. Then a person appeared. The charmer did not know who he was. The reason was that he was caught by a thick blanket. If you can’t protect the blessing given to you by sitting next to Dilbar, it’s a pity, such a blessing will not be returned, he said, protect it.
Dilbar kept crying but could not go there. It was as if the leg was not pulling. Dilbar was crying, as if he was washing his clothes with tears dripping from his eyes. Then Salim Dilbarni came to him
– Be charming. You’ve been crying about something for a long time. Your clothes are getting wet
– My daughter, my daughter, where is the Princess?
– Why are you panicking? Do as I say quickly and change your clothes. You will catch a cold when your clothes are wet
– Was it a dream?
He went straight to the room where his daughter was walking. He remembered his dream of seeing his sweetly sleeping daughter. Cold sweat broke out from his body. They returned home.
Later, after this dream, he took his daughter to the kindergarten, where he did not believe in the sky. The reason is that those words stuck in a part of his brain as if they were engraved on a stone
“If you can’t protect the blessing that God has given you, it’s a pity for you, such a blessing will not be returned” these words kept spinning in his mind. The truth is that he has no children except his daughter Malika…….
Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. He’s author of the Peace Corps memoir “Fiesta of Sunset,” and the forthcoming poetry collection “Home Again.”
Transcript of Angela Williams’ Interview (for internal circulation, final copy to be edited and approved by SM before filing)
Video/Tape Recorded Interview
Angela Marie Williams/Detective Sergeant Stephen Marshall
6.16.23
Start: 0535 (AW escorted into room by Det. Melissa Blake)
End: 1148 (see medical addendum)
Note: AW appears to disassociate, stare off in a catatonic state, dance to music only she can hear, several times throughout the interview. (I thought she was going to take her clothes off at one point, Micky might want to play that bit back.)
SM: I know you’ve been here a while. I appreciate you speaking to me. Det. Melissa Blake shared a timeline of events of the past 24 hours, so we won’t go into detail. I think we both know why you’re here. Angela, do you want to have a seat?
AW: I’m fine.
SM: You do know why we’re here?
AW: He said it was normal.
SM: Who did?
AW: Father Michael.
SM: Murder? Your priest said murder was normal.
AW: Is that what this is?
SM: We don’t know yet, but it doesn’t look. Angela, you tell me why we’re here.
AW sits.
AW: Where are my children?
SM: Your sister.
AW: Shit.
SM: Would you like us to call someone else?
AW: Anyone but her.
SM: You’d rather I call a social worker?
AW: No. That’s fine. She’s fine.
AW stands, first sign of Awkward Movement (AM)
AW: You think I’m crazy.
SM: I don’t think you’re crazy. Can we start from the beginning?
AW: No.
SM: Can we start from the end?
AW: Let’s just start from now. What’s going to happen to me?
SM: That depends on what happened.
Lengthy Silence (LS)
AW: He said it was normal.
SM: Who? Right. Father Michael.
AW sits.
AW: I’m here now. Let’s just get this over with. Is it life imprisonment? Do we have the death penalty?
SM: No death penalty. And it all depends on what happens. What happened.
AW: From the beginning?
SM: Yes. From the beginning.
LS
AW: After Clara was born. I had PPD.
SM PPD? Post-partum depression.
AW: Yes. But it was bad, like really bad. I was in the hospital for five weeks. I had to stop breastfeeding. My boobs. They gave me a pump and Jessie picked the milk up every day. But he didn’t give it to her. Some days I refused to see him. His face. I wanted to peel it off his head, like an orange, Press my thumbs into his eyeballs and pull the skin back. Or like a pumpkin, I’d carve a hole in the top of his head and pull his face out from the inside, his smug smile and optimistic eyes turned inside out on newspaper at the kitchen table.
(Interruption at door. Det. Melissa Blake takes dinner order.)
SM: How do you know he didn’t give her the milk?
AW attempts to reopen door exiting the interrogation room.
AW: It was all there when I got out. When I got home. All of it. There’re still a few bags in the freezer.
SM: Why didn’t you throw it out?
AW: I. (Pause) This is going to sound. (Pause) I put it in their macaroni and cheese. (Pause) Crazy right?
SM: Well.
AW: I know. Not as crazy as all this.
SM: Let’s stop using the word. Crazy.
AW: Why?
SM: I don’t think any of this should be classified that way.
AW: Why?
SM: You tell me.
AW: What? Oh man, is it going to be like that? Are you going to do that to me too?
AW stands.
SM: What? Calm down.
AW: Oh, sweet Jesus. Calm down, huh? It’s going to be like that, eh? You’re going to do that, too?
SM: Calm down.
AW: Don’t tell me to calm down. I’ve been here for days.
SM: Twelve hours.
AW: Twelve hours. Sure. Can I just go to jail already? They have beds, right? Cots. A place I can lie down.
AW sits on floor. Empty table and chairs indicate suspect is beneath video recording device.
SM: Are you ready to tell me what happened?
LS
AW: You know. (Pause) What happened. (Pause) You saw him.
SM: I did. How did he fall?
AW: He didn’t.
SM: He didn’t fall?
AW: No. Don’t play games detective.
SM: I’m not the one playing games.
AW: I’m not playing games.
SM: Then start from the beginning. You went out.
AW: Date night.
SM: You and your husband went out on a date.
AW returns to seat.
AW: Yes. We went out every Saturday. We went to see a comedy show.
SM: The Laugh Café?
LS
AW: Yes. The uproariously unfunny Laugh Café.
SM: Then you went for a walk down by the quay?
AW: It wasn’t funny.
SM: What wasn’t funny?
AW: The show. (Pause) He laughed his ass off at almost every joke. Everyone did.
SM: It was a comedy show.
AW: But it wasn’t funny. Like not at all.
SM: Why wasn’t it funny?
AW stands, spins, mimes holding a microphone, smoking a cigar?
AW: My wife. Ha, let me tell you about my wife. Every night she asks me to massage her feet. And I gotta say yes, fellas, amiright, we have to say yes. I just wanna watch the game, but she’s got her feet on my lap and I rub those feet for hours and when I ask if I can massage her pussy with my dick for five minutes, maybe two minutes if she closes her eyes, she gets up and leaves like it’s my dick with bunyons and cracked heels.
(Pause) It’s not funny. Why are you laughing?
SM: You’re right. It’s not funny.
AW: It’s stupid. But Jessie’s laughing. Hysterically. Not just tittering because it’s stupid, but knee-slapping laughing. And I’m thinking, who the hell is this guy? Like, why’s he laughing. We have sex all the time and he never massages my feet. I mean I couldn’t stand it.
AW sits, folds in half, head pressed between knees.
SM: The laughing?
AW: Yes. And. I can’t stand him touching me.
SM: You tried to kill him because he laughed at a comedy show?
AW: It wasn’t funny.
SM: Again. You pushed him because he laughed at unfunny comedy.
AW: It was less than funny. It insulted funny. Like if George Carlin was in the audience, he’d have walked out.
SM: Why didn’t you leave?
AW: He wanted to see the headliner. Some guy he went to school with. And if you want to underline anything on that notepad of yours. He was the unfunniest guy I have ever heard in my life. It was fifteen minutes poking fun at the guys who played D and D in school. He played Dungeons and Dragons. My husband played it too. He stood up there for fifteen minutes making fun of himself.
SM: That’s good comedy, isn’t it? Self-effacing.
AW: No. He never mentioned that he played D and D. He just made fun of dudes who did without actually saying he was one of them. And Jessie was.
SM: Hysterical?
AW: He said his gut hurt so bad. When we were walking across the bridge. I mean, how is that possible? I wasn’t even smiling on the inside.
AW dances, jumping jacks, burpees, stretches.
SM: How did you get him over the railing?
AW: What?
SM: How d’you get him over the railing? And on to the highway?
AW: I don’t know.
SM: Why do you think you did it?
AW: I saw a movie about a woman who dreamed about killing her husband and after watching it, I felt, less alone. The husband knew she was going to kill him, but he didn’t know how. I wanted that for Jessie. I didn’t want Jessie to figure it out. I wanted it to be a surprise.
SM: You’ve been thinking about this for a while.
AW: Not like that. It’s Clara.
SM: What about Clara?
AW: Siobhan too.
SM: What about the girls? You wanted to kill them?
AW: No! Don’t say that! Who told you that? I’d never harm them.
SM: Who said you would?
AW: The doctor.
SM: He thought you might kill them?
AW: Clara. He thought I might hurt her. That’s why. The hospital.
SM: Right. Well, did you?
AW: No. Stop it.
SM: You said.
AW: No, I didn’t.
SM: Tell me what the doctor thought.
LS
AW returns to the corner under the camera. Silence.
AW: I mostly dreamed about the funeral.
SM: What does that mean?
AW: I dreamed of the funerals. I didn’t want them to die. I just wanted them dead.
SM: You wanted a funeral?
AW: How many people would come? Would people feel sorry for me? I couldn’t possibly get through the speeches and prayers without someone holding me up, supporting me?
SM: Taking care of you? You dreamed of a funeral so people could see you crying? See how much you hurt? And hug you? Care for you?
AM starts twirling.
AW: I don’t think anyone would show up in real life, but in my dreams, it’s like a celebrity died. A packed church, and if they all got killed by a drunk driver, or worse, there is media there taking pictures of me and my face is splashed all over town and people come from all over to the church to pay their respects. To me. Standing room only to hear me tell everyone how incredible my little Clara and Siobhan were. I’m never going to see them married. Never will be a grandmother. My dreams are shattered. In the blink of an eye. Their lives destroyed. Extinguished.
SM: Does that upset you now?
AW: Of course. (Pause) Do you like lasagne?
SM: It upsets you, that you thought those terrible things?
AW: I said yes. Do you have a tissue?
SM: Are you crying?
AW: It’s upsetting to think of them dying.
SM: This is all I have.
AW: A handkerchief? Do people still use these?
SM: I still use them.
AW: Is it used?
SM: No. It’s not. Yet.
AW: It’s hot in here.
SM: We can go for a walk outside after you tell me what happened.
AW examines her hands, her fingers. She cracks her knuckles.
AW: You know what happened.
SM: You have to say it.
AW: Have you ever tasted breast milk? SM: I’m not going to talk about that.
AW: It’s delicious.
SM: Look at me, Angela.
AW: I can’t.
SM: Pardon.
AW: I can’t.
SM: Lift your head and speak a bit louder.
AW: I can’t.
(Pause)
SM: Lift your head.
AW: Whoa, why so angry?
SM: Listen. This is getting tiring. I’ve got kids myself and I’d like to get home.
AW: That’s rude.
SM: What’s rude?
AW: Rubbing it in like that?
SM: That I have kids?
AW: That you’ll get to go home and see them.
AW stands, dances around the room.
AW: Don’t look at me like that.
SM: Start from the beginning.
AW: We went for dinner.
SM: After that.
AW: We went to the Laugh Café.
SM: After that.
AW: We went for a walk down on the quay.
SM: After that.
AW: The bridge.
SM: The bridge?
AW: I don’t remember any of that.
SM: Yes, you do.
AW: No. I don’t. Are you allowed to talk to me like that? (Pause) One minute he was here and the next minute he was. Where is he by the way?
SM: The hospital.
AW: Oh, thank god.
SM: Intensive care.
AW: What happened? Will he die?
SM: His family is with him.
AW: What? Who?
SM: His parents I believe. His brother.
AW: Jonathan?
SM: Yes.
AW: Will he die?
SM: You asked me that.
AW: Did you answer me?
SM: Yes. He’s being taken care of, but he may die.
AW: Will there be a funeral?
SM: I have no idea.
AW: Can I go to the funeral?
SM: He’s not dead. And. No.
AW: Why?
SM: If he dies. You killed him.
AW: I did?
SM: Yes.
AW: The girls. Where are the girls?
SM: With your sister.
AW: Shit.
SM: Do you want us to call anyone else?
AW: Father Michael.
SM: We tried. He’s busy with your husband.
AW: Persona non grata.
SM: What did you say?
AW: Persona non grata.
SM: I heard you, but.
AW: Father Michael told me it was perfectly normal. That people dream of killing their loved ones. That it never amounts to anything more than a passing fancy. A moment in time when we’re adjusting to life the way it is, the way it will always be and that it would only take time for me to come to terms with the death of my own dreams.
SM: Your dreams?
AW nods.
SM: What dreams?
AW: Pardon?
SM: What dreams? The death of your dreams?
AW: I don’t know what you mean.
SM: You just said Father Michael…
AW: Is he coming?
SM: He’s not coming.
AW: Where is Clara?
SM: Clara and Siobhan are with your sister.
AW: She’s a bitch.
SM: You said that.
(Pause)
AW: You know she wanted her dead before I did?
SM: Who?
AW: Siobhan.
SM: Your sister wanted to kill Siobhan?
AW: Siobhan tried to kill Clara. She was crying in her crib. And I was. Busy.
SM: Siobhan tried to kill Clara?
AW: I was in the bath. She was crying. When I got out of the bath, Clara was screaming still, but it sounded like she was drowning.
AW: She was in her crib, but her mouth and eyes were covered in cellophane tape. Criss-cross, apple sauce, her nose, there were cotton balls in her nose. I called Jessie laughing. I said can you believe it? We’ve got a little sociopath on our hands.
SM: What did he do?
AW: He said it wasn’t funny.
SM: And?
AW: He called our family doctor.
SM: What did he do?
AW: He took me away. Can you believe it? She’s the one who wanted to kill her.
SM: You did too. You told the doctors.
AW: I said I didn’t blame her for wanting her dead. Things would have been better.
SM: And?
AW: I didn’t want to kill her. I just wanted.
SM: You wanted her dead.
(Pause)
AW: Where’s Jessie? Will there be a funeral? A big one? At St. Chris’s?
SM: Sure. Whatever you want.
AW: I need a dress. My black one with the white pixie collar. Jessie likes that.
SM: You won’t be going to the funeral.
AW: Why not?
SM: Holy crap. This is getting tiresome.
Detective SM opens door, takes white plastic bag with food from MB, dropping it on to the table.
SM and AW eat. AW picks burger patty out of bun and breaks off little pieces.
SM: Tell me what happened on the bridge?
AW: What bridge?
SM: Over the expressway.
AW: He said I lost my sense of humour. He said I would have laughed at shit like that when we were younger, but now I only laugh at. Listen. I laughed at crappy comedy back in the day because I didn’t know what was funny then…really…about life.
SM: And what is funny about life?
AW: This is funny. No?
SM: Not really.
AW: You’ll laugh about it one day.
SM: I don’t think so.
(Pause)
AW: Anyway, I said, you know what’s funny? And I told him I made lasagne with my breast milk and his mother said it was delicious. I said when she put the fork to her mouth I imagined sticking my nipple in there. I thought about squirting her in the eye. And I told him about the mac and cheese. He said it wasn’t funny, but crazy. I said, you know what’s crazy? I said, you locked me up for six weeks with swollen boobs and a pump for my milk and then you never gave her any of it. He never gave her any of me. For six weeks I made these connections in my head. Like rivers of milk that flowed from the hospital, down Smith Street, across Bolder, through the park and into our house. Into her mouth. I dreamed I was floating on that milk and when she sucked it out of the bottle, I was going inside of her. That when I returned, she’d know me. But he filled her with poison and stocked the freezer with my milk. I asked him why he kept it, if he never planned on using it and he said he couldn’t bring himself to throw it out. I said that’s crazy.
AW moves erratically around the room.
SM: Sit down please.
AW: I don’t want to sit down.
SM: If you don’t sit, I’ll have to put the cuffs back on.
AW: Where is he?
SM: Who?
AW: Jessie? Where is that asshole? I’ll show him crazy.
SM: Calm down.
AW: I’m fine.
SM: Do you want some more water?
AW: No. I’m fine.
SM: I can’t have you passing out again.
AW: I’m fine. Where are the girls?
SM: They’re with your sister.
AW: Shit. And Jessie? Is he dead?
SM: Not yet.
AW: Will there be a funeral?
SM: If he dies. If there is a funeral. You won’t be going.
AW: Persona non grata.
SM: Yes.
AW: I’m not crazy.
SM: No. You’re not.
AW: He said I was crazy.
SM: Jessie?
AW: Yes.
SM: That’s why you pushed him off the bridge.
AW: Did I?
SM: Yes. Tell me why.
AW: He fell.
SM: How?
AW: I don’t remember. One minute he was there and the next, he was gone.
SM: Sit down.
AW: Can I see the girls?
SM: No.
AW: Jessie?
SM: Sit down.
AW: Why am I here?
SM: You tried to kill your husband.
AW: I did. Will there be a funeral?
SM: Fuck sakes. If he dies, you won’t be going to the funeral.
AW: I know.
SM: Sit the fuck down. Calm down.
AW: Don’t tell me to calm down.
SM: What’s so funny? Why are you laughing?
AW: Did you know Jessie?
SM: No.
AW: Did you know his mother?
SM: No.
AW: When I got out of the hospital, she told me she didn’t feel sorry for me.
She told me she felt sorry for my girls. My girls. She felt sorry for my girls.
SM: And that’s funny?
AW: I made the lasagne. I mixed two-year-old breast milk in with the ricotta cheese.
SM: Yes. Just like the children’s macaroni and cheese.
AW: Exactly. Lasagne is so messy. You can put almost anything in it and nobody will ever know. It looked like lasagne, and she’ll never know. I gave her containers of leftovers. She’s probably eating some right now. Joke’s on her.
SM: Doesn’t sound like a joke to me.
AW: You lose your sense of humour?
SM: Maybe.
AW: You don’t find this funny?
SM: No.
AW: I do.
AW falls forward, resting cheek on table, eyes closed.
AW: Anyway, he won’t die. He never does.
####
–END–
Alison Gadsby earned her MFA in creative writing from the University of British Columbia. Her stories have been published in various literary magazines including Ex-Puritan, antilang, Blue Lake Review, Coastal Shelf, Dreamers and more. She hosts Junction Reads, a prose reading series, in Tkaronto, where she lives with her family.
Nigeria, the so-called ‘giant of Africa ‘ is fast becoming a shadow of itself. From the pinnacle of relevance as being the most populous black nation in the world to a land endowed with enormous human and natural resources, the country is loosing its highly magnified framework of international and global recognition.
October 1 1960 birthed a nation that would be known to be home to the highest concentration of black people in the world. Known for its enormous resources, each regions at the time survived independently through the instrumentality of viable and sustaining agriculture. The Eastern region was known for the abundant production of palm oil and other related derivatives. Cocoa was an export crop produced in the western region and the famous groundnut pyramid was the symbol of the food strength of the northern region. Together, Nigeria prospered economically.. The political sagacity and geniuses of the Late Chief Obafemi Awolowo of the Western region, late M.I Okpara of the Eastern region and Sir Ahmadu Bello of the Northern region ensured peaceful co-existence as they independently mapped out posterity-driven strategies to make their respective regions peculiar. Consequently, Nigeria, before the coup in 1966 and Civil War of 1967-1970, was one of the best nations to visit from anywhere in the world!
Unfortunately, the discovery of oil was the commencement of what would epitomize the decline of the viable economy. There was a subsequent shift of focus from Agriculture to oil. The 70s saw the emergence of oil gradually taking its stance as the main-stay of the Nigerian economy. The oil boom of the 80s had the Nigerian attention completely focused on the oil sector. A mega-business it was and fast growing, the politicization soon crept in. Before eyes could bleak, corruption was the developing cancer whose anomalous spread affected other sectors of the economy. Hence, making difficult foreign investment to thrive in Nigeria.
As more multi-national companies begin to contemplate leaving the once-prospering economy, the following are reasons their decisions to leave Nigeria would see the light of day
Irregular Power Supply: Nigeria is own to be the parent supplier of the power to neighbouring countries as Ghana, Cameroon, Niger, Chad, Benin Republic and Togo. But it’s ironic these countries experience steady power supply whereas it’s just the exact opposite in Nigeria! Most of these corporations spend on petrol and other alternative power sources astronomical amount of money to keep business operations running. The recurrent deficits make many foreign companies check out of Nigeria to even other countries like Ghana due to power issues. A typical example is Michelin Tires. They shut down operations in Nigeria to set up a base in Ghana due to the incessant power instability in Nigeria.
Unhealthy Political Interference
There is hardly no business set up emerging in Nigeria that would absorb one form of political interference or the other which would pose dents on the technocratic integrity and affirmative philosophy of business establishments. With that in place, private investors would have to cough out certain money to grease the palms of politicians who would use their cronies to disrupt the smooth-running of businesses run by private investors through heavy taxes and unnecessary impositions on company expenditure. If the said company complies to the status quo, service delivery would be affected and quality of products may not commensurate with consumer’s satisfaction. In addition, to recoup the expenses, consumers are being charged exorbitant prices which is actually a counter-productive one!
Security tensions
The ‘grey-area’ security architecture in Nigeria creates a topsy turvy has created clap-backs by established private investors in the country. The almost-collapsed security system in the country has paved way for several terrorist groups constituting cataclysmic aftermaths to individuals and businesses. With the dreaded Boko Haram, threatening Herdsmen, notorious Miyati Allah, masquerading Unknown gunmen and mean kidnappers destructively interfering the security structure in the North-East, North-West, North-Central, South-South, South-West , South-South and South-East geo-political zones, Nigeria is one of one that nations of the world on the Terrorist Watchlist. That alone makes it unsafe of foreign investment to thrive in the country.
