Every Day Is for the Thief

The narrator goes to the National Museum in Okinan, a colonial center of Lagos. The museum is ill-kept and unimpressive, which contrasts with his recollection of the place as an important cultural touchstone for him.

At the museum, an employee accosts him for taking photos and then resumes signing Christian hymns loudly, which the narrator sees as an act of opposition to the museum’s mission. Looking through the collection, he’s disappointed by the meager offerings and realizes that most Western museums do a better job of presenting Nigerian culture.

He recounts the troubled history of Nigerian art and the colonial export of it, which continues in the way that corrupt leaders use the nation’s cultural and artistic heritage to enhance their own wealth. One story particularly exemplifies this: a man named General Gowon telephoned the museum to say that he was coming to select a piece as a gift for the Queen of England to enhance his own reputation. The curator tried to hide the best works, but the general selected a 17th century Benin piece and gave it as his gift, which the Queen assumed was a replica. Ironically, this piece was previously taken by the British in 1897 but was returned to its homeland to help set up the museum.

The narrator returns to the front desk of the museum and asks if the museum has more to see. He’s directed to a shed containing the car that General Murtula Mohammed was assassinated in alongside plaques that refer to the slave trade as “an obnoxious practice” (78). He’s deeply disheartened by the meager, sycophantic portrayal of Nigerian history that celebrates its cruelest rulers and brushes criticism aside.

The narrator next visits the MUSON Centre, which champions music and theater. A wealthy organization, it has an amphitheater and a conservatory, and he notes that it’s better funded and organized than most Nigerian institutions, in part because the government isn’t involved. His spirits lift at the prospect of Nigerian students learning cello and classical music.

He interviews a staff member and then a student who’s standing nearby. The staff member reveals that students can have either a local or expatriate teacher, the difference being that the expatriate teachers cost more. The employee emphasizes that the students must own the instrument they intend to study (though owning a piano in Nigeria would be prohibitively expensive for most). The narrator can see why this might be necessary in a country without a codified credit system to allow instrument rentals, but that coupled with the lower pay for local teachers tempers his excitement for the MUSON. Still, he’s hopeful that it’s a step for Nigerian culture and art heading toward the global stage and becoming part of the universal experience.

The narrator’s childhood friend, Rotimi, visits him. He’s now a practicing physician, and after they catch up, he tells of the trouble with being a doctor in Nigeria. The narrator is studying psychiatry, so he has a good idea of what medicine is like. He’s surprised to learn that Rotimi earns the equivalent of five hundred dollars a month, and he reflects on the reality of the import economy, which doesn’t provide wealth for its people despite prices being close to those in developed nations.

He asks Rotimi who is making money in Nigeria now if it’s not doctors. Rotimi says that telecommunications, fossil fuels, and banking have the highest earnings. This has led to an economy of inequality and conspicuous consumption. Rotimi wants to get to America or anywhere else, and as they talk about the traffic and Rotimi’s car lacking air conditioning, the power cuts out.

Rotimi and the narrator discover that the generator’s out of fuel, so they go together to get diesel. They must go to several stations to find one that has diesel fuel even though most in the city rely on generators. When they get to a station, the narrator says how much fuel he wants and pays for it, thinking he got the advertised price. Rotimi laughs at him and tells him to do the math—he has been scammed out of 600 naira. Rotimi says that’s just the way it is and laughs, while the narrator is annoyed at the brazenness of it.

During their drive home, the narrator brings up Sola, Rotimi’s brother, who died in 1993. The three had been fast friends throughout childhood, and they hadn’t spoken of it. When Sola was 15, a friend brought a car to school, and Sola accidentally fell off the back of it, slamming his head on the road. This tragic story led to Rotimi’s parents becoming distraught and incredibly protective of him.

As Rotimi drops him off, the narrator promises to do what he can to get him into an American medical licensing program. Rotimi drives off, and the narrator thinks about what his life might have been like if he’d stayed in Lagos.