There’s a Yoruba proverb that goes…”owo die die lara nfe… “ Literally translated it means the body demands at least a little respect.

I had gone to the bank to transact some business and on this particular day I had time on my hands and my mind was free of the usual clutter, so I was able to indulge in one of my favourite past times – observation and people watching. Every actor worth their salt knows the amount of resource material that is available just from people watching.

Anyway, I had gone to withdraw some money from my domiciliary account,and for the first time I noticed certain peculiarities about the process. For one, you get express service; it doesn’t matter how long the other queue is. You could chalk that down to the fact that there is a designated teller and the queues for foreign transactions aren’t usually long, but it was much more than that.

I watched the tellers as they conducted their business, almost all the others were either grumpy or sullen and very few had a welcoming smile. Most of them went about their business as if they were being put upon and they were mostly brusque rather than brisk. The teller at the foreign desk on the other hand was brisk, polite, welcoming and eager to conclude the business. Okay, you could be tempted to chalk that down to volume of business and the number of customers the other tellers has to deal with. But again it was more than that.

Even the way the currency is handled is different. The dollar notes are crisp, clean, and handled reverently. It doesn’t matter whether you’re withdrawing a hundred dollars or one thousand dollars once the money is counted it is then placed in a crisp white envelope before it is handed over. Our naira on the other hand—well we’ve all been to the bank at one time or the other, you know how dilapidated or mutilated if you like, our currency can be. It doesn’t matter how much you’re withdrawing all you get is a cheap plastic bag.

Tiny, almost negligible differences, in fact,till that day it never struck me as odd. There is just a certain irreverence when it comes to our own things. Some of the strongest symbols of any nation are the flag, the coat of arms and its currency and they are treated with reverence. There is a palpable disdain for our own things. It doesn’t matter who’s convening the event we get there hours behind schedule and call it ‘African time’. Yet invite these same people to the British High Commissioner’s house for tea and they’ll be there in shirt and tails 30 minutes before the appointed time.

You don’t have to look too far to see the collective disdain we have for our country, the way we talk, our absolute disregard of rules and regulations, the lack of courtesy towards one another as evidenced by the way we drive and jump the queue, how Nigerian ‘businessmen collude with foreigners to shaft their fellow countrymen….and that’s just the trivia; let’s not even start with the really deep things. The list is endless.

I guess this is the point where it is pointed out that there is no ‘country’. It’s difficult to blame anyone who feels that way, given where and how we are as a nation. The truth though is that for now at least, this ‘geographical contraption’ is all we’ve got. How do we expect other people to respect us if we don’t respect ourselves?