An imaginary monologue from a Nigerian university lecturer

I have been reading some recent research on sexual harrassment in Nigerian universities, and it filled me with anger, and then with a profound sense of sadness. I then bashed out the following, to try to make some sense of the life of a lecturer who avails himself in this way.

I wrote it in a few minutes, its clunky and there are idiomatic problems amongst others. It would be interesting to try to extend it into a fuller length monologue that could be performed - do you think it would be worth it? The text would be a partial success if I could get the listener to sympathise with the tragedy of a man who sleeps with his students for favours. Imagine a darkened stage, with a solitary figure on a solitary chair, a candle on a table next to him..

Bushmeat
What do you want me to say? I am paid a few thousand naira each month to scratch an existence like a chicken in the yard – that’s if I get paid at all. What would you have me do? We all have to find ways to get by. How could we live if we didn’t sell our notes to the students? How could I feed my family? How could I mend my shoes? Haba!

What do you mean my lecture notes are out of date? Some of my references are in the early 1990’s, is that not good enough for you? Where exactly do you expect me to get new material from? There is nothing in our library but dust and mould, and I haven’t been overseas since 1987. And don’t make me laugh and then cry if you think I can go online – when we don’t even have light on campus!

You think I should not help some of my students out? When the new girls need to find room in the hostels and there is not enough space for all and I can help ease their troubles, why shouldn’t I? They come to my office, we sit and we talk, I listen to their problem and then I sort them out, as it is in my power to. It is alright like that.

So what if they also sort me out too?

When they wear short skirts and show their shoulder, and come knocking on my door, it means they are also willing to come to the party too, you no sabi? Why should men always take the blame when it is the girls who are offering themselves like luscious fruit to be plucked?

And when they want to do well in their exams so they can get certificate and then get a job, why should they not come to see me, so we can sit down and talk it through? And if one thing leads to another, why on earth not? How many of them think this is wrong? Of course, it’s not just the girls I help. I take a dash from the boys to solve their problems too. Don’t misunderstand me: I am not like some others: my bushmeat has to be in a dress and have a nice smooth skin and a pretty smile.

My friend, you have not lived my life. So please don’t sermonise me with your air-conditioned attitude. You don’t know how difficult it has been to keep head above water these long years. We sell our notes, we pick out a little bushmeat each year, we let the days pass. This was not how I wanted my life to be, all those years ago, but this is what has happened.

And so let it be my friend.. Everyone gets what they want, so long as they really want it. Let my life pass, and I will let yours.