BLESSED ARE THE SHAMELESS
Blessed Are the Shameless A 21 year old American streamer enters Lagos surrounded by bodyguards and cameras, and very quickly the outstretched hands begin to appear. Not hands waving hello. Hands asking. Hands reaching. Hands, demanding. The crowd is loud. Some of them were laughing, some of them jeering, many asking for cash, for streaming. It is easy, from a distance, to call this embarrassing. To say Nigerians beg too much. To say the country has forgotten pride. Lagos, up close, teaches you the rules with your body. Heat on the back of your neck. Generator coughs behind walls. A road that is five roads at once. A queue is a suggestion. A policeman’s stare is a question you are expected to answer with money. The public square is not neutral. It is an instructor, and its syllabus is survival. In a place where institutions do not protect you, where procedure does not rescue you, where waiting your turn is a reliable method of being ignored, shame becomes a rule you keep for yourself w...