Dear Mrs. Kemi Badenoch,
I’ve watched many of your videos where you speak of Nigeria, not in bright colours, but often in shades of grey and black.
That’s fine. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions. Thankfully, personal opinions do not alter the truth in the minds of those who truly know it.
There’s a Yoruba proverb that says:
“Bi a gunyan l’odo ká se obe l’awo, eni t’ó ní yó, ó ní yó. Bí a ṣe obe nínú epo ẹ̀pà, eni a yó, yó.”
Meaning: “Whether we pound yam in a mortar and make soup in a calabash those who will not be full wouldn't be full and if we cook in a groundnut shelll, the one destined to be satisfied will be satisfied.”
In other words, growth can happen right before someone’s eyes and they still might not see especially if they’ve made up their mind not to.
Still, after watching your most recent video, I felt compelled to respond, in case you'd be open to seeing from a different perspective.
You said:
“Everyone had their own machete. Because that’s how you cut grass in Africa. There were no lawn mowers. We had to tend our own patches. I still feel as if I’ve got the blisters...”
Madam, we both know the tool you're referring to is called a cutlass in Nigeria, and that’s exactly what it was called when you were growing up. That’s what your teachers called it too.
Yes, students were made to cut grass in school. Not because we were in a jungle, but because it was part of the holistic training we received. It taught us responsibility, environmental hygiene, and sometimes served as discipline.
And yes, many schools couldn’t afford lawn mowers but there’s more to the story.
Cutting grass wasn't just about punishment or lack. It was agricultural education.
We cleared the land for school farms. We tilled the soil, planted yam and potatoes and watched them grow. Harvest season gave us purpose. It taught us patience, effort, reward and the cycle of life.
That experience shaped many of us. It made us stronger. It gave us pride. And you helped remind us of that. So thank you for the nostalgia. I wonder what feelings it brings back for you.
As for your boarding school being likened to a prison, that part truly surprised me.
I was in a boarding school too - St. Teresa’s College, Oke-Ado, Ibadan, and though it wasn’t home, it certainly wasn’t a prison.
Our hostels had structure. Smaller ones had six girls per room; the larger dorms housed about forty. We had box rooms for our suitcases and cabinets beside our beds.
Boarding school taught us discipline, social skills, sharing, cooperation and resilience.
If you had chosen to see your own hostel in that light, perhaps your social views today might have been a bit more gracious.
You said your government school had over 300 girls in one room. If that’s true, then you have an opportunity now. Go back to that school. Build them better hostels and let them be named after you. That way, your criticisms can carry weigh because you’ve returned to be part of the solution.
We washed toilets by turns. Sometimes, we pulled out sanitary pads that girls mistakenly or deliberately flushed down the loos. Some of us on 'duty' were made to remove them with our bare hands by our white reverend sisters. Many of them British and Irish. Yes, oyinbo women. They taught us hygiene, accountability and self-respect.
We did not hate them for it. We learned.
Dear Mrs. Badenoch, you must understand: when you repeatedly paint your people in unflattering colours, that’s exactly how the world will see you too. Lobatan!
Rather than distance yourself from Nigeria, come home. Come and see what has changed. Contribute to what still needs change. Use your influence and not just your words.
And since you run a charity that collects thrift donations, please consider adding lawn mowers to the list. Many schools will appreciate it. Though of course students will still use cutlasses because agriculture is still a part of our foundation and we’re proud of it.
Sincerely,
Adeola Agoro
(Journalist, Entrepreneur and Movie Producer)
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