Nigeria contains one quarter of the world's black population. So it is not surprising that—apart from being crazy about Barack Obama—they tend to think the world begins and ends with their country.
But this inward focus seems to have produced results. In the eight years of the last administration of Olusegun Obasanjo, who stepped down as president last May, Nigeria paid off its huge debt, stabilised its currency, cut inflation and established effective macroeconomic and fiscal policies. Economic growth is now at 9 per cent a year. I have been a frequent visitor to Nigeria over the last decade, usually meeting up with Obasanjo, a long-time friend of mine, and seen it change for the better myself.
Outsiders often chide Nigeria for being an oil economy, with all that implies: inflationary spending, corruption, misallocation of resources and so on. But it's not as simple as that. Following the Norwegian example, a high proportion of oil revenues has been set aside for future generations or for emergency use should oil prices drop dramatically.
Agriculture has upped its share of national income in recent years and is growing. Manufacturing, in contrast, remains sluggish, held back by power shortages—although there is promising interest in foreign investment, particularly from India, China and South Korea.
Religious tensions between northern Muslims and southern Christians have gradually faded away. Similarly, tribal tensions have ebbed, partly because advances in agriculture have brought rising incomes to the countryside and market towns. Even the threat of air crashes appears to have diminished as airlines have been pushed to retire clapped-out planes.
In Lagos, there are no more dead bodies on the roadside. The city is no longer the out-of-control, teeming mass of humanity it was. A middle class is rising, with all its accoutrements—large modern houses, restaurants, shops with the latest fashions. Crime remains a real problem, especially after nightfall. But during the day people walk around at a sharp pace, many of the men in suits and ties despite the humidity, pursuing their work with an intensity that reminds me of New York.
Yet despite its achievements, Nigeria is convulsed by a personality clash between Obasanjo and his successor, Umaru Yar'Adua. This is not a power struggle, as Obasanjo has little power. It springs from the new administration's different style. Yar'Adua is a fervent believer in due process and consultation. Obasanjo was a corner cutter—in the words of one senior diplomat, he "sometimes thought he was the constitution."
While he has his reasons, Yar'Adua has slowed decision making to a crawl. Some of Obasanjo's initiatives have been controversially nullified—for example, inviting Lakshmi Mittal to take over the country's moribund steel mill, and the building of a new cross-country railroad. And Nuhu Ribadu, head of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (a body established to fight massive corruption) has been replaced. Although appointed by the former president, Ribadu was independent enough to put Obasanjo's hand-picked chief of police behind bars, and the future integrity of the commission is now in doubt.
On the surface, the country still seems calm—the dispute over last year's flawed election has subsided and few question that the self-effacing Yar'Adua has the right to be president. The army—once the originator of coup upon coup—now concentrates on peacekeeping.
Nevertheless, there are serious tensions. The worst are in the oil-producing Niger Delta. The militants have lost sight of their original cause, which was to persuade recalcitrant local governments and the oil companies to improve the lot of the local people. Today, armed to the teeth, they are terrifying both foreign and local workers, stealing oil and spending their loot on expensive cars. Obasanjo never got a grip on this problem. Yar'Adua is trying a different approach, that of "patient negotiation."
It is too early to say if it will work, but Yar'Adua has had one important success already; Shell has announced it is pulling out of Ogoniland, the tribal area of the human rights campaigner and poet Ken Saro-Wiwa, who was executed in 1995 for stirring up protests. This ends ten years of stalemate, and Shell will now be replaced by another oil company.
And abiding tensions between north and south Nigeria remain. Obasanjo is a southerner and Yar 'Adua a northerner. The north is poorer, less educated and rather resentful of the south, where most economic growth takes place. During the Obasanjo years there were constant rumours that northern politicians were trying to destabilise his rule.
The latest sharp thrust in the saga is the indictment of Obasanjo's daughter, Iyabo Obasanjo-Bello, who was chair of the senate's health committee. The government is insisting on a high-profile trial, though some observers believe she is only guilty of misuse of funds and not embezzlement. Obasanjo, who has always been staunchly anti-corruption, is incensed. "Yar'Adua has declared war on me," he has told me, even though previously he had said we should give Yar'Adua time before judging him.
On my most recent visit to Nigeria, in June, I conducted an informal poll—asking every taxi driver, hotel employee, waiter, and journalist I met: "Who is the best president—Obasanjo or Yar'Adua?" Obasanjo received around 70 per cent of the vote. Yet only a few months ago, he was widely abused and written off as a rough authoritarian. A year of Yar'Adua, or "Mr Go Slow," as the press describes him, has brought home the virtues of the former president.
For the next couple of years, no open conflict between the two men is likely. But if Yar'Adua appears to lose his way and the cutting edge of reform is lost, then Obasanjo might well decide to throw his hat in the ring for the presidential elections in three years' time. I doubt he will sit idly by and watch all he has accomplished run into the sand.
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