THE CLENCHING SYNDROME: A NIGERIAN ILLNESS
In Nigeria, any second or third class citizen blessed with mobility gifts but lives without the Clenching syndrome definitely needs to be checked.
Although not contagious, it is a widespread illness which permeates our one unique nature of heterogeneity. As a Nigerian, it is something you cannot live without even if you want to. It is like a survival instinct that causes your brain and hands to work together almost inadvertently. Even though this syndrome pervades other countries around the world, it is definitely on the high side, here in my country of unity and faith, peace and progress.
Its symptoms kicks in especially when your immediate environment is densely populated or when it’s just you alone in the room. In my 21 years of living, I have had my fair share of this syndrome and in all honesty, I from didn’t even know it was intense until my recent journey home in Ibadan to my school in Ilorin.
It was exactly 5:50AM when we alighted from a Keke Napep at Oke-Ado bus-stop in Ibadan. Here, my younger brother and I had to take the next keke to Mokola, where we would find the next bus to Ojoo terminal and finally board the next bus for Ilorin. As we struggled to carry our heavy sacks of foodstuffs into a tricycle headed for Mokola, my medium sized heavy tote bag kept getting in the way, hindering me from successfully lifting the sack into the transit.
Bothered by the discomfort, my younger brother asked I dropped the bag first, so it was easier to lift the sack into the Keke. Even though it was the sane thing to do, I insisted. “Hell would have to freeze ten times over before I can drop this bag”, I retorted. I held on to the bag even more like my life depended on it. In fact, my whole years of existence was packed inside it. My school notes, laptop, cell phone, transport fare and every other valuables that made me—“me”. I could drop the bag—at least, not with those guys staring through the dark from that corner. As my brain did the thinking, my fingers did the clenching.
But that still seemed fair—until I began to question how critical this syndrome may have become when I started clenching for other people. I mean total strangers.
The taxi drove into Ojoo bus terminal with a smooth swerve. The terminal was really packed as usual. It was the end of New year’s festival and students were up and ready to resume school. So from drivers to assistant drivers, “tax” collectors, traders, passengers, load pushers, thugs and beggars, the terminal was filled with people you couldn’t trust. It was a sign to be at alert and clench the tightest way possible.
From where I sat in the bus, I saw a young lady who was probably waiting for the next bus to Ilorin. She had her bags and other luggage like every other traveller, but one thing was off about her. Dressed in a “boyfriend jean” and white crop top, she seemed ready for someone who is travelling. Until I noticed it. She wasn’t clenching.
Her iPhone sat right there in her jean’s front pocket, almost half way out. A little bit of ruckus was all that was needed to work magic on it. Was she either stupid or brain dead?, I wondered. Since she wasn’t clenching, I found myself clenching for her like it was my Redmi 10A that was about to take an unpermitted trip to God-knows-where!
Soon, the driver turned on the ignition and I knew it was time to wake this sleepy brainy up from her slumber because my time for clenching her iPhone for her was up. But before I spoke at all, an elder woman who was sitting right next to the window in the opposite bus was much faster than me. “Òde (Fool) Keep your phone properly jo.” It turned out I wasn’t the one doing the clenching. Which makes me wonder how many people also had their eyes on this phone. The clenchers? Or the “magicians” too?
At that moment, I confirmed that Clenching Syndrome isn’t a consequence of our paranoia and neither is it a mirage. It is a survival mechanism procreated for us to automatically adapt to the dangerous reality. A reality that every Nigerian saw and lived. That it became only sane for us to protect what is within our control by clenching tightly.
If not, who knows when they will cosplay “Anini” (a popular notorious armed robber in Nigeria) and you will have no choice than to cosplay “Egbere” (a mysterious creature in Yoruba land, known for its habitual crying behaviour whenever his mystical mat got stolen) because some magic had just been worked on you and your valuables are no where to be found.
You may ask: how do we even become victims of this syndrome? The answer isn’t far-fetched. It is rather quite simple. Security in Nigeria is nothing to write home about. Insecurity is a system and reality we have all adapted to. And clenching syndrome—it will exist for as long as possible until order is restored. Maybe then, we can loosen up and stop clenching. But for now, it only makes sense and feels safe if things go the way we want them. As long as you are clenching. But I want to leave you with one question: do you think clenching syndrome can ever be cured for Nigerians or is it a coping mechanism that has come to stay?
Maybe the real tragedy is not that we clench, but that we have learnt to call it normal. That we measure safety not by peace, but by how tightly our fingers can wrap around what is ours. In a country where trust has become a luxury item and security a rumour, clenching is no longer a habit; it is a language. We speak it with our hands before our mouths ever open.
So perhaps Clenching Syndrome cannot be cured—not yet. Because you do not cure a people who are merely responding correctly to chaos. You cure the chaos. Until then, Nigerians will keep clenching: in buses, in markets, in hostels, and even for strangers. Not because we want to, but because survival here, demands it.
