By Isimemeh Osagie
Tuesday, November 20, 2012.
It
was the morning of the 5th of November 2008 in Glasgow, and I had
stupidly forgotten to shut the windows of my 5th floor room in Andre Ure
Hall, a habit I had picked up from my home country (Nigeria) that
served no use in Scotland except to freeze yourself to death. The rain
and blowing winds that was synonymous with this part of the world at
this time of the year was in full display. I got up hurriedly to shut
the windows as the rain had started to sip in.
The
metal-framed windows protesting with a cranky noise, cursing under my
breath as I slammed it shut. Instantly springing to mind was the high
international student fees I had had to pay to get here (University of
Strathclyde), surely that had to have been in respect to the facilities
in the department, which was in complete contrast to those in the living
quarters. The room came with a single bed that put an emphasis on the
word “single”; I could barely fit my entire 6ft-1nch frame into it but I
had somehow managed to do just that for the past 4 weeks. Wriggling and
trying to negotiate my way to a comfort spot underneath the covers I
couldn’t help but notice the obtrusive blinking red light of my
blackberry, indicating 8 unread messages and 12 missed calls! Mostly
international calls from my ex colleagues, I had turned my phone to
silent mode right after the announcement and gone straight to bed. I had
been following the results online till the wee hours of the morning.
This
had been a long and hard fought battle. It all starts to come back, the
pronouncement, the victory speech… all felt a little surreal. Going
back to the last six to seven months, all the talk and attention this
particular contest had attracted was like no other. Everywhere you went
everyone seemed to have his or her own distinct opinion. Lunchtime at
the office was a cacophony of noise, everyone voicing their opinion on
the issue that had dominated the news for the past couple of months,
Charles was usually the loudest so never had any difficulty in making
himself heard, his booming voice could be heard at all corners of the
lunchroom, he would usually start by addressing me- his antagonist in
chief on this “small” political matter, “Isi how long have you been
following politics? If you have any experience in these matters, there’s
no way in hell you’ll keep saying these things” my response curt and
cheeky “well I’m not in the same age bracket as Wolf Blitzer (CNN
political anchor The Situation Room) unlike some of us” in a jibe aimed
at him, the fact that Charles was a lot older than the rest of us in the
department was a running joke within the unit, hence my response was
greeted with an uproar of laughter.
Then
it was usually Tinuke’s turn to have a go at me, she like Charles never
shied away from airing her views. Her small frame a direct contrast to
Charles’s couldn’t resist the temptation to chip in with her own
opinion, and her high-pitched voice always seemed to go up an octave or
two with each sentence “Isi ‘s optimism in this matter is hovering on
delusional!” another octave up “As someone that has lived, schooled and
worked in the states-I can unequivocally tell you that you are wrong“.
She
was the most eloquent of the bunch, a product of Ivy league education
in the United States, a fact she never wavered to bring to light given
ample opportunity. Her Ivy League background was a testament to family
money and not to any form of super intelligence; she was a good example
of eloquence not necessarily correlating with intellectual acumen.
Before I had a chance to respond Uncle John steps in with a “Can we all
get back to running a bank please?” No one was fooled into thinking it
was a request. Uncle John was the manager of the unit, the boss. On my
first day at work I asked a colleague why he was referred to as “Uncle”
seeing as he didn’t have any nephew or relatives in the department, and
he replied with a shrug saying, “
Everyone
calls him Uncle John and so I did as well”. So it was settled, “Uncle
John” was his name from then onwards. On the radio, TV, Internet, local
newspapers, someone
somewhere
had an opinion on the events taking place in American politics. The
buzz of the elections was everywhere; the spotlight was on the American
electorate. Which way where they going to go? The rhetoric was
ubiquitously stale to my ears, first it was between the 1st female
president and 1st black president… the hysteria on the gender and race
of the contestants had somehow managed to circumvent the issues raised
in their manifestos. Without trying to downplay the significance of a
1st female or black president, still I felt it was a huge disservice to
one of the most fiercely contested and best ran campaigns by both
contestants to base the race solely on that. Two people with remarkable
IQs and a grand vision for the country they called home. Yet I could
still hear the “no black man in a white house” jokes. Just wrong.
Now
after all the months of campaigning, mudslinging, and negativity to
hear those five words. Those five words that will forever be echoed in
remembrance of a day history was made, those five words that give me
confidence in the fact that if I worked really hard at anything I’m in
with a realistic shot. Those five words “change has come to America”.
Till this day I ask people what they felt in that moment when they heard
those words reverberate from their TVs, radios, or PCs? The answers I
receive vary from euphoria to utter disbelief.
For
me the overwhelming emotion was relief! Relief stemming from the fact
that I could some day tell my unborn children that if they really gave
anything their all, nothing could stand in their way. Relief stemming
from the fact that it wasn’t the same old story, relief that while there
was still pockets of racism here and there I could still look at the
glass as half full! Four years on and we’re at another crossroad. Not
quite the same enthusiasm. Not quite the same optimism. The deepest
recession since the great depression, partisan politics among many
things have dampened expectations. Still I have cause to smile because
the issues and not race or gender are at the forefront of the debates.
Never again will the question be raised “can a black man be…?” I have
cause to say I have been on the good side of history! So regardless of
the outcome tomorrow, I can say I experienced change! Maybe not
economical change, but change that comes from within, change that allows
a man to be viewed by his potential and not the colour of his skin,
change Martin Luther dreamt about but didn’t experience. Yes I can smile
regardless…