I’m sitting at a cafe in 2.2 Kubwa, because I’ve not had electricity since yesterday afternoon. The kids here, in their 20s, are talking about the bets they have placed on some platform common to them on a football game ongoing.
Twice, I’ve wanted to say something, have bothered on whether to speak about betting as productive economic activity worth their excitement and youth, or whether to tell them about the impossible mathematics of it. Bank always wins, it doesn’t matter who Bank is.
But I have said nothing. I realize I am in their cafe because I have no electricity I have paid for in my house. They have an inverter. One is silent in the face of a structural irony. I have the perspective, they have the youth. I have failed to communicate what I know to them and now there is no language between us but a sigh and sadness and an effete social media post.
This is all I can say about the MMM Nigeria situation. As individuals, I feel we are intricately responsible for the greed and stupidity of regular (other) folks that keeps a ponzi scheme alive and well until it crashes. It does not matter if we told-them-so. I does not matter if but-i-always-knew. These people, whether from greed or hopelessness or ignorance, are thermometers to what we who know better have done, continue to do.
In this respect, if one seeks the happiness of sharing knowledge, one is doomed to sadness. We have thrown the language away already. What we have is clicks and clips.