BY YOUR DRESS THEY SHALL KNOW YOU........Story from Jamaica

As Nigerians we have flamboyant ways of dressing. Our fashion is not geared toward conservatism; instead it craves for recognition and reeks of affluence. The colours of our dressings are not the quiet hues like brown, turquoise black; instead our colours are often intrusive ones like gold, orange, pink and indigo. Have you ever wondered why on certain days people treat you like a king and beggars approach you with confidence and for those who drive most of the time, you may find a waitress giving you special attention with the full expectation of a generous tip. Some of these things are subconscious the person may not be able to articulate what is taking place but once the tip comes, everything falls in place.

Bazua is a Nigerian from Jos. The Northern part of Nigerian, neither Muslim nor Hausa, cannot even speak Hausa and knew nothing about Islam. When he arrived Jamaica to work for just 2 years, He discovered that truly a lot still needed to be done to make Nigeria a unified country. His countrymen from the East classified him as Northerner and often avoided him, whenever it became necessary to interact with him; they referred him to Muslims from Northern Nigeria and even introduced him to Imams. His claim to being a Christian was dismissed with a sneer and he was labelled Christian of convenience. That same claim alienated him from very few Northern Muslims working in Jamaica. It became clear to him that the North and south Dichotomy was the bane of Nigerian unity. How many people can be convinced that many Northerners are not Muslims. Bazua was therefore lonely most of the time. He walked the streets of Jamaica on his own and tried to make friends among the locals.

At a point, during the second year of his teaching appointment in Jamaica, he decided to get American visa for the sole purpose of traveling.  He had no desire to live in the USA. He just needed to start taking that route to Nigeria instead of flying to United Kingdom and then down to Abuja. One of the requirements for getting visa was a police report from Jamaica. Incidentally a police station was conveniently located at Down Town Jamaica, a notorious area where all transport vehicles seemed to converge and proceed to other zones. Bazua therefore excused himself from work and dressed up in an embroidered Kaftan sown with bright colours. He put on his Housa cap of many colours and wore matching slippers and bangles. In his mind it was just like any other formal dressing.
While waiting in a long queue to be given a tally for admission into the crowded police station, it became clear to him that many Jamaicans wanted to leave their country and migrate to other nations. No wonder they lacked teachers, nurses and doctors. Their own doctors and teachers were serving elsewhere. The most Surprising thing that captivated him was the dressing of the female folks. He had no stomach for indecent dressing. With a sneer on his face he was busy despising one attire after the other. In his mind, the women were naked and craving for attention from the wrong guys. Eventually he got his tally and got to sit down inside the police station waiting to be called for finger printing. A young man nearby saw his face, moved closer and whispered in Bazua's ear “These Ladies are mostly Jamaicans who have lived abroad and are trying to get back to foreign. The true Jamaican girl is in the country sides" They both smiled and Bazua nodded. The young man disappeared afterward.
Bazua felt the young man rather came too close for comfort but that was probably because he wanted to speak in a low voice. He forgot about the encounter and soon he was called for thumb printing. As he came out of the thumb printing booth, he discovered that his Nokia phone was missing. He immediately raised an alarm and ran back into the booth. He was allowed to look around. There was nothing. He went to the seat where he sat and looked around. There was nothing.

"Did anybody see a Nokia phone?"
Everyone knew it was gone and heads were shaked in response. Bazua felt like grabbing someone. The phone contained all his contacts in Nigeria. He felt like searching the pockets of all the people present. He went back to the police officer conducting the thumb printing.
He did not know that he was already being watched through a CCTV, an irregular behavior on the floor by a well dressed Nigerian, probably a prince or a chief. Immediately he poked his head he was discouraged'
" I cannot find my phone! The last time I saw it I was sitting right here in this police station. Please do something"
" Please go up to the first floor and make a formal complaint"
" So you cannot check the pockets of all these suspects looking at me" Bazua said carefully
"You need a warrant to do that" Replied the Officer "Without a formal complaint, nothing will be done"
Bazua dashed out of the office, glanced at the other clients once more. It was as if there was a conspiracy not to talk or assist him. He raced up the steps and climbed to the second floor. He by passed a number of people and tried to approach a counter but he was stopped
"We are all here to make complaint, Sir. Are you the African that lost his phone?"
It was a slender woman in her 50s. How did she know? She pulled Bazua to the side and spoke in confidence.
" I saw when they took your phone. My advice to you is to go home. These people work with the police. Your phone is not where you are looking. Go ahead take my phone and call it"
Bazua loved the idea. He thanked the lady, grabbed the phone and called his own number
"The number you are calling is switched off"
Bazua's mouth flapped open as he returned the phone in slow motion.
" Now you know it was taken not misplaced. Take off your gold chain and the bangles. Put everything in your pocket and go home quickly"

Bazua was jolted into action. He did as he was told and briskly walked to the bus station. A few meters to the bus station, a well dressed young man leaning on an electric pole beckoned on Bazua to come. The strange thing was that the man used his right middle finger to make the sign. His confidence was compelling. You could never tell that he was about to beg for arms. Bazua approached him with apprehension and was relieved as the man said
"Give me three dollars, let me make up my lunch money"
Bazua smiled ironically. A man is calling him with so much confidence and authority to ask for money. He began to say that he had nothing to give him, but this amount of confidence and expectation silenced Bazua. He slowly put his hand in his pocket and brought out two Jamaican dollar coins and handed it to this fellow. The man accepted it swiftly
"You can do better than this. You are a Nigerian Prince" He said “Take your Sim card"
Bazua accepted the Sim card which was like every other sim card and stood there in shock. The young man walked away smiling.