Benin City has remained an island of calm.
"We are no longer a city of blood. It is safer
here than the Bank of England," Idris Sanni, a prominent Muslim and ethnic Hausa
community leader, says with a chuckle. Crowded, feverishly hot and polluted,
Benin City is no paradise. Like the rest of Nigeria, most of the city's residents
are miserably poor and petty crime is rife in the crowded ghettos of rusted
aluminum and shapeless tone. Unlike in other parts of southern Nigeria, there
is no oil wealth or industry to speak of and the economy depends on an inefficient,
underfinanced civil service.
Potential tourist attractions lie neglected - a
600-year-old moat is filled with garbage and a crumbling wall that was
once the world's second longest is in ruins. Benin City rarely makes
Nigerian news except as the well-known hub of an international
prostitution ring. But while personal differences often escalate into
communal feuding elsewhere, Benin City's religious and ethnic leaders emphasize what they have in common. "Both the Bible
and the Koran teach us that 'thou shalt not kill,'" says Sanni, whose Muslim
community group recently sent several emissaries on a peace mission through
northern Nigeria. "We are lucky to be in a city where most people believe they
should not kill."
Many observers credit the city's majority Bini
tribe, which once ruled over a Benin empire stretching hundreds of miles to
the east and west, for maintaining ethnic and religious stability. The empire,
which was dismantled by British colonizers in the late 19th century, has no
relation to the modern country of Benin, west of Nigeria. The Bini are a distinct
but minor ethnic group outside Benin City, where the Yoruba, Igbo and Hausa
peoples dominate. Inside the city, however, they are a majority.
The Bini king, 76-year-old N'Edo Erediauwa, whose
ancestors periodically slit the throats of subjects as sacrifices to the gods,
today has a reputation as a peacemaker. He frequently goes on state radio to
make long addresses about the need for peace and holds court with community
leaders to prevent quarrels from escalating into bitter feuds.
When a Hausa man murdered the younger sister of
the Bini high priest several years ago, the royal family called for calm and
urged Bini subjects not to seek revenge. "Under no circumstance do we want violence
to destroy us like other Nigerian cities," the priest, Nasakhare Isekhure, says.
The word of the king, or "oba," is law for most
people here. He lives in a sprawling mud and log palace that is Benin City's
biggest building and he is revered by followers as a demigod. Local Muslim and
Christian leaders regularly pay homage to the oba for his influential advisory
role in the Edo state government and in recognition that many Christians and
Muslims also believe in Bini mysticism and the oba's spiritual powers.
The terrible times that gave the city its chilling
nickname aren't forgotten. In fact, Nigeria's modern divisions often seem overshadowed
here by the destruction of the 1897 British invasion. It was a time, a British
army officer recounted, when "Benin ran with blood. Human sacrifices were everywhere."
Traditional leaders emphasize that dark period
history as a lesson of the perils of domination by outsiders. Even now, most
of the city's priceless centuries-old bronze artifacts are in museums in London
and New York after being plundered by the British.
"The Bini have managed to forge a strong sense
of identity out of the humiliation they endured," says Musa Abutudu, a political
science lecturer at the University of Benin. "They have used this identity to
help keep the peace under Nigerian rule. Perhaps other Nigerians could learn
from this."
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