Kinship and Corruption

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Kinship and Corruption

in Contemporary Nigeria
Daniel Jordan Smith
Published online: 02 Dec 2010.
To cite this article: Daniel Jordan Smith (2001) Kinship and Corruption in
Contemporary Nigeria, Ethnos: Journal of Anthropology, 66:3, 344-364,
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3 44 daniel jordan s mith
Kinship and Corruption

in Contemporary Nigeria
Daniel Jordan Smith

Brow n University, Providence, Rhode Island
abstract This article explores the social reproduction of corruption in Nigeria,

using ethnographic data collected in the Igbo-speaking southeast. The author argues
that corruption must be understood in the context of everyday instances of patro-
nage as they occur in networks of kin, community, and interpersonal association. Kin-
ship relationships, and other social ties rooted in similar moral obligations and affective
attachments, enable Igbos to navigate Nigerias clientelistic political economy. They
also serve to perpetuate an ethic of appropriate redistribution that fuels corruption.
The article analyzes a deep-seated ambivalence that is created as the reciprocal obli-
gations of kinship articulate with structures of power and inequality that characterize
contemporary Nigeria. Rather than withering away as Nigeria modernizes, the in-
strumental importance of kinship and community of origin may be greater than ever.
keywords Igbo, patron-clientism, reciprocity, inequality, social networks
N
igeria is notorious for corruption. International monitors annually
rank it one of the most corrupt states in the w orld. A widely cited
watch-group, Transparency International, reported that in 2000, Ni-
geria was perceived to be the most corrupt among 90 countries rated based
on the organizations Corruption Perceptions Index. The Corruption Percep-
tions Index is calculated from 1 6 different polls and survey s from 8 inde-
pendent institutions carried out among business people, the general public
and country analy sts (Transparency International 2000). Transparency In-
ternational defines corruption as the abuse of public office for private gain.
Like many (usually implicit) definitions of corruption, it focuses primarily on
the state as the locus of corruption and works from the presumption that
corruption is bad usually implying bad for democracy and development.
ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

Routledge Jo urnals, Taylor and Francis Ltd, on behalf of the National Museum of Ethnography
iss n 001 4-1 8 4 4 print/ iss n 1 469-5 8 8 x o nline. doi: 1 0.1 08 0/ 001 41 8 401 2 0095 1 3 1
Kinship and Corruption in Contemporary Nigeria 3 45
With Nigerias vast oil reserves and its widely acknow ledged wealth of
human resources, the country s failure to develop is routinely attributed to
the ills of corruption (Achebe 1 98 3 ; Nw ankwo 1 999). In the name of politi-
cal and economic development, multilateral lending institutions and bilat-
eral donors, such as The World Bank, the imf, and usaid, have consistently
attempted to promote accountability and transparency, whether it be through
structural adjustment, democracy and good governance programs, or sup-
port for civil society. Explaining the widely acknowledged failure of efforts
to curtail corruption in Nigeria requires an approach that accounts for the
social reproduction of corruption, even as critics decry its debilitating effects

on Nigerias political economy.
In this article I examine the social reproduction of corruption in Nigeria.
I use ethnographic data collected in the Igbo-speaking southeast. I argue that
corruption must be understood in the context of everyday instances of pa-
tronage as they occur in networks of kin, community , and interpersonal as-
sociation. Igbos are one of the three largest ethnic groups in Nigeria, num-
bering more than fifteen million. Though some particular aspects of Igbo kin-
ship relations are not shared among all of Nigerias ethnic groups, the gen-
eral pattern of accessing social and economic resources through networks of
patronage grounded in ties to kin and community is characteristic across the
Nigerian ethnic spectrum. While most scholarly accounts of corruption fo-
cus on the state and many explanations of corruption focus on the powerful,
I shift the focus to highlight the articulation of the state with the institutions
of kinship and community and pay attention to the role of lay people (i.e.,
people who would not be considered particularly powerful or elite) in per-
petuating corruption. This shift in emphasis is not meant to underestimate
the disparities that result from the present configurations of power in Ni-
geria, but rather to understand the stake the lay people have (or at least be-
lieve that they have) in reproducing corruption. In examining the social and
moral fabric of corruption as it weaves across the domains of public and pri-
vate, state and civil society, rural and urban, it will become clear that these
domains are interpenetrating, and that much of what critics might gloss as
corruption can look like moral behavior from local perspectives.
Igbos use kinship and other social relationships of reciprocity to mobilize
affective ties for instrumental political and economic purposes. Such rela-
tionships combine moral obligation and emotional attachment to enable Igbos
to navigate Nigerias clientelistic political economy. They also serve to per-
petuate an ethic of appropriate redistribution that fuels corruption. Further,
ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

the importance of such ties may be grow ing rather than withering aw ay as
Nigeria tries to modernize and democratize in a context of economic insta-
bility. Yet even an argument that says what outsiders perceive as corruption
sometimes looks like moral behavior to local actors does not do justice to
the complexity of the situation, for Igbos too (and, indeed, Nigerians gener-
ally) are keen critics of corruption in their country. A deep-seated ambiva-
lence is created as the reciprocal obligations of kinship and place of origin
articulate with structures of pow er and inequality that characterize contem-
porary Nigerian society. People condemn the very practices in which they
participate and lament the effects of a system they feel obliged to reproduce.
The State, Society and Corruption

Understanding the perceived failures of African states and relating these
failures to corruption has been the subject of both western (Bayart 1 993 ; Chabal
& Daloz 1 999) and African/ Nigerian scholarship (Orew a 1 997 ; Nw ankwo
1 999). As I will show below, the same issues are heavily debated in popular
Nigerian discourse, and much can be learned from pay ing attention to the
reflexive criticism that Nigerians show er on themselves. While there is con-
siderable consensus that corruption is inimical to the interests of democracy
and development (even if the meanings of those terms are themselves the
subject of debate), explanations of corruption in Nigeria are numerous and
point to various factors, including the legacy of colonialism (Ekeh 1 97 5 ), the
volatile mix of ethnic politics and military rule (Nwankwo 1 999), the impor-
tance of communal identities and interests in navigating contemporary Ni-
geria politics (Wolpe 1 97 1 ), and the lack of access of the younger generation
to legitimate sources of capital or credit (Ekejiuba 1 995 ).
Popular discourse and scholarly commentators alike often focus on the
failure of leadership:
The trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership. There is
nothing basically wrong with the Nigerian character (Achebe 1 98 3 :1 ).
If indeed there is any such a creature as an average Nigerian he is likely to be

found at a point in social space with limited opportunities for corruption as we
generally understand the word. Corruption goes with power; and whatever the
average man may have it is not power. Therefore to hold any useful discussion of
corruption we must first locate it where it properly belongs in the ranks of the
powerful (Achebe 1 983 :3 8 ).
ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

The nature of the relationship between corruption and pow er is central to

my analy sis. While acknow ledging that structures of power and patterns of
corruption in Nigeria disproportionately benefit the elite, I argue that it is
precisely the perceived interests and participation of average Nigerians that
perpetuates the system of patron-clientism undergirding corruption. Far from
arguing that there is something wrong with the character of average Nige-
rians, I will show that the manipulation of kinship and other social relation-
ships that invoke moral obligations and affective ties is an instrumentally ra-
tional endeavor that enables lay people to get access to social resources that
they might otherwise be denied.

A number of scholars have recently pointed out the degree to which so-
called corruption is woven into the very fabric of social and political life in
sub-Saharan Africa, reinforced by a powerful moral economy in which the
spoils of the state are expected to be distributed through netw orks of patron-
age (Bay art 1 993 ; Chabal & Daloz 1 999; Mbembe 1 992 ). While each of these
analysts has emphasized the mutual participation of patrons and clients, Mbem-
be (1 992 ) in particular points out the degree to which participants are locked
into the sy stem, suggesting a destructive cultural logic that has its roots in in-
equalities bequeathed by colonialism. Bay art (1 993 ) is somewhat more equi-
vocal on the complicity of local actors in reproducing the politics of the belly ,
at times suggesting that people are locked in, but also acknowledging it is
important not to underestimate the capacity of the lineage to reappropriate
the preserves of the contemporary state (1 993 :1 3 8 ). Chabal and Daloz (1 999)
are perhaps most prominent in their emphasis on the role of clients in fueling
the corruption that characterizes political economies structured around pa-
tron-clientism. They contend that politics in Africa must be understood as
driven by vertical ties of patronage in which power is maintained by redis-
tributing resources accumulated through corruption to clientelistic networks
according to rules of reciprocity that have their origin in a kinship-based social
organization and morality. About Nigeria, Chabal and Daloz write:
The basic reference unit in Nigeria, as elsewhere in Africa, remains family- and
kin-based: it is the fundamental circle of trust within which individuals operate...
Political elites seek to establish principles of mutual aid, of patron-client reciproc-
ity, based on the model of kin and family relations (1 999:27 ).
Central to Chabal and Dalozs argument is the assertion that patron-clientism

is structured in such a way that the whole society is invested in a system that
privileges informal, personal ties over rational Weberian bureaucratic rules
ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

and regulations. In other words, an adequate explanation for the perpetua-

tion of corruption in Nigeria (and, they suggest, in much of sub-Saharan Africa)
must account for the degree to which networks of clients that is, those at
the middle and low end of the political-economic spectrum are just as in-
vested in vertical networks of patronage as the elite patrons who benefit most.
My position is not to deny the historical roots of the cultural logics de-
scribed by Bay art (1 993 ) and Mbembe (1 992 ), nor to underestimate the de-
gree to which Nigerias clientelistic political economy disproportionately be-
nefits a powerful elite. Rather, my aim is to elucidate the w ays in which lay
Nigerians (specifically , in this case, Igbos in the southeastern region where I

worked) perceived their interests and participated in networks of patronage
so as to socially reproduce the patterns of corruption for which Nigeria is so
notorious. Richard Joseph, in his analy sis of Nigerian politics, acknowledges
this need to understand the role of non-elites:
There is little disputing the fact that individuals at the to p of the social hierarchy
benefit disproportionately from the prevailing mode of interest-association. Yet,
while making such an assertion, we should not overlook the fact that support for
these arrangements is generated at all levels of the hierarchy (1 98 7 :7 ).
He describes a:
pronounced tendency in Nigeria for individuals to seek support from their better-
placed kinfolk in the pursuit of the most basic economic and political goods. It is
therefore necessary to correct the tendency to underemphasize the part played by
non-elites in Africa in sustaining certain dominant patterns of socio-political be-
havior even though they seem to benefit so little from it (1 98 7 :7 ).
While Jo sephs point is theoretically compelling and resonates with the way
Nigerians have often described to me the workings of politics and patron-
clientism in their society, neither his nor Chabal and Dalozs account pro-
vides empirical examples of how patron-clientism is practiced and socially
reproduced in everyday life among lay people. Nor do they account adequately
for the tremendous ambivalence many Nigerians at all socio-economic lev-
els feel about this sy stem of patronage that binds and obligates individuals to
their kin, communities, and ethnic groups. In the cases presented below , I
explore practices of corruption among Igbo-speaking people in Nigeria by
examining everyday instances of patronage. In addition to describing the social
and moral fabric of corruption, I try to understand the ambivalence that is
created as the reciprocal obligations of kinship articulate with structures of
ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

power and inequality that characterize contemporary Nigerian society. I con-

clude by suggesting that ambitions to modernize in a society characterized
by extended periods of political and economic instability may be heighten-
ing the importance of kinship relations and other social ties that combine
moral obligation and affective attachment so as to enable people to mobilize
networks of social support to secure scarce resources.
Kinship and Patron-Clientism

Transparency Internationals simple definition of corruption as the abuse
of public office for private gain assumes a rigid dichotomy betw een public
and private that glosses over a complexity that characterizes the relationship
between individual and society in Nigeria. Among the Igbo people I studied,
the very nature of personhood is grounded in relationships with family , kin-
group, and community of origin (cf. Piot 1 999). The motives of individual
actors are inextricably tied to the interests of the social groups to w hich they
belong. Joseph aptly illuminates this in the realm of political action when he
states:
the fundamental social process in Nigeria is one in which these tw o propositions

(a) I want to get ahead and prosper and (b) my group (ethnic, regional, linguis-
tic) must get ahead and prosper cannot logically be separated, whether in the
context of behavior, action, or consciousness (1 98 7 :5 4).
Curiously , in his examples of social groups, Joseph leaves out kin-groups,

though it is clear in the full body of his work that he recognizes the impor-
tance of kinship ties. Nonetheless, this omission of kinship and the empha-
sis on ethnicity is characteristic of a considerable body of scholarship on the
nature of Nigerian politics generally and Igbo politics in particular (Smock
1 97 1 ; Wolpe 1 97 1 ). I argue that, at least in the Igbo case, the fundamental
features of patron-clientism are rooted in the hierarchical reciprocal ties and
obligations that characterize kinship relations.
Berry (1 98 5 ) and Bledsoe (1 98 0) both highlight the overlapping nature of
the reciprocal obligations of kinship and the dy namics of patron-clientism.
Bledsoe (1 98 0:5 8) argues specifically , based on work in Liberia, that kins-
people do enter into relations that are best described as patron-client rela-
tions. Berry s (1 98 5 ) account of class formation in southwestern Nigeria em-
phasizes the continued importance of kinship, even as access to the institu-
tions of the state becomes essential for doing business successfully. Among
the Igbos I studied, people gained access to resources through social net-
ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

350 daniel jordan s mith
works of reciprocity and obligation that had their roots in the family , the
lineage, and the local community. Access to educational opportunities, em-
ploy ment, urban migration, government contracts, and community devel-
opment services depended upon having patrons connected to the state and
the wider economy (Smith 1 999). To prosper required the help of ones peo-
ple; one wanted to prosper, in large measure, in order to help, impress, and
increase ones standing among ones people. While Westerners tend to think
of modernity as privileging individuality and increasing the atomism of in-
dividuals vis--vis the extended family and the community , this is, in many
respects, distinctly not the case in contemporary Nigeria.
Setting and Social Context

The case studies of everyday corruption described below were collected
during 2 0 months of fieldwork from 1 995 97 in Nigeria, primarily in the Igbo-
speaking community of Ubakala. With a population of 2 5 ,000 people in thir-
teen villages spread across 2 4 square miles, Ubakala is set eight miles south
of Umuahia, the capital of Abia State.1 Paramount among the principles that
organize social life in Ubakala is kinship, and specifically the importance of
lineal descent as the basis for individual and group identity. Like most Igbo
communities, the people of Ubakala are patrilineal.2 Because most of the thir-
teen villages in Ubakala trace their descent from a common ancestor, people,
especially men, share a general feeling of kinship with other natives of the
community. This sense of kinship is expressed and recognized more or less
strongly depending upon context. When at home in the community , cleav-
ages along the lines of village, hamlet, or lineage, for example tend to be
more pronounced. Away from home, when two Ubakala natives meet in Lagos,
for example, the sense of kinship is very strong, even if they are not closely
related (cf. Wolpe 1 97 1 ; 1 97 4).
People use ideas of lineal descent and kinship to create and maintain rela-
tionships of duty and obligation that structure morality and behavior in powerful
way s. In the village setting, children grow up with a wide range of classificatory
mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers. Throughout the life course, individuals
benefit from the help of their lineage mates. Similarly , every person is ex-
pected to assist members of his/ her patrilineage (umunna). At some points
in the life course, such as at marriage ceremonies and burials, these expecta-
tions and obligations are codified through specific customs. People know ex-
actly how much money or which commodities and sy mbolic offerings they
must provide (Ekejiuba 1 995 ). More often, expectations are more general-
ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

Kinship and Corruption in Contemporary Nigeria 351
ized, but individuals regularly feel pressure to help their people. These obli-
gations extend beyond the patrilineage to include ones mothers people (umunne),
ones in-laws (ndiogo), and a range of other allies and supporters created by
ties of residence and association (Uchendu 1 965 ). Reciprocal obligations include
an expectation that those who accumulate wealth redistribute some of it in
exchange for recognition and prestige. These principles have their roots in
pre-colonial Igbo social organization and provide part of the foundation for
contemporary patterns of patron-clientism (Green 1 947 ; Smock 1 971 ; Hen-
derson 1 97 2 ).
The local economy in Ubakala is highly embedded in wider regional, na-

tional, and global systems. Central in explaining the integration of the local
economy with the wider political economic system are the extent of out-
migration and the strength of ties to home maintained by migrants. People
in Ubakala rely significantly on their kinship and community connections
across Nigeria for access to business and educational opportunities, jobs, and
remittances. Migrants and their relatives at home move back and forth be-
tween the village and the city. But perhaps more important, they literally re-
produce many of the social structures from home in the city (Smock 1 97 1 ;
Wolpe 1 97 4; Gugler 1 97 1 , 1 991 ). The reproduction of social institutions and
continued ties to home create extended communities that expand the re-
ciprocal obligations of kinship across vast geographical and social space, cre-
ating incentives and pressures for corruption.
Patronage in Everyday Life: Access to Education

Formal education is both a marker of modernity in the minds of Igbo people,
and one of the most recurrent variables used by social scientists to measure
the extent of modernization. In the sociological literature, the spread of for-
mal education is frequently associated with a growing emphasis on individu-
alism, the advent of nuclear family organization and fertility transition, the
emergence of citizen as an aspect of individual identity, and the rise of bu-
reaucratic social organization. In Ubakala in the mid-1 990s, nearly all chil-
dren attended primary school, and more than three-quarters started, though
many did not finish, secondary school. Parents routinely complained about
the high costs of training children, even as they did all they could to further
their childrens education. The burden of training children w as partly offset
because the costs of education are widely shared. Parents relied heavily on
the support of their kin. Peoples experience with access to education in Ni-
geria reinforced a model of how the world w orks which said: a person needs
ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

connections, especially family connections, to succeed (cf. Nelson 1 996). The

following account of one y oung girls route to secondary school is typical of
how Igbos must negotiate and manage their netw orks of social relationship
especially networks of kinship in order to access opportunities for mod-
ern education.
Case Study 1
Benjamin and Ifeoma are Igbos from Ubakala living in Lagos.3 Benjamin
struggles to make a small photocopying business profitable, while Ifeoma
has a steady but low-pay ing clerical job at a bank. They have been mar-
ried more than 1 2 y ears and have four children.
When their eldest daughter, Nneka, completed primary school, Benjamin
and Ifeoma had aspirations that she would be admitted to a selective fed-
eral government secondary school. Nneka was an excellent student, regu-
larly finishing first or second in her class of forty. Nnekas parents w anted
a particular federal school close to Umuahia because it had a good repu-
tation and Benjamins relatives in Ubakala could assist in looking out for
their daughter.
Nneka scored well on her secondary school admissions test, but not well
enough to gain entrance to the federal school her parents wanted. Soon
after the scores came out, and it was clear that Nneka did not get auto-
matic admission, Benjamin asked me if I would talk to the principal to see
if Nneka could be admitted on her discretionary list. He thought I might
have some clout because I had just recently conducted a study in Umuahia
secondary schools as part of my research and therefore knew officials in
the Ministry of Education; I was affiliated with Abia State University and
therefore had status in the world of higher education; and he thought I
knew a lot of Big Men in Umuahia. I did not know the principal, but Ben-
jamin hoped my influence would be great enough any way.
I went to visit the principal. Essentially , I was asking her to grant Nneka
admission based on who I was. She refused. When I reported the results of
my visit to Benjamin and Ifeoma they did not seem all that surprised. Ben-
jamin said: She w as afraid because y ou are a white. She just wanted to
hide everything from y ou. Instead of the profound disappointment I had
expected, Benjamin and Ifeoma were upbeat. Since I had last seen them,
Ifeoma found out that her sister had a friend in the Federal Ministry of
Education in Lagos. The woman in the Federal Ministry said that she would
try to get Nneka admitted through the Ministers discretionary list. In the
ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

end, Benjamin and Ifeoma had to dash 4 the woman in the ministry a few
thousand naira (approximately $5 0, a considerable sum for average Nige-
rians) for securing Nneka a place.
To understand Nnekas admission as based on a bribe would be a mistake,

though clearly the dash was a required part of the process. In fact, Nnekas
admission was only possible because of Ifeomas sisters connection. The money
involved actually represented a social distance in the connection. The woman
in the ministry almost surely w ould have refused any dash to help her own
sisters daughter, as opposed to her friends sisters daughter. A complete stranger
offering money to get on the Ministers list would likely have been rejected
outright. Though when Nigerians are really angry about corruption they talk
about cases where people do sell access just for money.
But in general people are careful to circumvent state/ bureaucratic rules
among those they know and trust, partly out of fear that rules can be used
against them. More significantly , instances of corruption are far more likely
when they are undertaken as the fulfillment of expectations and obligations
to ones personal network of social relations especially kinship and affinal
relations. To accept money from a stranger to facilitate admission of a child
who is not qualified based on her exam result is wrong: the rules of the state
apply in such an impersonal case. To help y our relation get admission when
her scores were below the cut-off is expected and morally justified: the rules
of kinship, community and reciprocity apply when the stakes are personal/
communal.
Contracts: The Symbols of Corruption

Few events bring more excitement to a family and a community than the
news that one of its own has been appointed to an important government
position. To have ones son or townsman placed in a high public office is to
expect access to the most notorious and lucrative form of Nigerias infamous
corruption a contract. Contracts are the mechanism through which spe-
cific jobs e.g., the building of a road, the importation of equipment, the
printing of identity cards, the supplying of stationary are aw arded. While
private companies in Nigeria sometimes hire contractors to undertake vari-
ous tasks, by far the biggest source of business contracts of all sorts is the
government. Contracts are sy mbols for the whole sy stem of patronage that
dominates the Nigerian political and economic landscape, as coveted as they
are reviled.
ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

A contract is the most prominent sy mbol of patron-clientism in Nigeria

in part because of the critical importance of oil in the countrys political economy.
With the oil boom in the 1 97 0s, Nigerias economy became much less diver-
sified, and the dependenc y of state and local governments on the federal
government deepened. Investments in agriculture declined because the in-
flux of petrodollars created an illusion of instant and seemingly unending
prosperity. By 1 98 0, more than 95 percent of Nigerias export earnings came
from oil, that amount constituting 5 5 percent of total government revenue
(Watts 1 992). Elites no longer depended on access to surpluses generated by
peasant producers but on oil rents redistributed through the state apparatus
(Watts 1 992 :3 6). Central government control of and dependence on rents
associated w ith the oil industry intensified the vertical hierarchy of patron-
age networks and the importance of government contracts as a source of wealth
(Jo seph 1 987 ).
One of the striking things about the corrupt aw arding of contracts in Ni-
geria is that seemingly everyone knows exactly what is going on. Nigerians
assume that virtually every state-related decision or enterprise is corrupt.
Igbos tell stories of corruption with a combination of lament, resignation,
and humor. Talk about contracts and corruption inundates local discourse
about Nigerian business and politics. Such talk routinely lurches between
condemnation on the one hand (as people lament a road repair contract that
has been abandoned or concluded without noticeable improvements, won-
der how a country so rich in natural resources can be so poor, or speculate
about how a new political appointee will siphon government resources to
his own people) and conspiratorial anticipation on the other (as individuals
survey their social networks for an in with a new big man, plan a courtesy
call to a new official, or prepare a bid on a contract in hopes that family ,
community , or political connections will give them the inside track). People
share a sense that corruption has perpetuated poverty in a land of wealth,
and that only the rich get richer. Yet few people think things will change.
Although Nigerians recognize and condemn, in the abstract, the sy stem
of patronage that dominates the allocation of government resources, in practice
people feel locked in. One friend of mine, a university professor who was
appointed a state commissioner of agriculture, put it to me this way : Even if
I wanted to avoid the practice of aw arding contracts on the basis of favoritism,
I could not. My people would say that I am selfish and foolish. Who gets to
such a position of power and then refuses to help his people? Only the worst
kind of person. A man who enriches himself through emptying government
ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

coffers is, in his community , despised only if he fails to share enough of that
wealth with his people through direct gifts to individuals and community
development projects, but also through more ceremonial distributions such
as lavish weddings for his children, spectacular burials for his parents, and
extravagant chieftancy installation ceremonies for himself. At such events
his people enjoy his wealth they chop (eat) his money.
The pressure on Big Men to be corrupt goes bey ond aw arding contracts
to ones relatives and cronies. One should also enrich oneself. To be a com-
missioner and not build a palatial house in the village would be to fail to fulfill
the expectations of ones family and community. A big man in government

or business can only distribute and share the fruits of his office to relatively
few people through official channels, but there are additional expectations
that he accumulate significant personal wealth wealth that ones kinsmen
and townsmen feel entitled to draw upon (cf. Chabal & Daloz 1 999:4243 ).
The case studies of contracts described below illustrate the way s in which
local moralities intersect w ith state politics to create and reproduce a politi-
cal economy grounded in patron-clientism. I describe examples of contracts
that involve relatively small patrons and smaller clients to support my over-
all argument that corruption is sustained precisely because people at all strata
in Nigeria are invested in, and, in some measure, benefit from the accumula-
tion and distribution of public resources through informal private netw orks.
The cases also highlight the importance of personal relationships, especially
kin and affinal relationships, in negotiating a system in w hich patronclient
ties become less dependable as social connections grow more distant.
Case Study 2
Ike Nw odu is a married father of five who lives in Umuahia. One of his
relatives directed the World Bank-funded Abia State Agricultural Devel-
opment Program from 1 99495 and Ike was aw arded a substantial con-
tract about 4 million naira (almost $5 0,000) to supply some locally
fabricated machinery for palm kernel processing. Ike figured he would make
close to a 5 00,000-naira profit ($6,25 0) for himself at the end of the con-
tract after supplying the equipment and giving his relative his share.
In Ikes case this meant that his relative, the director, would receive
about 400,000 naira. Igbos often spoke of the 1 0 percent rule meaning
that one w as expected to kick back 1 0 percent of the total amount of any
contract to the person(s) who aw arded it. In the 1 990s, people began to
complain that commissioners, director-generals, directors, and military ad-
ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

ministrators were demanding more than the customary 1 0 percent. One

recent military administrator in Abia State earned the dubious nickname
Where my own? for his incessant demands for his share.
Ikes contract with the Agricultural Development Program ran into trouble.
The World Bank, in response to widespread evidence that its funds were
being misused, ordered a probe of many of its projects and imposed a freeze
on pay ments to all contractors. Ike had supplied the equipment and used
his initial mobilization fee (money aw arded at the beginning, in theory,
to help the contractor with start-up costs) to pay off his relative. He was
waiting for the final pay ment to repay debts to his own suppliers and pocket
his profit.
Unfortunately for Ike, as a result of the probe, his relative was sacked
and a new director appointed. When the World Bank finally lifted the freeze
on pay ment of outstanding debts to contractors and Ike went to collect,
he found that the new director wanted his own share in order to authorize
disbursement. In a sense, Ike was lucky. Other contractors had their con-
tracts voided. The Bank had approved his own for pay ment. But the delay
had caused his own creditors to become annoy ed, and the change of di-
rectors meant that almost all of his own profit was drained in paying off
the new man.
Ike vowed never again to seek a contract from a project funded by in-
ternational donors.
Case Study 3
Godwin Okoro is in his late 40s, married with five children. Godwin is
popularly known as World Biz short for World Business among his
friends, a praise name coined during his wealthier past. He hails from a
local government area that is the home of a former civilian governor. World
Biz is married to a woman from the former governors family, and during
the former governors tenure World Biz parlayed his affinal relationship
into a series of lucrative contracts. For a number of y ears World Biz w as a
wealthy man.
Times w ere leaner during the military regime. His patron was long out
of power. World Biz did not have a job, but still managed to scratch out a
living getting small contracts here and there. In 1 996, World Biz c am-
paigned hard for a particular candidate in his local government area chair-
manship elections. He used to tell me only half kidding that he was
the kingmaker behind the scenes. He also borrowed money from me and
ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

others and assured us that when his candidate won he would be in money ,
man. He expec ted luc rative contracts in return for his mobilization of
followers.
His candidate won the election, but for months afterwards World Biz
complained that the man w as ungrateful. He used to make frequent visits
to the chairmans office in hopes of some sort of business deal. But the
chairman kept putting him off complaining about lack of funds, debts to
pay inherited from the last government, and increased state and federal
scrutiny of local government spending. At first World Biz accepted the
excuses and maintained hope. But eventually he concluded that the chair-
man had no intention of rewarding him. World Biz was bitter. The chair-
man was an ingrate, World Biz said, and he did not know politics.
Within a few months the military again dissolved the local government
councils. The chairman was out of office. Only weeks after that he died
unexpectedly of a heart attack. World Biz said it was Go ds w ay of punish-
ing him. He w as not a good man.
World Bizs expectation that he be rewarded was directly related to the fact
that he delivered his people in the chairmanship election. Given World Bizs
propensity to exaggerate on his own behalf, I have no way of knowing how
instrumental he was in securing the chairmans election. Perhaps the late chair-
man saw things quite differently. Regardless, World Biz was calling upon a
widely shared value in Nigerian politics that a man should be rewarded for
delivering his people.
While there is no doubt that elite Nigerians benefit disproportionately from
the current structures, these structures are only sustainable because they are
supported by a complex moral economy in which those at the top are for-
ever fulfilling obligations and duties to their followers and clients. In the first
case, Ikes kinship tie was crucial for securing the aw ard of the government
contract. When his relative was sacked Ikes contract w as in trouble. World
Bizs experience with his local government chairman illustrates that patrons
and clients do not alw ays agree on the extent of obligations. But World Bizs
interpretation of the chairmans death demonstrates the strength of belief in
the moral economy of patron-clientism. The fact that his affinal ties to the
last civilian governor proved much more beneficial shows how much more
secure one can be in ties created through marriage and kinship than in those
produced through purely political alliances.
ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

Good Corruption and Bad Corruption

The community development union is perhaps the most important for-
mal mechanism by which Igbo people (particularly those who have migrated
aw ay from their rural villages) deliver or share the fruits of success with
their kinfolk and communities of origin. The importance of these unions in
tying migrants to their natal communities and bringing material benefits to
rural villages is well-documented (Uchendu 1 965 ; Smock 1 97 1 ). These vol-
untary organizations, with ascriptive membership bases, focus their energies
on developing or getting up (Uchendu 1 965 ) rural communities of origin.
Migrants who accumulate wealth in their endeavors aw ay from the village

are expected to contribute significantly to development efforts at home. Of
course wealthy sons abroad do not act purely out of loyalty to their natal
communities; in the act of contributing they build their networks of clients
and enhance their prestige at home. In the context of contemporary Nige-
rian politics, such ties and bases of support are essential for achieving politi-
cal power, and these dynamics contribute to the tremendous importance of
place of origin in Nigerian politics (Smock 1 97 1 ; Geschiere & Gugler 1 998 ).
Processes of securing and delivering resources to rural communities through
community development unions illustrate the shifting and situational defini-
tions of w hat counts as corruption in the minds of Igbo people. The dynam-
ics that underlie these unions also illustrate the processes by which common
folk put pressures on their successful kin in a manner that contributes to cor-
ruption. The following case study depicts the nature of such pressures and
shows how differently corruption is judged depending on the context in which
it occurs.
Case Study 4
Odi Nw oke first migrated from Ubakala to Lagos in his twenties, before
the Nigerian civil war. He built a successful printing business and over the
years became quite rich. Like most of Ubakalas successful migrants, he
built a house in the village and came home several times a y ear to visit
family and participate in important soc ial events and ceremonies. He
maintained active membership in the Ubakala Improvement Union and
contributed appropriately to community development projects.
In the early 1 990s, during one of several of the militarys programs of
transition to civilian rule, Odi was selected for a directorship of the Abia
State arm of a government parastatal (an institution set up by government
which is ostensibly mostly independent of the government) by a political
ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

patron he had cultivated over the y ears. At home in Ubakala his appoint-
ment was celebrated. The position enabled Odi to aw ard large business con-
tracts and build his personal fortune. During his brief tenure of 1 8 months,
Odi managed to enhance his position in Ubakala significantly through the
dispersing of favors, by increasing the level of his contributions to the Ubakala
Improvement Union, and through lavish spending on social ceremonies to
which his kinfolk and neighbors were invited. Odi occasionally complained
that his kin demanded too much and his relatives and townspeople some-
times grumbled that he w as not doing enough. But, overall, his tenure at
the parastatal greatly improved his standing in Ubakala.

In 1 996, Odi retired to Ubakala. At least in part as a reward for his contri-
butions to the community, he was voted in as an officer of the home branch
of the Ubakala Improvement Union. During the period immediately fol-
lowing his election, Ubakala was going through a period of political up-
heaval over the selection of a traditional ruler, or eze. Efforts to control
the Ubakala Improvement Union were central in that political fight. Sev-
eral months after his election, rivals accused Odi of misusing the unions
funds. His accusers demanded he be removed from office.
Judgements about whether Odi misused union funds fell largely along
lines of political cleavage in the community. But no one disputed that misusing
union funds w as a grievous offense. Odi was celebrated and rewarded for
the benefits he delivered to the community through his position with the pa-
rastatal, even though most people assumed that resources were accumu-
lated through diverting public funds for private use. Money allegedly sto-
len from the Ubakala Improvement Union, on the other hand, brought great
condemnation and was used as a political weapon against Odi and his allies.
Odis case w ould seem to fit the model outlined in Peter Ekehs (1 97 5 ) semi-
nal article, in which he attempts to explain corruption in Africa in terms of
two publics, one moral and rooted in ties to kin-group and community of
origin and the other amoral, a legacy of institutions imposed under colonial-
ism. Ekehs analy sis accurately captures the morality that underlies Nigeri-
ans scramble for their share of the national cake and helps explain the con-
trasting moralities applied to Odis use of government parastatal money and
his alleged misuse of Ubakala Improvement Union funds. While Ekehs no-
tion of two publics is analy tically useful, my observations suggest that the
realms of Ekehs tw o publics (and I would go further and say that the realms
of public and private) overlap and interpenetrate. The arenas of kinship and
ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

the state are mutually implicated in the structuring of a political economy

organized around patron-clientism. To understand the motives that underlie
corrupt behavior it is essential to recognize that self-interest in Igbo society
(and in other Nigerian and African contexts) is intertwined w ith group inter-
ests and group identity. Rather than attributing these complex interconnec-
tions to some sort of primordial identity , and therefore assuming that proc-
esses of modernization will weaken such ties, I suggest that the salience of
the reciprocal obligations of kinship may be growing as Igbos negotiate processes
of modernization, rural-urban migration, and democratization in a context
of pronounced political and economic instability.
Conclusion
Ubakala Igbos, whether they reside in the village or have migrated to the
city , rely extensively on kinship relationships to fulfill their economic and po-
litical aspirations. People negotiate structures of power using social ties that
have their foundation in family and community of origin. The very workings
and contours of pow er in Nigeria, including state power, are shaped and me-
diated through relationships characterized by moral obligations of reciproc-
ity and affective attachments. As Jo seph notes: there is no contradictionin
holding that a patronclient link originates in a power relationship and also
holding that genuine affective ties reinforce that link (1 98 7 :5 9). The legiti-
macy of power in Nigeria rests, in part, on the ability of patrons to cultivate
economic and political ties with their clients in a manner that evokes and
recruits the emotional bonds and moral obligations of kinship (cf. Lentz 1 998).
A number of scholars have suggested that colonialism and post-colonial
struggles over political and economic resources have contributed to the rise
of the importance of ethnicity in Nigerian politics (Smock 1 97 1 ; Melson &
Wolpe 1 97 1 ). Smock (1 97 1 ), Wolpe (1 97 1 ) and Joseph (1 98 7 ) have each ar-
gued persuasively that ethnic politics seem to be exacerbated rather than
diminished as processes of modernization and democratization unfold. While
this seems to be true for Igbos,5 the emergence of ethnicity as an important
political identity should not be interpreted as replacing or superseding more
local identities such as lineage and community of origin. Individuals are able
to hold many identities simultaneously, calling upon different levels of alle-
giance as necessary. Even as individual identities encompass wider domains
than lineage and place of origin, kinship ties remain incredibly important as
individuals traverse wider social arenas. What Wolpe noted about Igbos in
Port Harcourt in the 1 960s remains true for Ubakala today: loy alties to his
ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

family, village, and village-group were constant, and were invariably given
priority in any ordering of relationships (1 971 :5 01 ). Given the economic and
political insecurity that has plagued Nigeria over the past two decades, it should
not be surprising that people may be relying more, rather than less, on social
ties to family and community of origin.
One of the reasons people continue to depend so greatly on their kin is
that the offices of the state are unreliable when it comes to delivering basic
services and assistance through formal channels, much less providing access
to credit and other facilities for economic enterprises. And y et it is, in part,
the very demands of clientelistic networks to deliver public resources based

on moral obligations and affective attachments that makes it almost impos-
sible for office-holders to run their offices in any thing other than a prebendal
manner. This recognition of their own role in perpetuating corruption, even
as they need and require their ow n patrons to deliver their share, gives rise
to the ambivalence so characteristic of lay peoples attitudes to corruption.
It is not coincidental that a number of the cases presented above describe
failed, or at least contested, instances of patronage and corruption. As eco-
nomic circumstances in Nigeria have become more insecure, all kinds of social
ties are strained. Kinship networks have probably alway s been hierarchical,
organized along lines that can best be viewed as patronclient-like (Bledsoe
1 980; Berry 1 98 5 ). The conduct of kin is frequently evaluated in terms of the
expectations of patronage. In contemporary Nigeria, where kin are widely
scattered across the social and economic landscape as people migrate to pursue
ambitions for education, employ ment, and business, levels of inequality within
lineages and communities have grown. Consequently, expectations about what
ones kin should be able to deliver have expanded. In this context, dishar-
mony within kin-groups is common, with accusations moving along rural
urban and patronclient fault lines (Bastian 1 993 ; Geschiere 1 997 ).
Ambivalence about patron-clientism is widespread, surfacing not only in
accusations between kin, but in popular discourses about corruption and in
the proliferation of rumors and stories about the behavior of the rich (Smith
in press). While inequality naturally breeds jealousies and resentment, what
is interesting about accusations against the w ealthy and the powerful in Ni-
geria is the degree to which those accusations reinforce the very sy stem of
patron-clientism that generates so much ambivalence. Stories that condemn
the wealthy , whether they are voiced as rumor in the village or spread across
Nigerias tabloid press in the wake of violent riots, are regularly constructed
in way s that portray bad people as bad patrons. For Nigerians, it seems, much
ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

more troubling than the inequality of patron-clientism is inequality not bound

by the obligations of kinship and patronage.
Acknowledgments
I gratefully acknowledge the support of The Fulbright Program, The Population
Council, The Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research, and The
National Science Foundation for my research in Nigeria. I thank Cory Kratz,
Peter Brown, Don Donham, Peggy Barlett, and Marcia Inhorn for their helpful
comments on an earlier version of this paper. I would also like to thank three
anony mous Ethnos reviewers for their constructive comments, criticisms, and
suggestions, which proved extremely helpful in revising the article.
Notes
1 . Since my fieldwork in 1 995 97 , Ubakala has been further divided into three
Local Autonomous Communities.
2 . While most Igbo communities are patrilineal, there are many exceptions, including
regions that are matrilineal (Nsugbe 1 97 4), and others that practice double des-
cent (Ottenberg 1 968 ).
3 . The names in the case studies are pseudonyms to protect the identities of my
informants. In tw o cases some of the chronological information and place names
have been modified to further protect peoples identities.
4. To Western ey es a dash appears to be a euphemistic way to describe a bribe.
Policemen ask for dashes at checkpoints; customs officers expect it at the air-
port. But it can also simply be a gesture of generosity. An in-law can be given a
dash after a visit, or a poor gardener might get a dash from his wealthy bo ss
around Christmas. Most important, as I try to make clear, a dash is often a
monetary symbol of some kind of personal or social relationship rather than the
naked exchange of money for some (illegal or improper) action or service, as in
the case with a bribe.
5 . For similar arguments related to the other ethnic groups in Nigeria see Peel
(1 98 3 ) and Laitin (1 98 6) for the Yoruba, and Paden (1 97 3 ) and Lubeck (1 986)
for the Hausa.
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Kinship and Corruption

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Kinship and Corruption

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Kinship and Corruption

Daniel Jordan Smith

abstract This article explores the social reproduction of corruption in Nigeria,

keywords Igbo, patron-clientism, reciprocity, inequality, social networks

ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

social reproduction of corruption, even as critics decry its debilitating effects

ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

The State, Society and Corruption

If indeed there is any such a creature as an average Nigerian he is likely to be

ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

The nature of the relationship between corruption and pow er is central to

they might otherwise be denied.

Central to Chabal and Dalozs argument is the assertion that patron-clientism

ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

and regulations. In other words, an adequate explanation for the perpetua-

Nigerians (specifically , in this case, Igbos in the southeastern region where I

ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

power and inequality that characterize contemporary Nigerian society. I con-

Kinship and Patron-Clientism

the fundamental social process in Nigeria is one in which these tw o propositions

Curiously , in his examples of social groups, Joseph leaves out kin-groups,

ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

respects, distinctly not the case in contemporary Nigeria.

Setting and Social Context

ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

The local economy in Ubakala is highly embedded in wider regional, na-

Patronage in Everyday Life: Access to Education

ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

connections, especially family connections, to succeed (cf. Nelson 1 996). The

ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

To understand Nnekas admission as based on a bribe would be a mistake,

Contracts: The Symbols of Corruption

ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

A contract is the most prominent sy mbol of patron-clientism in Nigeria

ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

the expectations of ones family and community. A big man in government

ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

ministrators were demanding more than the customary 1 0 percent. One

ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

Good Corruption and Bad Corruption

Migrants who accumulate wealth in their endeavors aw ay from the village

ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

the parastatal greatly improved his standing in Ubakala.

ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

the state are mutually implicated in the structuring of a political economy

of pronounced political and economic instability.

ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

the very demands of clientelistic networks to deliver public resources based

ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

more troubling than the inequality of patron-clientism is inequality not bound

ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

Ekeh, Peter. 1 97 5 . Colonialism and the Tw o Publics in Africa: A Theoretical State-

dEtudes A fricaines, 1 1 :40021 .

ethno s, vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )

speaking Nigeria. Ph.D. dissertation, Department of Anthropology , Emory Uni-

ethnos , vol. 6 6:3 , 2 001 (pp. 3 4 4 3 64 )