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The young activist realizes that her homeland, with over 250 ethnic groups and historical tensions stretching back centuries, is largely a victim of internal strife. But Abiola criticizes the U.S. government and international corporations that have continued their oil operations for failing to speak strongly against human-rights abuses. "The U.S. has always made vague statements about wanting democracy in Nigeria," she says. "But what does that mean? At the very least, the U.S. government has to demand the release of the political prisoners." Foremost among them, of course, is her father. She hasn't seen him in nearly four years, but she hopes that when he is released he will be installed as President. A wealthy man who was criticized by some for being too cozy with business interests, Moshood Abiola has undoubtedly grown as a leader, his daughter believes. "For him, seeing how power has been abused in Nigeria, he's going to be a lot more sensitive to how it's deployed in Nigeria."
Nigeria's suffering seems far away from the home Hafsat shares with her siblings. It's furnished sparely, but with artistic flair. The living room holds futons with patterned slipcovers; and the walls have awards given posthumously to their mother. Each night Hafsat quizzes Hadi, 11, and Mumuni, 13, about whether they've done their homework. Khafila, a witty and irreverent 19-year-old, is studying to be an opera singer at Catholic University; and Moriam, who just turned 18, is at home for the summer from Connecticut College. Hafsat's daily routine is more stable than anyone could have imagined at the time of her mother's death, but this hard-won American life is not enough for her. "I see myself returning, without question," she says. "I just want to help be a part of getting us to a place where we feel proud."