We all therefore seem to have forgotten that loots do not make a man. They make a man a common thief, less than the soil underneath an honest labourer’s slippers.
The more I write these few lines for you each week, dear reader, the more I have found that the popularity ratings of the column have grown. Not because the lines are good (if you say so, I don’t mind though) but because they are insistent on being heard. I thank you indeed for tolerating me the way you tolerate a mosquito. If you pretend long enough that it isn’t there, it might actually go away. So I find that many read me to get me out of their way and promptly settle down to ignore me. That is how the column has earned its popularity.
Notoriety though I find comes mostly through politics. No, I don’t hate politics. I just don’t consider myself as one who is politically conscious, more like a political somnambulant. Half of the time, I have no idea how many states in Nigeria have governors. Heck, half of the time I have no idea who indeed is the governor of which state. The other day, I heard that someone called Gov. XYZ had been removed as governor of a state in Nigeria by a tribunal. Who, I asked, is that? Which State is he governing? Someone said he was a governor. Yes, I read that, I replied, but who the heck is he? Everyone looked at me like I had lost it. The economy has finally got to her; they thought; a governor is someone everyone should know. And I went away thinking, how do they know all these governors when they seem to change every minute?
The problem, I reasoned, is that many of my fellow citizens do not set out in life to be anything more than notorious. The Nigerian seems to have one credo: make some noise and people know you are there. Then, what happens? Oh, before you know it, you become the governor of a state, a Representative, a Senator, a principal, a…. On what platform? The platform of noisemaking! But what has he achieved?
So, there you are, I do not know politics, just like I do not know maths. Why, the other day, someone gave me a poser that sounded like one of those Satan uses to determine who goes to hell with him. The test was that if someone were to offer to buy a goat for the sum of N2, 000.00 and the seller agreed to the price and the buyer brought out the money to pay for the goat but the goat leapt up and snatched the money and ate it, then how much had the goat become and who then owned it – buyer or seller? For reply, I made only one gesture: Cuckoo! Why should I give him the privilege to know I did not know maths, I reasoned?!
So, you can imagine my horror when I heard yesterday that a senator had been taken to another court. I was really horrified. Please, I begged, don’t tell me I did not know that the senator was in one court in the first place. The fellow looked at me like I had mutated to some unrecognisable being. This is his second court and who knows how many more courts before he is through with us, I was told. I sat down in great misery and deep mystery: where had I been all my life?
Seriously, reader, you can’t blame me. I have been too busy searching for the truth such as where all of Nigeria’s money had got to. First, I was reading that some two point something billion dollars had been shared among a few Nigerians who happened to belong to a political party. Naturally, that confabulated the few facts in my head. Then I began to hear through confessions how the money was disbursed to various agents of the party; and the offers some of them made to return it, either through coercion or remorse. Naturally, I wiped my face some more trying to imagine which bank would contain enough storage space to receive these vast sums when they are converted to our very worthy naira.
That was when I began to hear stories of how a few top people in one of the armed forces had somehow contrived to convert hundreds of billions of naira, meant for the upkeep of their own arm of the armed forces, to their own personal use. As I was told, they went as far as constructing an underground pit or latrine or soak-away (the story is not very straight around this corner) in the house of a member to keep some of the monies while some nestled comfortably in the accounts of the wife of another. As these revelations were coming out, you can imagine that my face wiping grew to alarming proportions. I found I had begun to wash my face more frequently than Pilate did his hands. I also wanted to see if the water would tell me why my fellow citizens would persist in settling only for notoriety when they could go for renown.
One group of people that gets notoriety for renown is known as writers, the truth seekers. This is why we are celebrating them this week. I know they also do not work for renown but are happy to bask in it when it comes. Most of the time, they are just content to smile broadly when they succeed in getting close to the truth.
There are many reasons why they do not get that renown. Their messages are often unpalatable to the society; they mirror the society back to it; they reflect for the society the consequences of their heady ways, etc. Truth is, in writing, the writer keeps the truth pristine and unalloyed. Who gives renown to anyone for telling the truth?
Most Nigerians are rather interested in scrambling for loots. We all therefore seem to have forgotten that loots do not make a man. They make a man a common thief, less than the soil underneath an honest labourer’s slippers. We have said it again and again on this column that what makes a man is not the number of houses he owns (whether honestly acquired or not), or the number of private jets he owns (acquired properly or not), or the number of women or men they are able to sleep with (acquired legally or not).
True, you have heard many people preach again and again that you cannot take it with you. Well, I’m here to tell you something different. You can take it with you. The only thing is that what you have here gets converted to a different currency when you die. The man who has worked only at stealing from the country may get to enjoy his loot here but when he dies, the loot gets converted into his infamous name which will become synonymous with notoriety. The man who works at actually achieving something may or may not enjoy his proceeds on earth; but when he dies his good name gets converted also into something akin to renown.
What matters most in this world is what we do for a living, how well we do it and what we are able to achieve something good through it, no matter how little or how big. Achieving something through one’s efforts is a greater success than any amount of money that one can steal. It not only brings out the truly noble thing in one’s character, it enables a man to touch the lower tip of the universe. That man/woman is able to reach beyond himself, conquer his lowest instincts and celebrate The Truth. That man/woman is the writer. Here’s raising a toast: To all writers!
- This article was first published on 15thJuly, 2018 to celebrate Writers’ Day.
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