Category: Tatalo Alamu

  • Flying to conclusion

    ( Okon delivers his magisterial verdict)

    Snooper sympathises and commiserates with our avid aviator and flying governor of Taraba state, Danbaba Suntai, as he is swapped up in a German hospital battling life-threatening injuries. It was reported that Suntai’s personally piloted light aircraft crashed about 38 miles to Yola Airport on the Yola-Numan Road hours after departing his native Taraba state from a private airstrip.

    They are grave questions bordering on state and national security to ask when a serving governor is perpetually prone to taking personally to the sky. It is said that after pumping billions of naira in an unviable airport, Suntai summarily abandoned this project only to build for himself an airstrip near his village of Suntai. In obedience to good taste and compassion, we will leave further questions until the grounded governor fully recovers. From a remote distance, Suntai looks like a decent and urbane fellow who can be fruitfully engaged.

    Still from a purely human angle, snooper cannot hold back a grudging admiration for Danbaba Suntai’s pluck and courage. There is something to be said for any individual who has conquered humanity’s natural fear of dizzying heights and the starry stratosphere. For those who have been bitten by the bug, next to the fear of flying is the fear of not flying.

    Those who have heard or read about the exploits of Antoine De Saint-Exupery, the great French aviator, will know what we mean. The dapper and Bohemian Frenchman practically lived in the skies and died there. Remarkable poet, writer and philosopher, Saint-Exupery flew several solo missions for war and peace in his rudimentary, ill-equipped planes until he met a watery end off the coast of North Africa.

    And those who have read Charles Lindbergh’s remarkable memoir, Hour of Gold; Hour of Lead, will know what it means for a solitary individual to engage the demons of the skies without adequate provision or reliable aeronautical data. Lindbergh was the first human to fly solo across the Atlantic from America to Europe.

    It has been noted that Danbaba Suntai’s first love was flying. Even though he secured admission to that famous aeronautical institution in Florida, he was cheated out of contention by sheer financial adversity. He trained as a pharmacist instead. But even as an elected governor, the chap from Suntai never forgot his first love. Obviously by private arrangement, he sought and secured admission to the Aviation School in Zaria where he was trained to become a pilot.

    But in a piece of delectable irony, Snooper had been thinking that the controversy as to whether Suntai was a trained pilot was thus resolved when an angry listener to Gbenga Aruleba’s morning programme on AIT shot back to claim that what the governor went through was a “crash programme.”

    It was at this juncture that the inevitable Okon crashed into his master’s bedroom.

    “Oga dem don say dem governor dem give am crash programme.” the mad boy sneered.

    “So, what is your own there?” snooper demanded angrily.

    “No be say dem train am to crash be dat? Abi na Okon’s head no correct again?” the crazy boy shot back and was promptly expelled from the room.

    It all reminds one of a story from the famous Readers’ Digest. Locked into the blue and eerie skies, a trainee paratrooper once asked his trainer what would happen should the parachute refuse to open. The gruff old warrior took a look at the frightened fellow and then shot back. “That, my boy, is what they call jumping to conclusion!” We must hope and pray that His Excellency has not flown to conclusion.

  • “This is madness”——Mohammed Shuwa

    Dear readers, those were the exact words of the late General Mohammed Shuwa upon landing in the country on the morning of February 19, 1976 only to discover that General Murtala Mohammed, his Kano compatriot and head of state, had been assassinated in an abortive military uprising. Although a most senior and respected general, Shuwa had loyally elected to serve under Mohammed as a member of the Federal Executive Council.

    Today, 36 years after, the country seems to be under the spell of a worse madness. On Friday, this pious and quiet general was reportedly gunned down by Boko Haram insurgents in Maiduguri. If a man could survive the civil war as one of its top commanders only to succumb to a violent sect, something is definitely going on. An endgame is unfolding in the north which could spell terminal disaster for the entire country.

    General Shuwa was by all accounts a first class officer, a first rate gentleman and a very humane and compassionate man. May his gentle and noble soul rest in peace.

  • The Scots are voting, not revolting

    The Scots are voting, not revolting

    (New trends in nation formation)

    Almost five hundred years after the Treaty of Westphalia, the nation-state paradigm continues to fascinate as a major work in progress. No one is sure of how it will end, or which strange turn it will take in even the most developed centres of the globe. Like the novel genre which consecrated its arrival, its obituary has been announced several times only for it to arrive as a ghostly guest at its own funeral. So till date, the nation-state remains the dominant instrument for mapping territorial space.

    Like the famous owl of Minerva which often begins its journey after the events, the nation often begins its real journey after the pundits have exhausted themselves. Most times, it is better for people to vote than to revolt. Elections, when and where free and fair, remain the most potent weapon for arbitrating and modulating the destiny of the nation.

    Sometimes, a single election assumes the status of a national or regional referendum. As it has been noted, people fight and die for a cause only to discover that what they have fought for is not what they have achieved. Since human existence is luckily finite, it is then left for others to pick up the gauntlet. Elections often play a sick joke on humanity in the process of guiding their affairs.

    Last week as the good people of Ondo state in Nigeria marginally voted for a continuation of the status quo or a version of sub-regional self-determination, a more historic referendum loomed large in the near distance and became an almost inevitable reality rather than an elusive mirage. British Prime minister, David Cameron and Scotland’s pro-independence first minister, Alex Salmond, meeting in Edinburgh finally agreed to a referendum to determine the 400 year union between England and Scotland. It must take place by 2014. Is this end of the first truly modern nation-state, or the end of the beginning as Winston Churchill, the most famous Englishman of all time will put it?

    Within the context of what is known as la longue dure or the long arch of history, it is possible to view the Ondo election as a botched or bungled referendum which will return to haunt. It is also possible that what we are witnessing is the rise of sub-ethnic nationalism or the most dramatic instance of the segmentation of elite consciousness within the old region. If the issues raised are not immediately addressed, they will make regional integration a forlorn dream, a fatal dagger in the heart of the thematisation of national narrative in terms of regional aspiration.

    In its most depressing possibility, it may well be that by the time the Ondo conundrum is resolved, another political warlord would have struck from another direction in the old region, further politically dispersing the tribe. We may yet have military rule to thank for this Balkanisation of regional consciousness. With the benefit of hindsight, it may well be the military’s most enduring contribution to nation-building.

    But if on the other hand, a greater national emergency were to intervene in the nearest future, the old regional consciousness will reassert its superiority and supremacy in a new form irrespective of local opposition. It is hard to imagine a more impossible taskmaster than the nation-state paradigm and its tortuous and mind bending history.

    Be that as it may, the global import of the impending referendum in Britain whittles into utter insignificance a mere election in a remote state of a former British colony. You cannot give what you don’t have. The British model of nation-formation is put to severe test by developments in their own backyard. The sorcerer’s apprentice cannot be wiser than the sorcerer.

    As it was the case in their own nation, the manual is to forcibly weld the nation of different nationalities through the violent instrumentality of a master-nationality around which the new nation must congeal and coalesce by blood, sweat and tears. This model has come to grief in the old India, in Sudan, in Southern Africa and elsewhere after much strife and bloodshed. After being exported abroad, the virus has now returned to the original carrier. It is the turn of the English patient.

    But we must thank god for small mercies. The impending referendum explodes several myths of the nation which Nigerian authorities and Nigerians must do well to study and monitor closely. First, it is always better to allow the diverse people of a territorial space to determine the best and most creative form of cohabitation rather than hold them together and sometimes against their wish like inmates of a colonial garrison or a mental asylum.

    Second, no nation is ever divinely ordained or handed down from heaven. This is a stupid myth. Finally, the forcible union of disparate groups in a nation-space is not an irreversible or immutable arrangement like the Catholic marriage which is not subject to dissolution and/or annulment. Nations being human constructs are subject to human amendments when and if the form violates the contents. You cannot force a grown up man into the trousers of a toddler.

    Yet there are profound ironies and a play of signifiers across rigid binary divisions about the impending referendum which ought to be of interest to us in Nigeria. It is quite curious and intriguing that it has always been Conservative governments that are in the forefront of championing Devolution in Britain rather than the more radical and reform-oriented Labour Party. In 1993, John Major had declared that the nation would not decline were the majority of the people in Northern Island to vote to join the Republic of Ireland.

    The point is that with its roots in Fabian Socialism and its consciousness steeped and forged in an indivisible proletarian consciousness and pan-Britain confraternity of the socially aggrieved, Labour Party would always view separatist movements through the prism of suspicion and unease. Old statist Bolsheviks with their command economy and command politics are still very much alive. In any case, the separation of Scotland from England would rob Labour of substantial electoral fortunes. The socialist vision resonates more with the underdog..

    But it is also possible that after centuries of cohabitation, the Scots have come to love and appreciate the immense economic advantages and the political homogeneity that a bigger British identity confers over the shrivelled possibilities of separatist laagers. In the end, material wellbeing often trumps cultural and ethnic grandstanding.

    In a revealing survey, it was shown that if the referendum were to be conducted at this moment, the majority vote would go for the retention of the old union. When disparate entities are forced together over a long period, they tend to develop certain overarching commonalities. This should warm the heart of Nigeria’s old military nationalists and one-nation panjandrums.

    What should even intrigue concerned Nigerians the more is the fact that the prospective Scottish nation will have the Queen of England as its titular head just as it has been the case in Australia and Canada. It will remain in NATO and retain the pound sterling as an ancillary buffer to pressures from the Euro-zone. It is certainly going to be a strange new-type nation and one whose creative nuances should be of interest to those interested in a reinvention of the outmoded and superannuated model of colonial nationhood foisted on Nigerians..

    For the proud, thrifty and tough Scottish people, it may very well be the beginning of the end of a historical nightmare lasting several centuries. The conquest and suppression of the Scots was done with the savagery and brutality that befitted tribes slowly emerging from the Dark Age. There were epic cruelties on both sides. For several decades, the gore remained on the Scottish highlands for all to see.

    Deprived of their own empire, the doughty Scots turned inward, to their inner resilience, resources and to the inner empire. They emerged as great builders, statesmen, politicians, great writers, soldiers, scientists, philosophers and intellectuals without which the British Empire would have been impossible. To a large extent, they became model citizens.

    But the historic hurt and humiliation remain. Apart from their traditional single malt whiskey, nothing warms the Scottish heart more than when ventilating about the past heroes of the land, particularly Wallace the Braveheart, a man of spectacular bravery and heroism who was subjected to horrendous torture before being crudely dismembered. Yet a recent film about this iconic Scot was dismissed as ninety percent inaccuracies and ten percent lies.

    As a conquered race, the Scots could do with such cosmic self-inflation. There is enough evidence to suggest that the early Scots were cast as primitive and uncivilised people by the victorious English.. For example, the great English man of letters, Samuel Johnson, a.k.a the Dean, subjected his faithful Scottish companion, amanuensis and intellectual confidante to scathing racist taunts based on his country of origins. At some point, Johnson solemnly informed Boswell that wild oats which was the staple diet among the Scots was fed to animals in England.

    Yet it was not always a tale of woes. The Scots were allowed to pursue their own way of life and to pursue life in accordance with their culture, particularly in the areas of education, economy and religion. All that is solid often melts into thin air indeed. In a play of profound ironies, it is even rumoured that the famous Scottish kilt, the equivalent of a national attire, was actually the invention of an English nobleman. Snooper congratulates the good people of Britain on this impending referendum. We recommend the model to all nations in distress.

  • The rise and rise of River Nigeria

    (Okon solves a national mystery)

    Will the floods do for Nigeria what human adversities and man-made follies have so far failed to achieve? As biblical floods threaten to overwhelm this bewitchingly beautiful landscape, there are reports of strange rivers and their turbulent tributaries all flowing in one determined direction. River Niger is swollen and pregnant with inabortable possibilities. Could this be the watery endgame as foretold by the Holy Book? So, where is Noah’s Ark? Even the presidential country home is now a mighty pond bristling with toads and tadpoles.

    Amidst the utter confusion and epic helplessness, and as displaced humanity pile up in the remaining earthly redoubts of the nation, there are reports of the sighting of many strange creatures washed up from the watery depths. A clearly disturbed fellow, most probably a failed fisherman but claiming to be a refugee of some repute, suddenly showed up at snooper’s door.

    “And who are you?” snooper demanded.

    “I be dem chairman of dem FEDECOM?” the crazy man shot back.

    “Sir, and what is FEDECOM?” snooper railed in suppressed fury.

    “Na dem Federation of Displaced Compatriots”, the man brayed with an insane smirk on his face. Before snooper could ask another question, the man opened his Pandora Box. “I don catch two snakes, one crocodile, three baby hippos, one mami wata and one shark for River Orubebe”, he screamed. Snooper began to have a sinking feeling. If the crazy fellow were to unleash his arsenal on the house!…

    “And where is River Orubebe?”, snooper asked rather belatedly as a result of the initial shock.

    Na dem former Niger Delta area. Na dem big ship I take reach Lagos from Okpanam. If God wan answer dem prayer make him scissor us from Nigeria no be dis way at all at all. Dis water solution no be solution”, the man moaned in evident distress. At this point, snooper was convinced that he had a mad man as guest.

    “Okon, give him transport money and send him away:, snooper ordered as he firmly shut the door against the crazy man.

    “Which kind useless transport money be dat one? I tell you say wata don kaput kontri and you dey talk transport.” The man screamed. In what seemed like an eternity later, Okon slammed in wearing a comic frown.

    “Oga, I tell am say River Yamutu dey approach and him come pick race”, the crazy boy sneered.

    “Okon!!!” snooper exclaimed.

    “Oga, dis flood thing no be joke oo. Na di tingi dem dey call Wata Warfare. Na Hitler dey hit Nigeria “, Okon sniggered with mad relish.

    “And what is water warfare?” snooper asked fearfully.

    “Ah na dem Cameroon people wan use wata finis dem Nigeria. Dem get dem German engineer for dem Cameroon mountain. You no say dem German still dey dem Cameroon. So each time we dey make useless noise about dem Bakassi, dem German engineer go release dem water and dem rain. He good make we forget about dem Bakassi or dem Cameroon go turn dem kontri to dem obonge river. Dem get naija for blokos”, Okon explained with scientific finality.

    At this point, a fiery killer rain suddenly erupted sending everybody scampering for safety.

  • Back to the future

    Back to the future

    As we await the outcome of the historic Ondo state gubernatorial polls, it is clear that there is turbulence in the House of Oduduwa. Once again, the Yoruba political elite have arrived at one of those critical conjunctures of history. The unprecedented militarisation of Ondo state by the federal authorities in the wake of the election, the high decibel scaremongering, the level of elite rancour and mutual loathing, the arrows of hatred being shot in all directions, point at a fundamental fracturing of consensus.

    When the din of political commotion has receded, when tempers have cooled, when frayed nerves have calmed considerably, we will have to resume the dialogue, if not for our own sake but for the sake of our children, for the sake of posterity and for the sake of a nation in total shambles. All the major post-independence and post-colonial crises of the Nigerian state and nation have always emanated from the old west. Once again, the omens are dark and dire.

    The complete militarisation of Ondo state on the eve of its fourth gubernatorial election after the advent of military rule does not bode well for the development of democracy or the deepening of civil rule. It speaks to the continuing inability of the political elite to internalise the elementary norms of democratic rule. The post-military consolidation of civil rule is facing its most severe test. Soldiers are already out in full force maintaining civil order in several parts of the nation. Gradually, a significant section of the old north is coming under informal military rule. Slowly but inexorably, the entire country is being placed on a war footing.

    In the old west, a bitter confrontation and rearguard rallying is unfolding between the new dominant tendency of the Yoruba and the old hegemonic forces in alliance with disaffected fractions of the Yoruba intelligentsia and the inevitable mainstream mensahib. A regular feature of Yoruba political infighting is for the emaciated and emasculated faction to hide under federal might to cause mayhem in their own fatherland. Given recent disturbing signals, will the old Afenifere grandees go in the same direction, destroying all they have fought for in the twilight of their career?

    We speak with caution and circumspection. Exactly five years ago, the cream of the Yoruba political and economic elite together with their intelligentsia gathered in Ibadan for a historic reapproachment. In a famous riposte at the gathering, Chief Olu Falae noted that fighting ends when fighting itself is tired and exhausted. (O tire ija) But it is obvious that given Chief Falae’s recent vitriolic and volcanic outbursts that fighting is far from exhausted. On the contrary, it is bearish and bullish. What went wrong between October 2007 and October 2012?

    When a child falters and falls, it looks instinctively at what lies in front. But when elders stumble and fall, they cast a glance backwards. This morning snooper takes a retrospective look at the immediate past as a prelude to confronting the future. We republish the report of the Ibadan deliberations which took place exactly five years ago this week.

  • Thinking the unthinkable

    Thinking the unthinkable

    From Friday October 26th till Sunday October 29th, the cream of Yoruba intelligentsia, business elite, dominant leaders of the Yoruba progressive wing, or the Afenifere old guard as they are known , and emergent political conquistadors gathered at the alluring ambience of the Institute of Tropical Agriculture in Ibadan to map out the way forward for the Yoruba and Nigeria.

    Snooper was there, and was as busy as the proverbial beetle. It was not as a learned pundit or intellectual hell-raiser, but as a humble student of history. And history was aplenty to learn from. As Solzhenitsyn, the great Russian writer has noted, there can be no greater test for a doctor than to suffer an affliction in his own speciality. There is a crisis of intellectual initiative in contemporary Nigeria, and snooper is badly hit.

    The first shock on entering the hallowed premises of the Tropical institute was profoundly cultural, and then perhaps social and political. It is hard to imagine an oasis of rationality in a desert of disorder. But there it was in all its lush splendour. Everything worked, including the showers. The staff were polite and focused. And yet virtually all of them are Nigerians.

    Less than three miles away is the urban hell of Ojoo where berserk trailers compete with its equally disturbed denizens for the laurel of lunacy. The Americans at the apex of things at the Tropical Institute would have none of this nonsense. They have created a little America in suburban Ibadan. If Ojoo and its deviant ethos were to be transported to America, the entire inhabitants would have been quarantined as a threat to national sanity.

    The distinguished and illustrious Yoruba sons and daughters who thronged the Tropical Institute did not come for sight-seeing, but it helped in this particular instance to show how far Nigeria has regressed. So did a guided tour of the institute at the end of proceeding.

    They came from far and wide. From the academic community, the arms-bearing strata, the business and industrial sector , the political class, civil society spectrum and indeed from the powerful Diaspora. It was , so to say, perhaps the greatest collection of Yoruba brains since Chief Jeremiah Oyeniyi Obafemi Awolowo dined alone.

    Needless to add that it was a revealing and illuminating occasion. It was also not without its great ironies. Unlike major gatherings of the Yoruba in the past that held under an atmosphere of federal siege against the people or against the backdrop of an imminent dissolution of the federation itself, this one took place in an atmosphere of perfect tranquility.

    Ironically, it was this seeming atmosphere of peace and political placidity that increased the background anxiety. Coming after eight years of sustained assault on law and order, on political rationality, on the fundament of the federation by a power mafia led by a Yoruba son and culminating in an election marked by spectacular fraud, the joke was on the Yoruba elite.

    This time around there was no Kaduna mafia to rail at. There were no Hausa-Fulani hegemonists to harangue and harass. The caliphate supremacists have retreated into their dark laagers, battered and badgered into submission by the militarised might of a monster state. Having contributed their own quota to the stunning incompetence and malevolence of the Nigerian state, there was a lot to be modest about for the Yoruba elite.

    If a bungling old soldier, a combatively incompetent autocrat, was all they could contribute to moving the nation forward, then why have they been disturbing the peace of the nation for 40 years? For the Yoruba, the enemy is not abroad. The enemy is within.

    In such circumstances, it was to be expected, and also perfectly rational, that Obafemi Awolowo should loom large. And the sage from Ikenne was there in all his commodious and overpowering presence. Awolowo hovered over the conference like a presiding deity and spiritual paterfamilias. He dominated the proceedings, and at every turn, his illustrious name was invoked like a timeless talisman.

    It is a measure of Awolowo’s stature as a politician and philosopher that 20 years after his death, it has proved impossible to move Nigeria or the Yoruba nation forward without first coming to terms with his prognosis and prognostications. Just as it has proved impossible for the capitalist world to move forward without first coming to terms with Karl Marx’s historic hectoring, it is impossible to think Nigeria without first thinking through Awolowo. But since Nigeria has been in permanent denial as far as Awo is concerned, the best thing is to leave Nigeria severely alone until we all come to our senses.

    That being said, Awolowo remains the greatest Yoruba man in recorded history. But just as the late twentieth century was to prove that despite his devastating critique, Karl Marx was nothing but a great closet capitalist, it may yet be that when Awolowo’s ideas are fully implemented, he would be seen as the greatest closet Nigerian, contrary to the impression of his many traducers who dismiss him as a tribalist.

    It was not surprising that the surviving Awolowo lieutenants were there in their full strength. These are the titans and grandees of the struggle for the emancipation of the Yoruba within the federation of Nigeria. History will accordingly note their heroic stance and principled refusal when it mattered most. The last five years must have been a nightmare for them, having seen their flock dispersed and their influence dramatically whittled down.

    And so they sat in suburbia Ibadan hunched with fright and disoriented by looming political irrelevance. Despite the occasional sabre rattling by the most rambunctious of them, it was clear that the fire has gone out of the belly of the old men. Their 2003 capitulation to Obasanjo was historic in the sense that it was an acute reading of the handwriting on the wall and of the mood of the sophisticated Yoruba political mob.

    Having studied them at close quarters between 1999 and 2003, Obasanjo forcibly appropriated their mantra as defender of Yoruba interests without provoking massive revolt and animosity from his northern patrons. Thereafter, Obasanjo raided their ammunition dump to the bargain. If you say you are the defender of Yoruba interests against northern domination, here is a Yoruba son who is providentially positioned to do it much better and with vast federal resources too.

    Reading the script correctly but fatally was Bola Ige who was on the verge of resigning from the federal cabinet in order to quarantine his beloved South West from the PDP power-mongers even while conceding the centre to Obasanjo. But by then, the great Cicero himself had done enough to undermine and hobble the AD and had also supplied enough ammunition for his own demystification to Obasanjo.

    It would have been a nasty dogfight indeed with Ige in a lose, lose situation. Thereafter, the west succumbed to internal conquest by a mafia that knows everything about power but nothing about its responsibility. The result is the political regression and underdevelopment that stare us in the face today.

    But you cannot step into the same river twice. If Awolowo himself were to be alive today, he would have had to reinvent himself severally and severely to take on board new political realities. Brilliantly proactive as usual even while holding dismal cards, Awolowo saw this when he retired from active politics in 1983.

    Something tells this columnist that time is up for the Awoist old guard. But among the Yoruba there is a protocol for the retirement of elders. Snooper will not support the old men being harassed and harried into humiliating political dotage. Let them take their time in a dignified exit. We must learn from the crisis of the last eight years and even from Obasanjo’s iconoclastic intervention, whether we like him or not. Having proved themselves to be human and fallible if the old men are expecting instant obeisance from the new generation of progressive Yoruba political warlords, they are in for a rude shock.

  • Okon speaks on Awo

    May we know you, please?” one of the interviewers, a born charmer, opened with smiles and easy charm.

    “If you no sabi Okon, wetin you dey do here? See me see trouble oo”, Okon demanded.

    “No, no, we mean can you tell us about your background?”, the poor fellow added.

    “Aha”, Okon began in an expansive mood. “My back no dey for ground ooo. I tell you ten Yoruba wrestlers no fit do dat. But my name be Okon Anthony Okon, my father be Uzor James Uzor. We don dey live for Slessor’s street so tey. I come from Calabar. My father come from Calabar. Him papa come from Calabar. Him own papa come from Calabar. Him own papa come from Calabar. Dem papa come from Calabar. Dem papa come…”

    “Enough of this rubbish and drivel”, the mean looking chap screamed.

    “Na your papa be rubbish and driver. My own papa be palm wine tapper”.

    “What? I’m gonna take out this stinking asshole”, the mean one scowled and was about to get up.

    “Twenty of you no fit. If I no wan go out, you no fit take me”, Okon shouted as he began an elaborate war ritual.

    “John sit down”, the leader of the team ordered the surly one with full authority.

    At this point, the fellow in traditional costume who had been eyeing everybody with mirth and relish got up and started singing an ancient Yoruba tune.

    Eyin te maja wa (Those who have brought the mad dog)

    E mo’kun ko le oo ( Do not relax the tight leash)

    Eyin te mu were wa (Those who have brought the madman)

    E ma jo’kun o ja (Do not let the leash snap).

    Everybody, including Okon, started laughing, and the interview got on an even keel all over again. The man in traditional dress sat down, beaming with mischief.

    “Prince Okon, can you tell us about your father?”the great charmer asked in a soothing and rather unctuous manner.

    “Ha, my papa, my papa, may god receive am if he don quench becos one day he come disappear say he wan go fight dem French for Bakassi but mama say na Owerri agaracha wey come turn him head with Ofe nsala. But na better palm wine tapper. Na him dey supply Awolowo with palm wine when he dey Calabar prison. At times sef, the Yoruba wizard go vamoose from prison to come drink palm wine”.

    There was total silence. Everybody was stunned by the gale of the revelation. It was the surly chap who recovered the initiative and went on the offensive.

    “That sounds to me like a load of shitty crap”, he moaned under his breath as the leader whipped him with his eyes into quick compliance.

    “Prince Okon, what we are saying is that Chief Awolowo was a teetotaller”, the leader opened cautiously.

    “Taller than who? I beg no vex me oo”, Okon said as he sprang up. “Awolowo na short man, he no tall pass anybody”.

    “Asiwere. (Madman)”, the man in traditional costume said with a superior smile. He seemed to have a full measure of Okon as the Calabar rogue avoided him.

    “Prince Okon, what we mean is that Awolowo never drank or smoked”, the leader offered with a calm mien.

    “No be dat you for say? All dis gbamugbamu grammar I no dey. Abi no be the yeye Sina boy who say grammar no be success? But you Yoruba people, I no get your problem. Anything that Awolowo man tell you you take am as if god don speak. Yeye people wey dey worship one man”.Okon said with a deflated look.

    “All right, all right. What do you think about the last census?” the leader asked Okon with all authority.

    “Which census? No be di thing we dey talk about for dis yeye kontri? You count all dem camel and cattle for dem north finish, you count all the oporoku and dem anoya people for the east, you count all dem Yoruba bush meat and goat finish but you no fit count all dem fish and shark for Calabar creek. So dat one na census?”, Okon snapped. Everybody started laughing, except Okon who wore an angry frown.

  • Why we seek total integration (II)

    Why we seek total integration (II)

    As the din of political battle reaches its crescendo in the rump of the old Ondo province, there is a creeping feeling of Déjà vu. Already, political violence, threats of assassination, accusations of prefabricated rigging have engulfed the state. This high-voltage political atmosphere may be a reflection of the stakes. But it may also presage something darker and far more sinister. Will the west unravel from Ondo this time around? Can an Iroko take the entire Yoruba forest with it?

    As we have said in the first instalment, the main purpose of this two-part series is to identify with the currents of regional integration such as they are sweeping the old western region .There can be no equivocation about this. A man is entitled to his partiality and political preferences.

    But once again, we have found it necessary to caution some of our numerous readers that the kind of engagement with a traumatised post-colonial society that we mainly undertake in this column is often very difficult to press into immediate political service, and deliberately so.

    There is a distinction between the political writer and the writing politician. Snooper is too much aware of the complexities and complications of contemporary politics to be swayed into easy agitprop. In the heat of political battle, the unhurried reflection, the stout and stoic refusal to be panicked into sheer name-calling may often appear like an abdication of responsibility; a pact with the devil himself. In such agonistic contentions where body bags cannot be confused with lap top cases, it is felt that writing must not just be a passion of the mind but the mind of passion itself, with due apologies to Karl Marx.

    But it was the same great philosopher who also advises that history must be read with its grand nuances, its delicate ironies, its perplexing paradox and great ambiguities. It is not the columnist that created what is known as the cunning of history. Yes the cunning of history must never prevent us from making a clear choice when the chips are down. Neither must it prevent us from being clamorously partisan when we have to be.

    For many of our readers, a continuing problem with this column is the very structure of dialectical writing and the writer’s insistence on applying its cardinal principles to journalism. It is a stylistic battle that predates this column and one that has been going on for almost 30 years. We cannot afford to inherit the intellectual shortcomings of our colonial masters.

    Unlike the canons of easy clarity and lucidity emanating from the Anglo-American schools of journalism, dialectical writing often subverts or contradicts its own initial premises in order to gain superior insight. Those who hold on to the initial argument find themselves devastatingly wrong-footed and dramatically upended.

    This is not just mere writing about political drama, but the drama of political writing as a private theatre enacted wholly within itself. The writer listens in to his own argument and the murmurs of internal dissension, disagreement and outright disputation. The writing involves a constant shifting and shuffling of the dialectical gears with the writer himself as embattled protagonist.

    Let us then begin our concluding remarks about the Ondo imbroglio with a dialectical conceit. Powerful political figures often stamp the badge of their personality on the outcome of a political struggle. But a political struggle cannot and must not be reduced to personalities. As Karl Marx famously noted, men make history, but not under the circumstances of their choice.

    In other words, no matter how powerful a personality may be the outcome of a political conflict may be determined by material, intellectual and historical circumstances beyond his control. In the Battle of Waterloo, it was the lesser genius that triumphed. But it was Napoleon’s more egalitarian vision that eventually carried the day, and in spite of himself too..

    In our concluding paragraph last week, we cautioned against framing the unfolding political drama in Ondo state as a personal duel unto death, but as a battle of ideas about the future of the Yoruba race and the destiny of Nigeria. It is important to deepen this perspective in order to understand just what is going on and how we got to where we are.

    Contrary to blackmail and propaganda, regional integration is not a neo-colonial or imperialising venture. It is not about an emperor and his viceroys sent to predate on hapless captive communities. In a god-forsaken federation it is about maximising opportunities for maximal development in an ethnically unified region and its culturally compatible adjoining communities.

    Neither is the inevitable political centralisation that goes with this an attempt to ride roughshod over sub-ethnic sensitivities as they may exist in the larger Yoruba society. It is not an attempt to instutionalise or consecrate a political overlordship in Yoruba land. Neither is it a ploy to grind the subtle cultural differentiations in Yoruba land into a conforming homogeneity. As their history has consistently demonstrated, the Yoruba do not transit from one empire to another empire.

    Centralisation often comes with mass mobilisation and a unified and disciplined society. Of course, like many old concepts imposed on new realities, regional integration and centralisation are bound to come with a lot of local impurities and vexatious crudities but these imperfections can only be defined and refined in dynamic collision with reality and other visions and ideas of societies.

    It is not enough to pooh-pooh the idea of integration without coming up with other alternative visions of the society. It is intellectually lazy and mischievous to dismiss regionalism as a new form of :”Lagos imperialism”. That this pernicious propaganda is coming from what we thought were progressive quarters shows that something indeed is going on.

    But it should be noted that even the old progressive tendency did not gain complete ascendancy over the entire Yoruba geo-political space in one fell swoop. It was an epic slog. The astute and discerning Yoruba electorate have often proved to be veritable masters of their electoral destiny. In 1954, the Action Group lost a general election to the NCNC as a result of venal propaganda.

    The Yoruba urban dwellers and city denizens were beginning to feel the pinch of what they thought was punitive and unjust taxation in the name of free primary education and other ameliorative schemes. Overwhelmed and demoralised by the visionary thrust of Awolowo’s policies, the Action Group competitors could only carp and sniff. It worked, but only briefly.

    The Action Group and its storied strategists rolled up their sleeves and went back to the people, painstakingly explaining to the populace why tribal marks even though accompanied by great pains and distress often result in greater beauty. By then the gains of the visionary programme were beginning to trickle in. The Yoruba society was rapidly modernising, transiting from farm to the factory and superlative modernity in a Great Leap Forward unknown to tropical Africa.

    Ascendancy was restored to the Action Group. But there were still pockets of resistance, particularly in the royalist cities and some other sub-ethnic enclaves suffering from post-empire hang-over. Paradoxically, it was in 1959 at the height of its glory and grandeur that the Action Group began to unravel.

    In a bid to capture power at the centre, Awolowo took a sharp ideological lurch to the left, embracing the full socialism which had always been implicit in his grand envisioning of human society. At its best, the Action Group was an unstable ensemble of royalists, monarchists, conservatives and progressives. It proved a Potemkin bridge too far. All that was solid began to melt into thin air.

    By 1962, as a result of internal disaffection and external infiltration, the Action Group had fractured irreversibly. The split degenerated into a low-intensity Yoruba civil war which only ended with a military take over in 1966. It was the dawn of darkness as Awolowo himself almost put it. The late sage spent four years in jail.

    1979 and the advent of civilian rule restored the total dominance of Awolowo and his party over the Yoruba race. Combining the authority of personal suffering and his by then larger than life status as the undeniable champion and standard bearer of the race, the late sage and his party romped home in the entire Yoruba landscape. By then it was AWO or AWOL.

    But by 1982, the wheels had begun to come off the train once again. Chief Bola Ige, then Governor of old Oyo state and one of Awolowo’s most gifted lieutenants, survived a motion to expel him from the party for fraternising with General Obasanjo by the whiskers in what was dubbed the Yola night of long knives. But by then the demon of self-destruction had berthed once again. By 1983, it was being rumoured that one or two of Awolowo’s most trusted loyalists were beginning to hint that the unyielding old man had become a veritable albatross on the Yoruba race.

    After he was so egregiously rigged out of contention in the 1983 presidential election, a humiliated and deeply affronted Awo took a final bow from Nigerian politics. In a vote of no confidence in democracy, Awolowo vowed never to seek electoral office again and darkly added that if Nigerians needed his services, they knew where to find him. Awolowo also famously predicted that generations of Nigerians to come may never know real democracy.

    Yet the old man was not done. In a famous parting shot at his shell-shocked party faithful at the UPN Congress later that year and as a befitting riposte to the obtuse gloating of the likes of Umaru Dikko about a Third Reich, Awolowo espoused the famous Hegelian dialectic of a coming reconfiguration which would combine the best parts of thesis and antithesis in a new synthesis. This was dialectical thinking at its most sublime and majestic.

    Ten years later in 1993, Awo was already six years in his final resting place, but his prophecy came to fruition. It was M.K.O Abiola, a former unreconstructed apostate, who became the standard bearer of the progressives. Those of Awo’s surviving lieutenants who could not read the historical signals correctly and who could not abide the new developments found themselves politically excommunicated forever.

    In 1999 at the new dawn of civilian rule, it was the NADECO chieftains who had fought heroically to redeem Abiola’s mandate and who had borne the brunt of Abacha’s tyranny that were handsomely rewarded by the Yoruba electorate. Their suzerainty extended over the entire Yoruba landscape. But trouble began almost immediately as a result of external destabilisation by the PDP and the nuclear fallout of the AD’s presidential primaries. Somebody was misreading the historical signals once again.

    After the 2003 elections, the AD fragmented irretrievably. Although the Yoruba electorate did not mind Obasanjo returning to the misbegotten centre, they frowned at the nicking what did not belong to his party under the even more misbegotten slogan of mainstreaming. After the electoral debacle of their favourite sons, the Yoruba seem to abhor being corralled into the so called unitarist mainstream of stifling suffocation.

    It was then left to the lone survivor, Bola Ahmed Tinubu, to begin the process of heroic retrieval of the electoral patrimony of a race. The recovery and recuperation of stolen electoral goods is a hard slog indeed. Bola Tinubu’s titanic exertions in this regard have already passed into Yoruba and Nigeria political folklore.

    It is said by Unamuno that under tyranny men seek liberty but under liberty they also seek tyranny. The entire Yoruba political elite ought to be grateful to this man and his associates for rescuing them from the jaws of internal slavery. From the beach head of Lagos, the ACN began to claw and muscle its way into the Yoruba interior. In 2007, the PDP compounded the original electoral larceny with a more blatant perfidy.

    But the ACN rollercoaster was unstoppable. It had locked into the dominant mood and aspirations of the Yoruba people. In 2011 and in a telling historic rebuff, the Yoruba electorate gave General Obasanjo a sensational shellacking in his own local polling booth. As it was in the beginning in 1979, so it has been at the end.

    This, ironically, was the momentum and goodwill Rahman Olusegun Mimiko tapped into when his own mandate was ostentatiously pilfered. Snooper was physically present at the Marina when his defence team was being constituted even before the beleaguered politico had physically shown up.

    As a party, the ACN is not perfect. There have been loud and legitimate complaints. But we cannot throw away the baby with the bathwater. The hideous scars of the lineage of the Fourth Republic in military autocracy are here for all to see. This translates into the militarisation of the polity, the monetisation of politics and the regimentation of parties as if they are fighting formations. Politics is the continuation of war by other means. It is better to fight for the deepening of democracy in a party with possibilities than to indulge in the proliferation of political platform for the sake of ego and ambition.

    Snooper has not been able to sit down with the Ondo state governor since his memorable reinstatement. Given their noble antecedents and reputation for radical integrity, there is nothing on ground to suggest that the good people of Ondo state are not in tune with the dominant aspirations of the Yoruba race.

    Unfortunately, this is where Mimiko’s gravitational odyssey through all the parties irrespective of ideology constitutes a setback for progressive consciousness. It is a measure of Yoruba tolerance and liberality that these gyrations in the shuttle spacecraft of ambition have not earned him a severe censure. Other people have not been so lucky. But the question must now be asked in the larger interest of the race and the nation. What does Mimiko really want, and is he in tune with the larger Yoruba aspiration?

    It is not enough to slam ad hoc and haphazard developmental projects on a state without articulating these to a grander vision of regionalism or a deep integrative base which reflects the dominant mood of the people. These are just token tidal twitches in a mighty ocean. The Lagos state miracle is not a happenstance but the result of deep strategic thinking in which the megalopolis is envisioned as a developmental hub in the manner of Hong Kong, California, Taipei, Singapore and other emerging state-cities and city-states.

    As it is, Mimiko is propelled along by a folksy populism without any deep intellectual content or serious integrative and theoretical base. His party, the so called Labour Party, is a vexatious and pernicious nuisance emptied of all radical contents and without any links to real labour; a mere opportunistic decoy and doppelganger of the ruling party. It will not take Mimiko beyond Ode Ondo. Even the fabled timber merchants of that district will tell you that an iroko does not make a forest. Is Mimiko content to remain a local champion and a political warlord in a provincial laager?

    That question will be answered on Saturday. Win or lose, Mimiko would have exhausted the political and historic possibilities of his gambit. By trapping himself in a sub-ethnic cocoon, he has foreclosed further development either horizontal or vertical. It doesn’t get more politically suicidal than that. The Yoruba tend to reward patience, honesty, integrity and perseverance in aspiring leaders. Pa Ajasin who never aspired to be Yoruba leader but who became one in spite of himself would be smiling in his grave.

  • Why we seek total integration (1)

    Why we seek total integration (1)

    In the end, and as it has been famously proclaimed by a political wit, all politics is local. This column craves the indulgence of the numerous fans and readers of its Sunday musings, particularly the Nigerian multitude, to do some ethnic arithmetic this morning and in subsequent issues. In many ways, when we beam a searchlight on the Yoruba Question, we are also beaming a powerful x-ray on the National Question and the problematic arrested nationhood in Nigeria.

    Let us therefore begin with the kernel and motto of this intervention. For integration to be meaningful, it cannot afford to be piecemeal and offhand, lacking in ideological coherence and integrity. But in certain political circumstances, integration can be incremental as long as the part does not threaten the organic whole. Partial integration is a product of partial vision. Economic integration cannot take place in the absence of political integration.

    A great political drama is unfolding in the oil and bitumen-rich and humanly endowed state of Ondo as presided over by the politically adroit Rahman Olusegun Mimiko. It is a drama that has pitted some of its outstanding intellectual products against the rest of their intellectual peers and comrades in arms in the old west.

    It is so profoundly ironic that it is in the rump of the old Ondo province that this great battle is being fought. History often indulges in a cruel mockery of humanity. This was where it all started, when the late sage, Obafemi Awolowo, journeyed to the ancient town of Owo to team up with the equally revered late statesman and patriot, Michael Adekunle Ajasin.

    Thus was born the Egbe omo Oduduwa, an organisation which sought to impose a cultural uniformity on a hitherto fractious and divided Yoruba nation which for fifty years after the collapse of the old Oyo Empire had fought itself to a political and military standstill in a series of civil wars which culminated in the Kiriji Armistice supervised by the colonial overlords. By then, even the fighters had forgotten the original causus belli.

    The cultural ascendancy of the Egbe omo Oduduwa which invoked as a stirring and rallying trope the illustrious name of Oduduwa, the fabled primogenitor of the Yoruba race, led to the political hegemony of the Action Group, a party anchored on rousing rhetoric and mass mobilisation. It was arguably the best organised political machine in tropical Africa.

    It is to be noted that despite being the older man, and despite being equally accomplished, Ajasin did not feel any qualms whatsoever about accepting Awolowo’s leadership. It was based on an acceptance and acknowledgement of Awo’s sterling credentials as a formidable and visionary political thinker and outstanding organiser. It was also based on the principle of noble self-abnegation in the larger interest of political group and nation.

    Basorun J.K Randle once told snooper of how miffed and mystified he was as a young boy when a man with a dignified aura walked in only for his great father and all the Lagos political grandees and fabled aristocrats to quietly stand up in deference. When he later asked his illustrious father what on earth was going on, J’K Randle told his boy that that was Obafemi Awolowo, the new leader whom they had all decided to follow. This was another example of noble and collective self-erasure in the greater interest of group and nation at classic play.

    Yet the fundamental paradox remains that every time a dominant faction of the Yoruba political elite achieves something close to a complete mobilisation of the Yoruba race for a political cause, the wheels immediately begin to come off the mobilising train leading to a clattering and shuddering halt in the middle of nowhere leaving both the mobilised and their mobilisers in acute distress and dismay. Then the heroic exertions start all over again like some Sisyphean venture.

    This was precisely what happened in 1959, 1979 and in 1999. Now in 2012, we are beginning to see telltale signs of elite betrayal of a popular cause once again. Those who are metaphysically minded often point at the celebrated curse of Alaafin Aole when as a result of what he considered to be elite perfidy among the Oyo nobility, the distressed and embattled king was known to have shot his arrow in several directions, indicating insurmountable divisions and irreversible fracturing of inspiration and aspirations among the Yoruba elite until the end of time.

    But the sociological explanation is more banal and less awe-inspiring. The wheels often come off the Yoruba train due to a combination of internal sabotage and external assault often presaged by momentous infiltration. The external factors can be briskly disposed of but with careful objectivity. Nigeria is greatly traumatised at the moment and this is not the time for ethnic vainglory and sabre-rattling.

    As arguably the most politically advanced and sophisticated ethnic group in Nigeria, it has been noted that, in and out of power, when the Yoruba nation sneezes, the rest of the country catches cold. The fear of the Yoruba is the beginning of wisdom. This is often due to a combination of irrational envy and unenlightened self-interest. Many of the other elite groups simply feel that as the most culturally coherent, economically viable and politically savvy segment of the nation, the modernising Yoruba elite cannot simply walk away from Nigeria just like that leaving others to roast in the post-colonial hell.

    Despite our shouting from the rooftop that total political and economic integration is not about the disintegration and covert dismemberment of the nation, many have refused to be persuaded. Despite our well-wrought and splendidly argued contention that Yoruba regional integration is meant to serve as a fast-tracked developmental hub for the rest of the nation and as a heroic nudge for the other regions such as was the case in the First Republic, other elite groups are not persuaded that this is not a sophisticated secessionist gambit.

    The most benign view from these hostile quarters is that if the Yoruba cannot use their economic vibrancy, their political sophistication, their cultural subtlety and their prodigious intellectual endowments for Nigeria as a whole, then they aren’t going nowhere. Everybody will roast here together, may be until the western interlopers come with a coffin or a historic curfew.

    At its most extreme and malignant, this argument holds that since the Yoruba region was developed with Nigerian resources, then it must serve out its peonage first before even contemplating freedom. This is not about developmental ideas but about serving feudal penance. It is a case of heads you lose and tails you lose. Recently, a rabid ethnic hegemonist even went as far as noting that if the Yoruba insist on leaving, all it will take is a bomb well-aimed at the Third Mainland Bridge to bring the empire crashing.

    But anytime the Yoruba modernising elite offer one of their own authentic members to carry the torch for Nigeria, it has always ended in tears and tragedy. The argument is that the Yoruba cannot add political power to cultural and economic empowerment. If it must be a Yoruba person at all, it must be one that cannot pass muster and only one that is critically misendowed enough to continue the project of perpetual and permanent underdevelopment of the nation.

    Yet this potentially great country continues to lurch from one crisis to another, stalled in historic stasis and mired in the muck of developmental degradation. It is clear that something will have to give eventually. Like animals boxed into a colonial cage, we continue to scratch and tear at each other.

    We cannot just continue like this. If forcefulness of rival developmental paradigms and the clarity of alternative political visions cannot persuade those who hold Nigeria to ransom and their various collaborators, then an unspeakable and very eloquent tragedy will, and very soon too..

    But hatred and irrational envy of the other is not the exclusive preserve of other Nigerian nationalities. Many fractions of the Yoruba political elite also exhibit fear, loathing, hatred and irrational envy towards each other. The modern Yoruba political culture is anchored on these pathological traits and with them infiltration is easy and external onslaught easier.

    This is why it would amount to a grave error of judgement and lack of political subtlety if the unfolding political drama in Ondo state were to be framed as a clash of will and wits between two titanic personalities or a duel unto death between a rampaging lion and a rampart Iroko. Yes, there is surely a bitter personality tussle somewhere. Yes, this is a power struggle between two of the most successful masters of political mobilisation thrown up by the post-military Yoruba nation. As a ringside observer and thwarted arbitrator, this writer can write a tome on a political romance gone very sour.

    But there are underlying social and historical currents to this tussle which make the personalities involved, however forceful and powerful and however attractive or repulsive to the vociferous partisans, to be mere impersonal manifestations of some greater political forces at play. This is ultimately a titanic battle of ideas about the destiny of the Yoruba ethnic group within the larger totality of the Nigerian nation.

    To be sure, the struggle for total integration of the Yoruba region does not preclude and cannot exclude the struggle for power at the Nigerian centre. Each is in fact a logical correlate and corollary of the other. But in order to better understand the current forces at play and to deepen our knowledge of the order of battle, it is important to go back to 1959, 1979, 1999 and to Chief Obafemi Awolowo’s parting shot to his shell-shocked party faithful at the tail end of 1983.

     

    (To be continued)

  • Okon is  Commander in Chef

    Okon is Commander in Chef

    As tragedy blends fluidly and fluently with comedy in our daily existence, it is becoming impossible to separate the comic from the tragic. The old sub-genre of tragi-comedy does not quite capture the stirring monstrosity of our reality in contemporary Nigeria in all its brilliant chiaroscuro. Darkness is clearly visible. Welcome to Kafka’s Penal Colony. Welcome to sub-Saharan cinematography and the cabinet of Dr Caligari. Welcome to comi-tragedy.

    Imagine that the casualties from Monday’s Mubi massacre probably surpass the figures from one month of mayhem in Mogadishu even at the height of war and lunacy in that strife-torn country. Yet it is Somalia that we blithely refer to as a failed state. When shall we learn to call a spade a spade? Or the opium is just a flower?

    Snooper was deep in rumination about these tragic fatalities and the infelicitous gaffes and goofs they elicit from officialdom when he almost collided with a truly outlandish figure in the kitchen. It was the impossible Okon dressed in a crude travesty of the full ceremonial uniform of a Commander in Chief complete with silky gloves and bristling epaulettes. Before yours sincerely could finish marvelling at the kitchen Napoleon, the crazy boy exploded..

    “Oga, Okon now be commander in chief, no be like dem yeye Yoruba musician ooo. He get time like dat when I dey see dem fine and dandy young Yoruba Oba for Lagos. I come ask wetin be im name and dem say na Elegusi, so I come think say dem better Yoruba people dey give dem cook Oba title. I come say I be Elewedu and dem area boys come beat me sotey. Naim I come tell dem I be Emir for Tuwo Shinkafa. But dis one like dem Jonathan be commander in chief for inside dem Aso Rock, Okon be commander in chief for kitchen sef. Make dem area boys come try dem nonsense make I put better pepper for dem konta konta eye.”

    “But Jonathan is a real Field Marshal.” Snooper offered.

    “Oga, no be wetin we dey talk? Na for inside dem field for Aso Rock him dey do him road Marshal for independence ceremony. Even dem Ekwueme and dem old soldier Gowon dey hide under dem Aso canopy. I see dem with my korokoro eye. Dem mountain Anyim dey cry for Ibo, biko, biko, biri kem biri. Dem Boko be dem mama him husband. I don tell dem Jonathan make dem cancel dem independence day, abi na by force?”

    “Okon, have you been hit by shell before,” snooper demanded.

    “Plenty time. Shell no dey kill Efik man. Dem stupid Yoruba barber come throw dem cowrie shell at Okon for Bar Beach,” the crazy boy sneered.

    “Okon, you are a big fool, big time,”snooper noted with a comic frown.

    “Ha oga no be only dat. He get time like that for dis dem Oduduwa kitchen. As Okon come break egg from dem Ogbologbo Yoruba witch for Oyingbo market dem egg come do Gbuaam and dem shell come hit Okon and dem bird come comot and him dey cry tin o tin oo for kitchen. Naim I come pick race. Calabar juju come finis Yoruba witch. Who born Gbetugbetu for Creek Town?”

    It was on that note that snooper quickly shut the kitchen door at the Chef Commander.