Category: Tatalo Alamu

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    Last week’s twin articles on the imperative of economic rationality brought a gale of reactions. This morning we published some of them to facilitate the process of economic recovery in the land. Of particular interest are three reactions from former students of three different generations, two of them now professors in their own right.

    Greetings sir…….What happens when “the imperative of economic rationality” is faced with the logic of economic irrationality?  Olufemi Macaulay, Lagos.

    A pro-establishment, if progressive, genius laying bare the ugly facts albeit throwing a veil of diffidence over some galling outcrops of our unforgivably bald and stark traits, particularly elite brigandage and delinquency. The constraints are well-known and the heroic exactions noted as well. Enjoyable read, if a tad lacking the old supreme linguistic fancy footwork. Happy Sunday, old savant.  Professor C.A, Unilag. (Name deliberately withheld by the columnist in view of the impending Oro Festival in Lagos).

    ……and a peep from abroad

    Thanks so much for sharing sir. These are great insights into Nigeria’s structural conundrum and its confounding corollaries. I don’t envy Tinubu at all. The politicians who preach austerity are obscenely ostentatious. Nigerians who want to eat omelettes loathe chicken farming. Bandits are banishing farmers from their farms. The youth who can be the foot soldiers of our agrarian revolution are fanning hatred on the social media.

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    The Supreme Court’s ruling on LG autonomy, the 150% minimum wage increase, and the Emergency Food Program are steps in the right direction. Immediate food relief is a sine qua non of political stability as we try to figure out a more sustainable food strategy. The government must heed your warnings about the anti-state economic saboteurs who can scuttle the emergency food program. These mountebanks must be exposed, shamed, and emasculated.

    I am not naïve enough to think it is going to be easy reining in these unpatriotic anti-state moneybags, but the government only needs to make an example of one or two of them for the other to retreat somewhat. Remember how Buhari/ Idiagbon humiliated the junketing Ooni Sijuade and Emir Ado Bayero for visiting Israel? Nigeria needs a revolutionary policy shift akin to FDR New Deal, as enshrined in the Social Security Act of 1935 that helped America to clamber out of the Great Depression. To redeem Nigeria, Tinubu  needs his own 3Rs: Relief, Recovery and Reform.

    •Dr Tunde Olusesi, New York.

  • The return of Madam Folayegbe Ighodalo

    The return of Madam Folayegbe Ighodalo

    Oh boy, oh boy whilst we are still on the subject of the critical nexus between economic development and societal peace and harmony, it is meet to draw attention to some ancient palavers in this same land. Institutional memory is not one of the strengths of contemporary Nigeria. Memory is so often badly short-circuited by the trauma of unrelenting tragedy that it is often better not to remember. It is a strategy of survival and containment of adversity.

     Does anybody still remember Mrs Felecia Folayegbe Akintunde-Ighodalo?  And we are not talking of her exploits as the first female permanent secretary in the history of the country or as a fiery pen-pusher and unrelenting campaigner for female rights. The Oke-Igbo born icon was also an amazon of the bureaucratic barricades, giving as much as she got from obstreperous and chauvinistic male colleagues. The lady was not for turning at all, as Margaret Thatcher, the Oxford-trained chemist and daughter of a Methodist alderman, would scream at her hen-pecked Conservative Party henchmen.

      But that is not why we recall the great matriarch. Even in the halcyon days of the First Republic, austerity was not a stranger to this land. The great Highlife musicians of the period bemoaned the harsh measures which they admitted spared neither the poor nor the rich alike. It was a benign and benevolent lament which hinted of a healthy respect for government in its wisdom, credibility and moral authority.

       In another period, austerity measures were greeted by public cynicism and increasing dismay. Cast your mind back to fifty years ago or thereabouts when the country was in the grip of another crisis of scarcity and a harsh economic climate. So concerning was the situation and so concerned were the authorities that the Government of Western Nigeria swiftly inaugurated a Price Control Board to check the activities of profiteers, rentiers and middlemen or middlewomen alike. It was headed by no less a person than the Iron Lady, Fola Ighodalo herself, a crack economist and mathematician of repute.

      It was the personal and most private dimension of this development that yours sincerely found most hilarious and heartrending at the same time. At that point in time, many of us, holiday makers with a sense of foolish entitlement, ungrateful and ungracious wretches some of who were absconding refugees from the wetie conflagration, often converged on the house of an uncle, a teacher of modest means, to feast on their food and meager munificence.

      While the man of the house was diffident, lenient and most tolerant of our pranks, the lady of the house was having none of that nonsense making sure there was a stringent control of the outflow of foodstuff from the pantry and a diligent postprandial check. Behind her back and away from ear shots, we quickly christened the poor woman as Madam Ighodalo.  Anytime the name was whispered amidst some domestic heist, everybody scampered for safety.

      More than half a century after, it seems some sort of price control and regulatory mechanism for reining in market forces are back with some vengeance. Madam Ighodalo has returned in full force and vigour. The federal authorities hinted that its importation of food items will be backed by some price control measures. Market forces will no longer be allowed to reign supreme. In the old western region, some traditional rulers have moved ahead with punitively proactive measures.

     This is the institution closest to the heartbeat of the people and where the pains and pangs of hunger are felt most. In addition to placing a curse on all cartels and shadowy associations driving up the price of basic foodstuff, the Ooni of Ife has outlawed such gatherings vowing that prompt banishment from his domain would follow any contravention. Another topnotch traditional ruler in the state has threatened to invade the main market to dislodge the evil market forces hoarding food.

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      There can be no doubt that the heart of these rulers are in the right place. While the activities of profiteers and evil cartels are to be condemned, elementary economic logic suggests that you can only hoard what is not available in sufficient quantity. The price of an item is determined by its availability. The forces of abundance, of irreversible plenitude, are sovereign over any other market force. If our traditional rulers are able to place a train-load of farm produce at strategic point every market day, the exorbitant prices will drop dramatically.

      The crisis of economic modernity is upon us in the agricultural sector. As the name implies, subsistence farming can only end in subsistence consumption. Savage scarcity must occur when the logic of subsistence farming is driven to arbitrate in the dynamics of mass production. The solution is large scale industrial farming and the provision of adequate storage facilities. This is why Ukraine is still able to feed itself and export food despite a crippling war.

       As a stop-gap measure and the activities of kidnappers and local rustlers permitting, our traditional rulers should initiate a return to farm revolution in their domain in which every available space is utilized for farming by the hordes of youths roaming aimlessly about in Yoruba cities. On a visit to Jos in the last fortnight, one was pleasantly surprised that the entire thirty something kilometre from the airport to the Third Division Headquarters was draped and festooned in lush maize farms. This is the way to go rather than issuing quixotic threats of banishment which can only impair communal relations. God bless our traditional rulers and the spirit of Fola Ighodalo. 

  • The imperative of economic rationality

    The imperative of economic rationality

    • Homo Calculus catches out Homo Economicus

    With the forces of inflation biting harder and with government initiatives to boost local agricultural efforts yet to kick in completely, the decision of the federal authorities to import essential items to stave off dire shortages at home is a timeous retreat from economic brinkmanship which would have put the nation on a perilous path given the current constellation of adverse social, political and historical forces. That the resort to massive importation came with a timeline should reassure those who contend that a patriotic policy has once again succumbed to political expediency.

    Among those who have voiced their concern about this seeming reversal of policy is Akinwunmi Adesina, the President of the African Development Bank. In his view, the policy could put paid to the current efforts to boost local production. This is something Adesina is quite passionate about. But as a former Minister of Agriculture in Nigeria, he ought to have known how difficult if not impossible to boost local food production where certain things are not in place. His own pet project of cassava bread which he claimed to have become the staple food in Aso Rock ended up a risible farce.

      However that may be, the respite should give the authorities the time for a reality check and an opportunity to reset the clock after one year of economic tumult and turmoil. Let it be noted that even in more organic and coherent nations, there have always been fierce arguments and contentions about just how much a particular generation should suffer and endure in order to lay the foundation of prosperity and sufficiency for a future generation.

       In a particularly abrasive and daring Soviet-era novel, a character was heard bemoaning why he must suffer and endure because of a future generation he knew nothing about and couldn’t care less about. In Nigeria, we have heard of state intellectuals during the Babangida era wailing from the rooftop that they sacrificed their today for our tomorrow. Alas, it all turned out a damp squib; a cruel and sadistic hoax.

        To be sure, a broad consensus appears to have crystallized that for Nigeria to make progress and to achieve food sufficiency as it has happened in India, Indonesia, Vietnam, Singapore, China and the fabled Asian tigers, the generality of the Nigerian populace and its overindulged and over-pampered elite in particular will have to be weaned off their overdependence on consumption on foreign food.

      This gastronomic nationalism has to be instilled and burnt into the consciousness of the Nigerian populace either by force or fire or the shock therapy of hunger and dire scarcity such as we are currently experiencing. It is an amazing irony that it is at this particular point in history when western gastronomic imagination is taking a particular preference and partiality for Nigerian cuisine that Nigeria’s elite should be completely swallowed by western consumerist propaganda and its seductive lore.

    For this National Food Emergency Programme to succeed certain things will have to be in place. Otherwise, it will turn out to be an exercise in futility once again. We cannot afford to put the cart before the horse. Some examples from other climes will suffice. When Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru famously insisted that if the newly Independent Indian nation could not feed itself, the citizens could as well go hungry he knew that he had the entire Hindu populace behind him. He had won them to his side by sheer force of example and personal integrity. Winston Churchill dismissed Mahatma Ghandi as a half-naked fakir.

    The proud and aristocratic Indians even in their derelict and fallen state had nothing to be ashamed of. Neither could they be fazed by western civilization. They knew that when the first set of European adventurers arrived in the subcontinent at the tail end of the fifteenth century, the Indians looked down on them with pity and wonder unable to fathom where they had come from with their coarse and funny fabrics when the Indians were already wearing expensive silk. They paid dearly for the contumely.

    After the collapse of the Soviet Empire, Russia was in economic and political ruins. It was a millennial fiasco. The west and its IMF hit squad butchered the Russian economy in an attempt to turn Russia away from its Slavic roots and make the nation a spineless appendage of the west. But Vladimir Putin was having none of that. He put the so called oligarchs to rout through jailing, exiling or outright liquidation. The Russians were forced to draw on their exceptional reserves of fortitude and hardihood. They ate what they could produce and in no time the country and its currency bounced back.

     The lesson from all this is that a great degree of national mobilization is mandatory in all national projects requiring sacrifice and forbearance on the part of a people. Better if the people are already favourably disposed. This can only happen if there is an elective affinity between the people and the government woven around a galvanizing idea of the nation based on core values and a national ideology.

    In the absence of core values and an overarching national ideology, the paradox of governance in post-independence Nigeria is graphically illustrated by considerable success at the sub-national levels and compelling failure at the national level. By weaving tales and stories which struck a favourable cord in the political imaginary of their people, the three regional titans succeeded in galvanizing and mobilizing them for the great task ahead.

       In the brief period in which he held power, Awolowo achieved a revival and renaissance of his Yoruba people through effective mobilization the like of which they never saw in the preceding centuries of war and strife. Nnamdi Azikiwe through a recourse to Igbo Exceptionalism and mythmaking succeeded in frog-matching an essentially rural and agrarian people to the frontiers of national and global reckoning within a relatively short period. In the north, Ahmadu Bello succeeded in weaving together a regional hegemony based on mutual tolerance overridden by ethnic supremacy.

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     Going forward, strife and tension became inevitable as the struggle for power at the centre intensified with each regional hegemon attempting to impose his ethnic vision on the federal format either through destructive propaganda, intellectual intimidation or direct physical threat. Chief Awolowo’s barely disguised contempt and stringent critique of feudalism in the north seemed to have panicked the northern leaders into a deliberate and chilling course of punitive preemption and programmed political destruction while the east, waiting in the wings to profit from the outcome of the tussle, finally lost its patience and opted for the final solution through their mid-level military officers.

    Almost sixty years after, a ruinous civil war, several military coups, mutinies, civil uprisings, religious insurgencies, the odd Sharia gambit and associated disintegrative antics, Nigeria still cannot boast of a broad national consensus on anything. Neither can it come up with core values on which a national ideology so imperative for national mobilization is anchored. This is the unpromising and deeply dissatisfying circumstance in which the Tinubu administration is hoping to reverse the current food drought threatening the country.

    The government has its work cut out for it. Apart from the absence of core values which speak to the structural dysfunctionality of the nation and makes national mobilization dead on arrival, the administration also faces challenges on two fronts which it must do well to negotiate in the coming months.

    First, in order to head off an unfolding crisis of credibility, authority and legitimacy, the government needs to enhance its own cult of personal example. Asking people to further tighten their belt and make sacrifices when tales of outlandish fiscal recklessness continue to surface in the media can only serve to further inflame passion in an already tense and combustible situation.

     Second, government needs to dispel the growing perception that it lacks the will to confront corrupt elements and economic miscreants who have contributed to the economic ruination of the country. This does not bode well for social harmony and cohesion. It will no longer do to continue to insist that the current administration inherited a parlous economy when the perpetrators of the heist are walking about freely and spitting in the face of everybody in spite and contempt.

      Beset as it is on all fronts by unfriendly social and political forces, it is a very awkward moment for the Tinubu administration. They are making it impossible for government to get fully into its stride. Enemy nationals and anti-state actors abound everywhere luxuriating in the stark irrationality that anything is preferable to the current arrangement and that Nigeria will have to be unbundled before it can be bundled back.

      This is not a beneficial political conjuncture at all. Not even our founding fathers were faced by such a gargantuan political quandary. When a group of individuals accumulate enough illicit wealth to hold the state hostage, they make economic progress impossible and imperil the very foundation of the nation in a fundamental manner. It is a very consuming national tragedy.   

    Having made large scale farming impossible in huge swathes of the nation, this constellation of hostile forces may yet render the respite proposed by the administration nugatory by exercising their economic veto power. For example, there is nothing absolutely stopping them from buying off the imported food items and hoarding them. When and if that happens, perhaps it will open the eyes of those in charge to the fact that the nation is faced with an impossible structural conundrum.

  • Yes, Prime Minister!

    Yes, Prime Minister!

    Even the redoubtable Sir Humphrey Appleby, the incurably cynical Whitehall master mandarin in the famous Yes, Minister television series, would have been astounded by the dizzying pace of events. Britain has a new Prime Minister, Keir Starmer. A few weeks back when the then Prime Minister, Rishi Sunak, called  a general election for the  4th of July against the run of play, not a few influential people in his own party where nonplussed by the curious development.

      To start with, most opinion polls were showing the opposition Labour Party comfortably ahead in a double-digit lead that was virtually unassailable.  Would it not have been better to wait until autumn when the circumstances would have improved enough to mollify the people? But there were also many who believed that the son of Indian immigrants who had spent a lifetime gaming the system might have a terminal joker up his sleeves.

      In the event, it turned out a resounding rout, arguably the worst electoral shellacking the Conservative Party has received since its post-Second World War debacle. The electoral cartography of this sturdy Island has been vastly altered. After fourteen years of uninterrupted Conservative rule, the British populace was in no mood to take any hostage.

      They were determined to punish the ruling party for the ethical collapse of the country, the stench of Conservative sleaze in general and the political delinquencies of Boris  Johnson in particular which have turned Britain into a global laughing stock. Earlier in 2010, the Labour Party had been equally banished after a thirteen year rule beginning in 1997 which ended in dismal failure for Tony Blair and the complete erosion of the moral authority and legitimacy of the ruling party.

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      In keeping with ageless British tradition, the transition was as seamless as it was perfectly choreographed. Even before the votes were fully tallied, Rishi Sunak had called Keir Starmer to concede. A few hours later on a dreary and mournful July morning, the first person of colour to rule Britain was on the podium outside 10 Downing Street biding his compatriots a sombre goodbye. It was a terse and statesmanlike self-dismissal. Thereafter, Sunak was on his way to Buckingham Palace to formally tender his resignation to King Charles. Moments after this, Keir Starmer’s convoy swept in and Britain has a new leader. By the end of his first day in office, Starmer’s cabinet was already firmly in place.

       It will be recalled that a few hours after his eviction from office in 1997, John Major was sighted at the Oval Cricket grounds donning dark glasses and downing his favourite warm beer. The genial Brixton-born politico had already adjusted to life after office. Those who bemoan the fact that Nigeria’s succession of politics and politics of succession are nowhere near this in its order and seamless transfer of power should note that unlike Britain Nigeria lacks an organic ruling class and remains an inchoate postcolonial amalgam bristling with ethnic, religious and cultural polarizations. Even at that, Britain has been at it for centuries, through trial and error, stress and strife, intellectual and philosophical dogfights and bloody confrontations.

       Despite the landslide victory of his party, it will be ill-advised for Sir Keir to sleep with both eyes shut. What has just happened cannot be regarded as a victory for and endorsement of Labour but a rebuff for and repudiation of the Conservative Party. Having tried its hands at bloody revolutions and parliamentary upheavals, Britain has long settled for a turn by turn democracy in which two state parties endorsed by the ruling elite compete for power in periodic elections which give the illusion of change while almost everything crucial remains the same.

    Whatever change there may be cannot be peremptory or haphazard.  And it cannot be within the remit of the masses. It would have been endorsed by the Deep State after going through serial interrogation and consensus building by the political society. Mr Starmer exudes the aura of decency and compassion. Whenever he is tempted to act beyond his brief, he should remember the dismal fate of his predecessors.

     There are times when journalism can serve as a pillar of memory and remembrance. When the following piece was first published in 2006, it was meant to serve as a periscope of unfolding events in the west and as a compelling projection into the future. It is left to readers to make up their own mind.

  • From the Western frontline

    From the Western frontline

     It was the best of times; it was the worst of times…”  Thus, Charles Dickens famously opened his literary biography of revolutionary Europe. A Tale of Two Cities is a fabulous yarn about London and Paris. At that point in time, the two European cities were the twin-summit of western civilisation in all its glory and glittering contradictions. Yet Dickens, the supreme poet of urban squalor and muse of radical discontents, might as well have been writing about our own age, except that New York and London appear to have replaced London and Paris as the focal flashpoints.

          The world has entered a phase of radical dis-ease, of revolutionary and disconcerting paradoxes reminiscent of the approaching end of a historic era. We are far from the end of history, but not nearly as far from some history-defining endgame. Startling technological advancements cohabit with—and aid—political barbarity. The most advanced and refined of human societies also harbour the most extreme cases of regression into animal savagery.

       Pre-historic deprivation and destitution sit side by side with post-human paradise and sated saturated bliss. While there are veneers of the First World in the old Third World, huge slabs of the Fourth World have invaded the First World, making nonsense of the old binary geopolitical polarities. Niger and Darfur jostle for attention with Tavistock Square and Aldgate.

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          May you live in interesting times, prayed the wise and eternally inscrutable Chinese. No prayer could have been better answered, and in full measure, too. We surely live in interesting times. A new type of conflict, the first truly global war—for want of a better term—is beginning to envelope the entire universe. Unlike the old-type of warfare, this one is a war without defined battlefields or recognised combatants. The whole world is one vast battlefield and everyone a potential casualty. Mufti is often the uniform and there are no bugles heralding different armies or flags announcing national divisions.

         In such circumstances, the Geneva Convention about warfare seems tired and outworn. “Citizens” wage war against their own country in a startling redefinition of the whole notion of treason and patriotism; volunteers die in strange lands in a chilling re-enactment of the medieval struggle between Christianity and Islam. The enemy combatant may well be your neighbour, your friend, your colleague at work , a former schoolmate or even your own blood relation. Goodbye to 1984 and the world of big brothers. Welcome to the twenty first century, and to the brave new world of puppy tyrants.

        Whether this is a clash of civilizations, of cultures, of values, of barbarities, and even of fanaticisms and fundamentalisms is now beside the point. What is obvious is that international interaction is yielding to a new order. Buying into the advances of globalization, an anti-national, anti-modern and anti-consumerist species of Islam has been able to impose its own notions of warfare on the combined forces of western civilization. Knowing that it lacked the technological superiority to prevail on the strict and rigidly delimited battle-field, it has literally taken the war to the streets.

     Knowing that the crudest bomb can become a weapon of mass destruction in the crowded megalopolis of the west, it has struck terror into the hearts of millions by bringing the war “home”. And since it doesn’t have to clean up even in its own occupied territory, it has forced America into the quagmire of nation-building, a task for which it is particularly ill-suited by reasons of culture and political temperament.

            Like the proverbial fallen, hegemonic Islamism, down and out, flat on its back after centuries of repeated military and political humiliations from the combined forces of western ascendancy, has nothing to fear or lose. He that is down needs fear no further fall. But he that is down can bring others down, too. This variety of Islam may yet become the nemesis of a Christianity-based civilization.

     By slowly draining the west of its prosperity in a permanent conflict with horrendous casualties, by making nonsense of its technological supremacy through sheer attrition, by striking mortal fear into its dazed citizenry , and, above all,  by forcing it to compromise on the virtues of political plurality and tolerance that is at the root of its prosperity and civilization, militant Islam may end up up-ending the western giant.

          We are back at the Dickensian paradox, and the brilliant English novelist’s tale of revolutionary Europe. The moment of consecration of empire is also the moment of its demystification. The lesson of history is that the precise point a society gets fully into its stride, the moment it reaches the summit of its particular civilization is also the moment it begins its irreversible slide into decay and irrelevance. Britain was at the height of its imperial glory during the time of Dickens. The gifted novelist might have glimpsed the internal contradictions. But the profound irony was that at that point in time, his beloved country had also technically ceased to be a leading military power. It might have been the master of the seas, but even in Europe, the Crimean War had already showcased the future might of the Russian and Prussian (German) armies.

           Every Rome, then, has its own barbarians and whether the Islamic multitude will do for America and the west remains a matter for heated speculation. It might suffice to add that ancient Rome did not die as a result of a single mortal wound but of a thousand cuts. A nation’s torment is often etched on the face of its leading city. Like the great European cities of the late nineteenth century, New York and London have become the metropolitan show-cases of contemporary discontents. 

         Four days apart at the end of July, yours sincerely found himself tramping through the sweltering heat of New York at the height of summer only to be confronted by an early autumnal breeze in London. Originating from the mesmerizing chaos of Nigeria and post-colonial Africa, one has spent the better part of two decades living and working in several western countries and in the process earning the honorific title of a citizen of the western world. But a slow and steady transformation is beginning to take hold and to change the colour and complexion of life in the west, particularly after the tragedy of September 11, 2001.

           Perhaps the loss of western virginity has been long in coming. You cannot lay claim to being the arrow head of civilization and still maintain a political chastity. European imperialism and the triumph of western civilisation over native American culture did not flow from chastity but from intimidation and cruel pre-emption.  If the events beginning with the spectacular siege of the New York twin-tower led to a heightened awareness, a sense of insecurity and vulnerability in western societies, they have now culminated in a radical loss of innocence.

             Having reconciled itself to the fact that the struggle against Osama Bin Laden and his followers is not going to be a quick fix, New York wears its state of emergency very well. The entire country appears to have been placed on a permanent war footing with periodic bulletins and adjustment of alerts. Yet everything appears calm and unruffled on the surface, until you begin to probe the inner recesses of the society.

    The security presence at the airport remains discreet and unobtrusive, but the customized screening, if your number comes up, is often comically invasive. Nevertheless, an ill-judged joke could induce an attack of nerves and send you in the wrong direction.  If you are asked whether you carry any sharp object on your person, better not indulge in any metaphorical flight by pointing at your head as this could mean pushing you headlong into the screener.

    The journey from Newark’s Liberty airport to New York City proper via Kennedy Airport remains pleasant and mind-soothing, until heat and traffic snarl take over. From Kennedy airport, you slip into Queens through Jamaica and then on to the subway from Brooklyn. Despite the surrounding filth and the shabby, claustrophobic milieu, the trains are still spotlessly clean and well-kept. The subway tramps are still there, so is the teeming multitude of the multi-racial underclass, a rainbow coalition of assorted crooks and con-men.

    Yet humanity still trumps villainy. You ask for a location and you are immediately surrounded by earnest guides and professional pathfinders. United by destitution and deprivation, the beatitude has no time or leisure to sort itself into primordial identities of race and religion. Overhead in the well-appointed suburbs and what is known as Middle America, a bible-thumping fundamentalism, a homogenizing leviathan rules the roost.

              If you survive the sweltering heat and manage to turn into the right corner in Brooklyn, you may yet find a Nigerian restaurant serving steaming pounded yam dish. This is not mainstream eating culture, but a kind of counter-cultural alternative life style moodily and testily tolerated. Unlike the cosmopolitan and adventurous European taste, the American palate is more conservative and this gastronomic regression is viewed as a quaint anomaly, a lapse of refinement. . The covenanted messianism which sees America as the future of humanity often leads to a stifling cultural conformism and a unique closure of the American mind, but it also coalesces into a granite uniformity of purpose once America is under threat.

          As it reacts with panic and fright to the eruption of Islamic militancy and mayhem on its shores, the British political establishment may rue the absence of the uniformity of purpose and the manufactured consensus that appear to serve America so well in moments of crisis. But this will be to compound an original error of judgement with an obtuseness of purpose. Britain is not America. Over the centuries, and through much strife and stress, Britain has developed a culture of political plurality based on tolerance, compromise and fair-mindedness.

    In the process, it has evolved perhaps the first genuinely multi-cultural society that the world has seen. Extremists of all hues may from time to time tug at the fabric, the compromises may often seem like shabby collusion and complicity with evil but it works most of the time. By going to war with Iraq without the support of crucial pillars of the nation and with a manufactured consensus, Tony Blair substituted American culture for British norm.

             The dire consequences of that spectacular miscognition have arrived, with fear and unease enveloping Britain after the tragedy of July 7, with the militarization of a gentle society and the growing voice of right wing fanatics braying for blood and calling for a final solution to the immigrant menace. It is tempting to conclude that after running with the hare and hunting with the hounds, Britain has been hoisted by its own imperialist petard.

      But that will be a disservice to the society of good manners, of gentlemanly restraint and wise discretion. It is these golden virtues that produced the little Lagos of Peckham and what is known a tad derisively as Londonistan. Whatever its colonial past and current imperfections, Britain is shining example of multiculturalism.

           That tradition now seems to be under grave threat. The kind of troop and security deployments that have been seen on the streets of England, particularly in London, in the wake of the recent tragedy must not be allowed to remain for long. A city with heroic antecedents, London, over the centuries, has seen many troops. But they were of a different hue: Magna Carta partisans, defenders of liberty and freedom, militant mobs, revolutionary crowds, chartists, Cromwellian stalwarts, Hyde Park tormentors of absolutism, freedom fighters fleeing from tyranny, exiled heroes of democracy and barons of sundry barricades.

     It is from this illustrious and noble tradition that Britain must now draw profound resources and reserves of strength and resilience in the confrontation with an Islamism mired in the grand dream of a  past  Al- Andalus rather than the great vision of a future El Dorado . In doing this, Britain must revert to its traditional role of a wiser elder sibling to an America of rampart militarism and bare knuckle reflex. While military might is often decisive in war, it is intellectual and moral might that often carries the day in a confrontation of cultures.

    As the Iraqi debacle has shown, when Britain apes American militarism, the world is a less safe and healthy place, and the whole of western civilization is endangered. If the initial misjudgement is allowed to be compounded by further errors of perception, if a species of Islam finally drives the west to become its mirror image, then we might as well bid goodbye to Western civilization as we know it.

    First published in Africa Today, 2006.

  • An American conundrum

    An American conundrum

    Kabiyesi caravan arrives in Washington

    The unthinkable is now becoming the inevitable in America. With the doddering and dismal performance of Joe Biden at the presidential debate and the Supreme Court ruling conferring an open-ended immunity on Donald Trump’s compulsive criminality while in office, alarm bells about the grim possibility of Trump’s return to the Oval Office have started ringing in many civilized capitals around the world. The horrifying prospects, not to talk of the stark possibilities, send jitters across the globe.

    With the Supreme Court majority ruling on Monday which granted substantial immunity to actions taken by a sitting president, America is finally on the road to never-before. We say never before because America was never a traditional monarchy. For centuries, America’s political elite avoided this route back to medieval tyranny and servitude. It is the “Kabiyesi Syndrome” in America. George Washington declined to run for another term on the grounds that the American people did not disown feudal monarchy in Europe only to consecrate a similar institution on another continent.

    The Supreme Court ruling is a reflection of how bitterly polarized and inchoate America has become. The revered justices may have failed to appreciate the dangers ahead for democracy in America. In the  ideological occlusion of actual reality that  partisanship brought upon them, they even came to the paradoxical conclusion that the main threat to the nation is not the executive brigandage and deliberate terrorism represented by a leader like Trump but the possibility of a descent into legislative despotism.

    Donald Trump represents an acute danger to America’s political wellbeing. This is what happens when a solitary ruler without scruples or moral qualms but with a Rasputin-like hypnotic hold on the ignorant masses suddenly materializes with the sole vindictive purpose of upending the system. The Kabiyesi system literally means the king can do no wrong and cannot be held accountable for his deeds.

    Yet it should be noted that in traditional societies where kings held sway, there were enough checks and balances to prevent an obdurate and malignant ruler from descending into untrammeled tyranny. Among the Yoruba in Nigeria, a tyrannical ruler that has exhausted the patience of the people is advised by the conclave of wise people to do the needful by opening the sacred calabash. This meant sure suicide.

     In all this, it is profoundly ironical that it is the listless and fretful Joe Biden who has seen through the chicanery. In an insightful swipe at the Supreme Court justices, President Biden noted that America is not a land of kings. And that is putting it mildly. Quite a number of people are tempted to dismiss this as mere hysterical mush or a voter-scaring gambit. On the contrary, the evidence on ground suggests that this is not America’s finest hour.

    Where then we may ask are the remaining people of honour and inviolate integrity in the greatest and most competitive democracy the modern world has seen? It is said that all human societies are the same but for the institutions erected by each society to act as barriers against a return to barbarity and degeneracy. There is a solidarity of all human-beings in aberration, rues Albert Camus.

    America is caught in a classic conundrum, a vicious self-entrapment. The intellectual visionaries and democratic heroes who founded America did not envisage it as a warrior-nation. They sought to create a new type of nation of free people founded on democratic principles and away from the tyrannical ashes of feudal Europe. In this, they seem to have succeeded beyond their imagination and wildest dreams.

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    But as hubris gave way to a notion of American Exceptionalism and manifest destiny particularly after astounding victories over Mexico, the Spaniards in Cuba and the Philippines and the Germans in the First World War, Americans came to belief that the entire world is their oyster which they could toy with at will. As a covenanted people with a superior vision of the world, they have a right to impose their will and might on any nation or people.

      The problem with this notion of history is the fact that America failed to factor in the possibility of a countervailing logic from other equally covenanted people and societies who have produced their own heroes and their own unique societies who will refuse to be bullied around by any country no matter its fabled military might or productive capacity. Some of these civilizations have been around for more than five thousand years.

    This is the misbegotten militarism that has produced the debacles of Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, the roiling stalemate of Ukraine, the murderous maelstrom of Gaza and the gruff face-off with China. Believe it or not, it has also thrown up the explosive contradictions of a draft-dodging ruler like Donald Trump who insists that America is not founded for the weak or the weakling.

      Going forward, it is obvious that America needs a paradigm shift and a fundamental reset of values in line with emergent global realities. It will not come with a Biden presidency. Old Joe is too flustered and flummoxed by the pace of events. But rather than the malevolent and potentially catastrophic return of Donald Trump, a somnolent Biden presidency will be a watershed and a waterbed for the emergence of a new generation of American leaders.

      The piece you are about to read was written in 2004 and it is the chronicle of an American decline foretold. Happy reading to our numerous readers.

  • America, the anxious

    America, the anxious

    America gave the world a new type of nation-state. It is a befitting irony that as the nation-state paradigm itself begins to unravel at the seams, much of the rest of the world would enter into a contradiction with the most successful expression of nationality—and nationalism—that the modern world has witnessed.

    As a rampant Republican presidency and a refulgent nation continue to confound friends and foes alike, there is a profound anti-American animus abroad. The global liberal intelligentsia are still reeling from what they considered the shocking and inexplicable defeat of the democratic standard bearer in the just concluded presidential elections.

    In much of Western Europe, particularly in France, America’s foremost bete noire, the atmosphere is of funereal gloom and depression. Famously, The Mirror of England wondered how fifty eight million people could be so dumb.

    A lot of this hysteric mush boils down to pride and prejudice on both sides of the divide. It is the jaded arrogance of the old world contending with the blithe contempt of the new. In many respects, it is also the return of the repressed. Four years ago when George W Bush controversially prevailed over Al Gore despite losing the popular vote, many saw a plutocratic conspiracy to crowd out America’s democratic masses from political contention.

    This time around, it was clear that it is the son of the older Bush that has connected with the electoral mystery that is Middle America. Why then must the rest of the world feel it has the right to legislate the destiny of America for Americans? And having conceded that crucial point, why would middle Americans be so blatantly contemptuous of anti-American sentiments abroad? Is this brilliant rallying to the star-spangled banner a heroic defence of American core values against the tired cynicism of Europe or the reflex circling of the wagons by a nation under global siege?.

    The case from abroad is arguable enough. As the most powerful and militarily dominant nation the world has seen, and as the richest society in human history, America should lead the world to a more humane and civilized society. This can be done by a more multilateral approach to global issues, less belligerence abroad and a political conservatism that is at once compassionate, conciliatory, less conflictual and more consensus seeking.

    The American riposte to this stinging indictment is equally telling and bespeaks a mutual misapprehension of historic magnitude. The way to a more humane and civilized world is not through liberal flip-flopping or paying protection money to diseased despots but a proactive policy of exemplary retribution which is as retroactively punitive as it is harshly pre-emptive. There must be no dialogue with “the axis of evil”. The nations so branded must be militarily subdued and pounded to submission.

     That it is this Samurai code that has found resonance with the American moral majority, particularly after the spectacular siege of September 11, 2001, is no longer contestable, whatever the consternation of the rest of the world. When it was reported that there was a record turn out in the last presidential elections, many were the tele-pundits  who thought that the real owners of America were on the march to reclaim their nation.

    Alas, it turned out the other way round. The quiet Americans had turned out to validate the machismo mantra of the son of George Herbert Walker Bush. The world may never be the same again. Is this then the new face of an empire that has been in denial for a long time, or the evidence of a sharp divergence between European democracy and the American mutant?

    America was founded on the ruins of feudal Europe. It was a bold and brilliant attempt by revolutionary visionaries to create humanity anew. When George Washington, its first president, declined another term which could have turned him into a new type of king and the American presidency a monarchical institution, he set America on the path to becoming a radical democracy and the first truly revolutionary society the world has seen.

    This may seem a moot point, but when set within the context that succeeding revolutionary attempts to create humanity anew have often ended up with the founders dying on the throne or mutating into senile and murderous despots, the issue becomes clearer. Take a sample: Lenin-Stalin, Mao, Tito, Castro, Yong, Neto, Cabral, Mugabe etc.

    The dictatorship of the revolutionary vanguard, rather than transforming into a genuine democracy, often becomes a historic nightmare: the privatized rule of the paranoid patriarch or the protocol of berserk elders.

    George Washington might have been responding to the push and pull of a truly modern society, and the republican zeal engendered by the fact that that at that point in time, there were more lawyers in America than armed soldiers. Whatever it was, it set America on the path of a nation in which institutions and institution-building were more important than the cult of the exceptional individual.

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    The military would never dare to take over power in America, and neither would a putative tyrant survive for very long in the White House. The democratic institutions and a vigilant civil society would take care of that. The system may occasionally creak at the joints, there may be a murmur of muted disorder as new and unenvisaged historical realities intrude, but the over-ride gear prevails and America reverts to its default settings.

    The anarchic obverse of this sterling coin is the triumphalist and naïve optimism it breeds, the belief that the nation can even afford to live dangerously, and that everything would be alright eventually. Worse still, every American voter considers himself or herself to be a miniature monarch, a mini-sovereign entitled to determine the destiny of the nation.

    In periods of strive and anxiety, this may turn the presidency itself into an agenda-driven, divisive platform rather than a subtle mechanism for aggregating contending national interests. But again, this is part of the irony of the American dream in which a man’s destination is more important than where he is coming from, in which anybody can technically aspire to the greatest positions in the land without being thwarted by the circumstances of birth. What is important is how far you can push yourself.

    When it works, the American dream is a glorious advertisement for egalitarianism and the democratic empowerment of the gifted and driven individual. When Benjamin Franklin, the Philadelphia publisher and inventor of genius, arrived in Paris as the ambassador of the new nation, he affronted not a few members of the chic Parisian elite with his brashness, his brazenness, his boundless vivacity, his spontaneous bonhomie and his obvious refusal to be fazed by the frigid norms of a frozen feudal fiefdom.

    It was then sniffily observed that it was only in America that such a man could become an ambassador. It was meant as a despairing put-down, but it was also a stupendous compliment to the American dream. As it was in the beginning, so it is beginning to look in mid-day.

     Till date, the French political circles never tire of inveigling against American brashness and vulgarity, their aversion for the finer points of taste, political sophistication and diplomatic savvy, while the Americans are openly disdainful of the cloak and dagger elusiveness and unreliable political somersaults of the European political elite in general, and the French in particular.

     In a memorable diplomatic bust-up, an American secretary of state once famously dismissed his British counterpart as a duplicitous bastard while the Whitehall mandarins eternally wring their hands about the global disaster of having diplomacy conducted by American boys’ Brigade.

    This perilous background of mutual misperception explains the current European –and global—anxiety about the direction of the American nation, and it is a function of a divergent trajectory as the impact of globalization and America’s unrivalled dominance finally hits a world in denial. The American success is predicated on relentless and often manic competition: competition among individuals, competition among institutions, competition in which humans become unfeeling automatons and cyborgs on auto-pilot.

     Even eating is a competition. You do not eat a sandwich but you grab one and ram it down to go back to work. In restaurants, you are asked whether you are still “working’ on the stuff. Compare this with the epic feast of pounded yam eating in Things Fall Apart, the stupendous orgy of consumption at a Yoruba ceremony or the elaborate twenty-four course meal of the French, and you begin to sense that there is no freeloading in Uncle Tom’s cabin.

     Yet if this neo-Calvinist ethos with its harsh protestant Puritanism has produced the richest society the world has seen, it can also turn a nation into a hard and unfeeling monad. America is by far the richest country in the world, but it is far from being the happiest society. The competition and work ethics criminalize poverty, and the poor are looked upon with a mixture of disdain and pity.

    There is a Victorian prudery abroad which often provokes its own sexual pathologies, and there is a zero-tolerance for filth and squalor which often induces an obsessive neatness and primness in public places. A reflex hostility to theocracy prevents a sustained dialogue with Islam and often hardens into a puritanical contempt for the thieving fascist clerisy that dominates the Middle East. Yet no one remembers that Islam itself started as a revolutionary doctrine, a new covenant between the ruled and their rulers. A new, bible-thumping fundamentalism of the self-righteous right is in danger of unleashing on the world a technological dark age and new march of modern crusaders.

    Blissfully unaware of the danger to itself and the menace it constitutes to the global order, America romps on in rampart militarism. Honed by competition, relentless training and ceaseless self-surpassing that has turned its military into the supreme fighting machine of the epoch, buoyed by an embarrassment of riches beyond the compass of human imagination, America carries all before it in a triumphant swing which would have made the Romans wince in envy and admiration. It is a shining city on the hills, and there is no room for doubts, or for the old world philosophers of gloom and prophets of scarcity.

    Perhaps we are witnessing the stirrings of the first truly post-modern society, a post-primate order in which ordinary people achieve the extra-ordinary. Perhaps it is a prelude to a catastrophic unraveling. Whatever it is, America—and George Bush—should pause momentarily and look back at the old empires of history. If they cannot do this on their own, let them import philosophers from the old world.    

     First published in 2004 (Excerpts) 

  • In memories and in memoriam

    In memories and in memoriam

    For Femi Esho and Oba Femi Ogunleye

    Last week, Nigeria lost two of its most illustrious sons ever.  First to depart for higher glory was Femi Esho, aka Esh Baba, musician, raconteur and indefatigable cultural entrepreneur who together with a few die-hard aficionados pioneered the revival of Highlife music as a national brand and the signature tune of Nigeria’s sophisticated, upwardly mobile post-independence middle class. Following quickly on his heels was Oba Femi Ogunleye, former PR impresario and frontline journalist, who made a seamless transition to revered royalty as the Towulade of Akinale in Ogun State.

    It was said that his royal eminence joined his ancestors in faraway London. Among the Yoruba people, retribution for the breach of traditional protocol particularly where the rites and right of passage of a notable ruler are concerned can be very severe indeed.  Not knowing how to handle an unfolding royal transition without inviting heavy traditional reprisals, yours sincerely can only wish the late Oba a happy ascent to the royal continuum at this point in time.

       By a strange coincidence, the last time this columnist met Oba Ogunleye was also at a funeral some years back at the Orile Wasinmi ancestral homestead of the Odegbami clan. As we committed the remains of Dele Odegbami, aka Bad Meat, Segun Odegbami’s older brother, to mother earth, the late Oba suddenly materialized from an adjoining bush path: no car, no convoy, no horse-drawn carriage, no appurtenances of royalty, only a solitary companion and a heavy hint of Yoruba supersonic sorcery. The mist and mystery partially lifted when the Oba explained that his domain was actually next door and he just decided to take a walk to be with us. 

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      Meanwhile, the grim reaper continues its relentless devastations among a particular generation of Nigerians who can be said to have seen it all. It is harsh and unsparing, recognizing neither past achievements nor current distinctions. Our old teacher at the then University of Ife, Lasisi Olusola Soile, put it with haunting lucidity: “At least the Roman Empire lasted a thousand years. But in my lifetime I have witnessed the rise and fall of Nigeria”.

      That was in 1984, exactly forty years ago during General Buhari’s first coming. Soile, a first class brain and a finer gentleman with the milk of human kindness flowing through him, had trudged into the office we both briefly shared completely deflated after fruitlessly hunting for what was then known as essential commodities. It was a novel humiliation of the Nigerian middle class, particularly its salaried professoriate.

     Soile passed on a few years after. If he were to be alive, what would he be thinking of the current circumstance of the nation, poignantly presaged by the second coming of the selfsame General Buhari now that the real thing seems to have arrived? Or could it be we still haven’t seen nothing yet? The limits we always thought was the ultimate limit often turn out not to be the limit at all but remarkable milestones in the saga of human endurance.

       But while the tragic turns and twists continue, the clock of history also ticks away with cruel and merciless precision, like the ornate contraption in Gregor Samsa’s morbidly tidy bedroom. Just because a person has woken up to discover that he has been transformed into a giant beetle doesn’t mean that the clock must stop, or that life must not continue. The evening of life must come. Night hovers like an unrelenting vulture circling its prey and waiting for the appointed hour to pounce. This is the fate that has overtaken the two illustrious Nigerians, cultural entrepreneur and respected Yoruba royalty.

       The news of Femi Esho’s death was broken to me by another Femi, this time Olufemi Macaulay, a versatile columnist on the daily edition of this newspaper and former student of yours sincerely at the old University of Ife in the early eighties. As readers of this column would have gleaned on one or two occasions, Femi is the archetypal former student from hell. Totally irreverent, he would sometimes barge into the office of his former teacher cracking outlandish jokes.

      An earlier obsession was his insistence that there were more than enough similarities of facial features between the columnist and Kylian Mbappe to suggest a furtive sowing of wild oats, despite the fact that it is well-known that the outstanding footballer is the product of a union between a Cameroonian father and a mother of Algerian extraction. Luckily, it has so far escaped Macaulay that there is a young Black player in the current Spanish squad at the European Cup who goes by the same surname as the writer with the tag junior ominously appended.

       Yours sincerely had introduced Femi Esho and Femi Macaulay to each other and one was soon left completely out of the equation. Both are free spirits and can be regarded as artists without border. There was a sublime disdain for arid conventionality and robotic regulation about the two of them which made them sworn enemies of formal sartorial compliance and the hankering after bourgeois respectability so beloved of Nigeria’s educated classes. As sworn enemies of uniformity each went ahead to create his own peculiar and unique uniform.

       In the case of Esho, it was a free-flowing often snow white garment which looked like a cross between the Senagalese dungaree and the Islamic jalamia. He often donned this while performing on stage his endless repertoire of ancient highlife tunes with relish and boyish enthusiasm. With his lavish, luxuriant white beard giving him a unique persona, Esh Baba was indeed an enigmatic wonder, a saxophone-blowing highlife guru.

      Ijesha-born, Samuel Babafemi Esho, despite his modish distaste for convention, was a quintessential gentleman and an omoluwabi to boot in the Yoruba sense of that word. Courteous, unflappable, unfailingly polite to both young and old, he was also generous to a fault and with a deep streak of humanity which made him compulsively solicitous of other people’s wellbeing ahead of his own paltry needs and meager requirements. In his later years, the only luxury he permitted himself was an endless supply of groundnut and the occasional bottle of Stout.

       It was many years ago on a pleasant Muslim holiday that Femi Macaulay and spouse dropped by the house only to meet Esho and one of his aides already ensconced. As usual, the grandfather of highlife revival in Nigeria was dishing out anecdotes after anecdotes about Nigeria’s musical history and behind the scene subterfuges. My favourite was when Baba Esh once went on air to enumerate the influence and indeed the origin of Nigerian highlife in the Ghanaian medley of the same name.

       Esho thought he was doing a yeoman’s job clarifying musical history for posterity. He did not reckon with an old hero of highlife music in Nigeria and one of its most adulated and garlanded icons who had been testily listening in on the programme. When his patience was exhausted by the iconoclast, the old man charged furiously at both producer and guest berating Esho for trying to disrobe a sacred and bi-centennial egungun. Esho duly apologized but not out of conviction.

        That was Femi Esho, the pacifist who could not hurt a fly and was always ready to let go in the interest of peace even when he was in the right. He was as sweet-tempered and as amiable as they come which made him such an excellent company. One now remembers that as the morning of that Muslim holiday glided into afternoon with Fela’s classic humming in the background and after freezing bottles of Stout had dissolved the customary reserve and polite reticence, the whole place erupted into much dancing and revelry which suggested protracted immersions at the old Shrine. The Macaulay spouse was quite a revelation.

       Anybody familiar with Esho’s musical gallery first when it was located in Somolu and later at the tail end of Adeniran Ogunsanya in Surulere would have witnessed the same scene. They were both Meccas of musical wayfarers, brimming with ancient tapes, arcane gramophones and rare archival musical renditions often captured on strange gadgets and superannuated equipment with Esho himself darting from one room to the other like a moving museum.

      Esho was an encyclopedia of Africa music. No notable musical career escaped his keen attention. It was from him that one learnt that Theophilus Iwalokun,aka Theo Baba, the late much beloved Ilaje crooner,  was actually a fisherman who spent his spare time entertaining friends with a box guitar and his sonorous voice until he was persuaded to go professional. If you also want to know what became of who or what happened to who in the fractious and ever combustible Nigeria’s entertainment industry,  Esho was the go to person. To the best of our knowledge, nobody has ever contradicted his postulations.

      The late entrepreneur was an important bridge in the technological transformation of the Nigerian musical scene from the age of cassettes and spooling tapes to the age of chips and microchips that could deliver music for hours on end without any cumbersome gadgets or ponderous contraptions. Towards the end, these disruptive innovations almost proved fatal to Esho rendering his modest empire very vulnerable to the ferocious backlash of advances in the field. Despite the obvious setback and the reality of failing health combining with advancing years, the great man remained his cheery and polite self.                                                                         

     Music was Babafemi Esho’s first love and lasting obsession. This must not be forgotten because Esho had ample opportunities to pursue other interests. Not many people would believe that he was a principal private secretary to the first military governor of Lagos State, Brigadier Mobolaji Johnson. But he chose music above everything else. It was as if he was being guided by a divine path seeker. His invaluable contributions to the industry will not be forgotten. May his noble soul rest in peace.

  • Tomboloku the master-parrot squares up to Okon

    Tomboloku the master-parrot squares up to Okon

    As the price of foodstuff escalates beyond human endurance, domestic wards have gone completely haywire, making life impossible for owners as they cheat and crunch way through whatever remains of human gastronomy before people resort to open grazing or what is known as botanical buzzing. After all it is famously observed that when what we have learnt to eat is exhausted, it is the turn of what we have not learnt to eat.

       If anybody can be regarded as the poster boy of this vile and loutish behavior among domestic servants, it is the inevitable Okon. Like a famished hyena, Okon savages everything in the house. Nothing can restrain him. No amount of surveillance can catch him out. Yours sincerely has tried all kinds of electronic devices including eavesdropping, phone-tapping, maize-tagging, yam-wiring and putting electronic bugs in bags of beans. On the advice of a friend one had even rented a domestic drone, a monstrous relic of the civil war which dangled over the roof and made horrible noise whenever a dog passed.

      But not to worry. You can trust countervailing intelligence to come up with the final solution. One morning, Lamidi, the equally loutish driver and old veteran of the wetie insurrection that one had inherited, came up with the suggestion that one should enlist the services of a Methuselah parrot from Oke Ogun. Gifted with phenomenal memory and capacity for retributive vengeance, he could reel off the names and aliases of twenty Oyo kings in a row without missing the succession order as well as the family tree of those who had crossed his path in fifty years and what became of them.

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       “Oga na Tomboloku go pieces dem gbarodugu boy like dem Agric fowl. You go pity am when job don finish”, Lamidi affirmed through missing incisors which gave him a fiendish visage.  After a day’s long journey into the Yoruba interior, we finally managed to locate Tomboloku and its current owner perched atop a scraggy escarpment that had served as the ancestral domain since slave raiders sacked the main town in the nineteenth century. To one’s surprise and utter amazement, the owner gave the ancient one away on a free lease hinting ominously that senile dementia had overtaken Tonboloku. “Baba Agba ti nsinwin”, the ancient traditional weaver warned.

    True enough, Tomboloku spent the next week in Lagos in a half-trance, occasionally mumbling some nonsense about some ancient Lagos notable who went bankrupt and was auctioned along with his earthly possessions. After that he lapsed into some incoherent babbling about ancient feuds and political hostilities in the old west which invited a sharp reprimand and rebuke from Lamidi who was a prominent NNDP thug. It was like flagging red flag in front of a bull.

      “ Wo , Tonboloku, jek’o rie pe. Abi your head no correct again? Is that why we brought you here? That Adelabu  hawked stock fish for Agbeni market dat one na history”, Lamidi  chided the strange one.

    “Ah thank you. Lamidi, Oba awon janduku. O tu olope ka nibi ti won ti ndana iro. Arapaja bi esu odara”, the old bird sang in ancient praise of the former stalwart which elicited a grumpy grunt.

    As it turned out later, the ageless and flightless parrot was actually embroiled in a make or mar war of nerves with Okon, pretending to be totally unaware of his existence not to talk of his pranks while dropping heavy hints that he was on the verge of a great discovery. On the fifteenth day of Tomboloku’s sojourn in Lagos, the early morning bliss was blown apart by the rich throaty clucking of the ancient crank.

       Omo ole Ifo

       To lo jeun l’arigbabu

        K’oto fi papa Lantoro  bora bi aso

       Okon afinju  ole tin le tiro

       Ogboju olosa ti nlo molubi

      Odaju gbewiri ti gun yan loko oloko

    Ogbe obe waja, koto mu Fausa wole

      Fausa nkigbe, Okon nfagi

    Even before the wingless wonder could finish its chanting about Okon’s multi-purpose stealing, the crazy fellow took to his heels and did not approach the vicinity for another fortnight. That same evening, Tomboloku, the great bird, poet, raconteur, philosopher, historian and custodian of the secrets of great kings, received its final service call and headed northward to the abode of its royal masters in a homing device guided by laser precision, never to be seen this side of the abyss again.

  • In search of avatars of development

    In search of avatars of development

    • The crying children of Lot

    How does one describe a vast and richly endowed nation with access to humongous revenues accruing from petroleum resources which cannot feed itself? Anytime the word famine is mentioned in the same breath as Nigeria, one cannot but marvel at the huge paradox of human evolution and development.  All things considered, this is turning out as a defining conjuncture for Nigeria. All the sins and cumulative failures of our ruling class seem to be converging in what looks increasingly like a perfect storm.

     When the crisis of feeble production enters into a potentially fatal contradiction with the crisis of profligate consumption, there is always the possibility of a tragic unraveling of the society itself. Please come with the columnist as we encounter a graphic and stunning illustration of this crisis of development. On a typical weekend, the entire Lagos-Ife corridor with its rich and alluvial soil littered and dotted with vast and sprawling places of worship is transformed into an interminable Bible Belt teeming with joyous and enraptured worshippers.

       But as soon as they troop out having been robbed blind and extorted to the limits of human endurance by spiritual quacks and mountebanks what looks like a historic epiphany begins to reveal the real material circumstances of its provenance: misery and hunger of biblical proportions. As they fan out, the hordes of stricken humanity soon begin to groan and argue about why a single cob of corn should cost a whopping two hundred and fifty naira.

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      Was it not the same thing that cost fifty naira a few years back? The sense of irony is lost on the denizens of dystopia. At this point in time, the distinguished and incredibly principled retired General Alani Ipoola Akinrinade would have spent several hours of back-breaking labour on his remote farm somewhere off the Akinlalu loop on the same corridor. When India was confronted by the same problem shortly after independence, Pandit Nehru declared to his compatriots that if they could not feed themselves, then they should go hungry.

      The bible says that humanity must not live by bread alone. But the same bible affirms that those who cannot work, let them go hungry. We must however note that this was the same condition of abject poverty and harsh material deprivation which threw up Grigori Rasputin, the mystic charlatan and spiritual crank, who held the royal family hostage at the tail end of Tsarist Russia until some outraged and affronted princes of the Romanov dynasty saw him off. It was too little and too late.