Category: Tatalo Alamu

  • And Williams puts ’em down

    And Williams puts ’em down

    This is not about the Williams you think, stupid.  That other one cannot hold a candle to the feet of this one. This is about Raymond Williams, the most brilliant and arguably the greatest English literary critic of his generation. It has been noted by some of his biographers that the borders Williams had the least respect for were disciplinary borders, and so his work straddles the rigidly patrolled borders of Literary Criticism, Sociology, Political Science and Cultural Theory.

      Why can’t this chap just do plain practical criticism like I.E Richards, or good old plot summary and  textual explication like F.R Leavis, William Empson, Frank Kermode and the whole lot of them and leave us alone to work out his place in the great tradition, or what is the meaning of all this convoluted and clever nonsense, his mournful traducers would complain.

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       But Raymond Williams would have none of that.  As he grew older, Williams, a working class lad of Welsh origins, became more and more appalled by the granite social discrimination and encrusted class based divisions in his beloved country. His criticism also became so strident and unsparing that some of his critics who might have known him in youth insisted that he should reclaim his original name of Jim which to them was of more working class and proletarian provenance.

      They missed the trail. When the future Cambridge professor, having won a grammar school scholarship to the same institution, arrived in his hostel to register, he was appalled and irritated to no end that it took the porters such a long time to find his name on the roll. On noticing his discomfiture, one of the porters who combined unctuousness with self-importance, bore down on the bounder.

       “Sir, many of these names were put down at birth”, he announced to Williams.

       “Oh, I really wish they were put down, I really wish so”, came the indignant response from the young Raymond relentlessly pursuing class animosities.

      Here is wishing our readers a Christmas Turkey dinner that cannot be put down.

  • The time of Henry the K

    The time of Henry the K

    The human community is like a huge broomstick. The sticks keep falling off no matter what you do. And no matter how long you hang around, it will be your turn to fall off one day. A fortnight ago, it was the turn of Henry Kissinger, the foremost American diplomat/statesman who bade us farewell this week at the ripe old age of one hundred years.

     It is a mark of his brilliance, prodigious intellect and sheer staying power that Kissinger was churning out books well past his nineties, long after the academic demise of those of his petty and jealous former colleagues who prevented him from resuming his academic career after his distinguished service to his nation ended in 1976 with the defeat of Henry Ford by Jimmy Carter. Thereafter, the Bavarian-born former refugee fleeing Hitler’s imminent holocaust with his parents re-established himself as a writer, consultant and freelance international trouble shooter.

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      Detested and deified in equal measure, Kissinger was a figure of international controversy and contention. Many hailed him as the most consequential American diplomat and statesman of the epoch, while many more dismiss him as a divisive and polarizing figure; a Zionist war-monger who never lived down the formative trauma of Nazi Germany.

      The truth must lie between the two. Kissinger himself once famously said that international diplomacy is often a choice between two contending evils. The third evil are those making the choice.  But for a man to rise from the seedy slums of Bavaria to the pinnacle of American statehood all in one generation is an  epic slog through adversity which is nothing short of heroic. Adieu, Henry.  

  • An evening with music masterminds

    An evening with music masterminds

    If music be the food of love, play on, says the great bard of Stratford Upon Avon. And we say, in supporting and supplementary melody, that if music be the fruit of life, please croon on. Do not wake me from the sweet and mellifluous lullaby. Let me stir, among maids, maidens and mermaids, to the sound of music and merriment. Then hell itself can go to hell.

     Music washes away all crimes against humanity, shrouding the sinner with the toga of sainthood. William Shakespeare himself was not a perfect person. He had his own grave defects of character. Apart from the well-known vagrancy of his youth, he was also fingered as a deer poacher, pincher of other people’s meat, or a merchant of venison, if you like. But he gave the world his beautiful sonnets and great plays. And that is that.

      There is something soothing and redeeming of humanity about music. It cleanses the system and washes the soul of poisonous accretions. It sooths and becalms the temperamental and gives hope to the hopelessly despondent. One day scientists and researchers will discover how and why music connects so well with the human psyche and how hominids aspiring to humanity discovered the link between musicality and growing refinement. It is one of the secrets of civilization.

      Great and profound music is not the exclusive preserve of one people, or race or nation. You cannot judge the cultural production of another society by your own output. Marx and Engels, the modern masters of dialectical reasoning, often rumbled endlessly about why it should be the lot and lucky lottery of some “undeveloped” people to produce works of stunning beauty and profundity.

       Engels came up with the terse summation that economically backward nations can play first violin. It was as patronizing and avuncular as it could get. No wonder they stripped the “dark” continent of its cultural artifacts and stole the place blind upon reestablishing contact with the cradle of civilization, their own civilization. The son of a thief who is anxious to contribute to the communal saving scheme is merely in a hurry, after all, it is his father that will eventually empty the entire coffer.

       But this is not before us this morning. What unites and binds us as humanity is far more than what divides us. As Christmas and its festivities got underway, yours sincerely has been in a musical state of mind. Despite the trying times and the terrifying conditions of the ordinary people of this country, music has been in the air.

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      Everywhere you turn, it booms; every side you turn, it blows its mighty horns. At some point in the not too distant future, when full peace and prosperity have returned to the country, every school pupil will return to the habit of keeping a musical notebook filled with the latest lyrical sensation from home and abroad. And there shall be music again.

       And so on this cool and pleasant evening of penultimate Sunday when the harmattan weather seemed to have borrowed some wintry tropes from abroad, yours sincerely headed for the Fadeyi upper market enclave of the Alakija clan for the annual reunion of the group known as Music Minds. It turned out to be a musical extravaganza and a moveable feast of superb taste and cultural refinement.

      Yinka Alakija, as personable as he is pleasantly eccentric, is a scion of the illustrious Alakija family. A multi-talented cultural entrepreneur and notable Highlife musician in his own right, Yinka, or Alakay as he is known among friends and musical acolytes, is one of the moving spirits behind the group. He has hosted the annual gathering of the association ever since its inception.

    This evening was going to be a reunion of some sorts, yours sincerely having been unavoidably absent for almost four years due to engagements abroad around this period. Gently nudged on by our delightful and ever amiable friend, Chief Muyiwa Runsewe, who had surfaced all the way from his Ogbogbo-Ijebu redoubt, it was not an occasion to miss.

    The party, and the carousing that went with it, were well underway by the time yours sincerely found his way into the gathering. Food and fodder flowed freely. As one made one’s way through the forest of august and distinguished Nigerians, a familiar figure suddenly emerged from the shadow gently berating snooper for not instantly recognizing him. It was Ayo Iginla, quiet, self-effacing and accomplished technocrat, former Rector of LAPOSTECH and one of the greatest aficionados of the finest music around.

       Ayo is also the headmaster and Iron Chancellor of the musical forum of the group, an elite gathering of the luminaries of musical enlightenment whose knowledge of the history and current developments in the trade is a tad short of confounding. Nothing escapes his eagle eyes, and no infraction or infringement can elude his benevolent visage.

    This is an iconic gathering of the cultivated and the cultured where one learns something new on a daily basis. The quartet of Obong Dee, Iginla , Akin Fatunke and the calm and retiring Josef Bel-Molokwu and one or two others  can easily double as professors of Musical Diversity in any serious university anywhere in the world. This is where the professor becomes an apprentice journeyman quaffing endlessly from the fountain of musical wisdom.

       As one made to sit with them in the shadow, Ayo Iginla and Gboyega Adelaja, aka General Lobito, old Grammarian and multi-talented musician, politely declined pointing one in the direction of the directing table. Good evening, Aremo Segun Osoba, elder statesman and one of the most distinguished musical buffs the country has thrown up. Good evening, Obong Dele Adetiba, refined and exquisitely well-bred gentleman and impossible connoisseur of fine music.

        Yours sincerely respectfully call Dele Atiba, Ajiferuke, a name taken from the timeless inscription on the very house his father resided in snooper’s homestead back in the fifties while he was the Education Officer for the entire district. And how are you, Muyiwa Adetiba, his younger brother, popularly known as the quiet one, famed columnist and publisher and his matronly wife and ever present companion?

       It was a star-studded table. There was also Prince Yemisi Shyllon, philanthropist, cultural enthusiast, master collector of indigenous art and a friend since our Kaduna days in the mid-seventies. Akin Fatunke, renowned publicist and multinational technocrat, arguably the moving spirit behind the musical fantasia was darting here and there. Finally, there was the lady of the evening, our own screen diva, role model and ageless cultural dowager, Taiwo Ajai-Lycett ever winsomely winking at one with conspiratorial relish.

             Nestling at the intersection of three streets in the upper market tail end of Fadeyi where it abuts into old colonial Yaba, the Alakija Villa remains a monument to class and understated elegance over sixty years after it was built at the turn of the sixties.

      Straight down the street from the other end  and across Ikorodu Road, you are in Idioro, an iconic site of the cultural battles between Fela and the federal authorities in the seventies and eighties. Behind that is the proletarian paradise of Mushin where yours sincerely and other able-bodied artisans swung to the counter-hegemonic lyrics of Ayinla Omo-Wura in the late sixties and seventies.

      If you are wondering what the Alakijas were doing stranded among the hoi polloi, you must also remember that a stone’s throw away was the Yaba upper class dominion of the Bensons, the Magnum-Williams, Bode Thomas, Murray, Pearce etc. 

       As a body of music lovers and active musical talents, Music Minds is geared towards a legacy of genius harvesting and talent discovery. The array of talents gathered here tonight will make the authorities blush. The mastery of key musical instruments is a tad short of the miraculous. An amazing nine year old Adetomiwa Omololu played classical tunes on the saxophone. Oladejo Caleb, visually impaired, dazzled with his mastery of the drum set while Oyebanire Nifemi demonstrated precocious excellence with the sax.

      It is said that youth is a stuff that will not endure. But if you are bowled over by the excellent outing of  youth this beautiful evening, you would have to wait until the oldies stormed the stage. A fully kitted Highlife band began dishing out timeless classics of the genre sending the soul to ecstasies of nostalgia. Something definitely went wrong here. There was surely a country.

     As the group moved seamlessly into Fela’s pre-revolution music, when the great man was still an upper class Bohemian maestro of Afro-Caribbean medley, my friend, Chief Muyiwa Runsewe, rued mournfully that Fela would have been a greater musician had he not dabbled into radical politics. Well, well, the jury is still out on that one. The fact remains that Fela would not be Fela had he not consciously and adamantly inserted himself into the matrix of radical politics.

    The night wore on pleasantly and it was time to give the awards and commendations. The chairman of the Music Minds Legacy Project, Prince Yemisi Shyllon was ably assisted by Taiwo Ajai-Lycett, a woman whose own life is a tribute to indomitable courage and uncommon bravery. The winner of the talent hunt was Alaba Praise. Adetomiwa Omololu went home with the keyboard prize while 10 year old Victor Oyedokun will be strumming on a guitar donated by Taiwo Adelaja.

      It has been a wonderful evening with the masters of music.  

  • Two sharp exchanges on the hoof

    Two sharp exchanges on the hoof

    Sir, I understand that you will be delivering the Ife Convocation lecture next Saturday. I’m sure it will be earthshaking.

    Snooper:  I do not intend to unless the earth moves first.

    Sir, but it is said that the earth is in constant motion.

    Snooper: So, earthshaking is surplus to requirement then.

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    And from the same impudent contrarian

    Greetings sir: I just received information that Okon was sighted at the site of the demolished Rivers State House of Assembly.

     Snooper: Then it has become an oconic site of madness and mayhem.  

  • The Behemoth Stalled: Reimagining and repositioning university education in Nigeria

    The Behemoth Stalled: Reimagining and repositioning university education in Nigeria

    As a life-long subscriber to the ancient philosophy of the Stoics, I have never believed in self-gratification or self-commemoration. Whatever comes my way I take and whatever does not, I ignore.

      Individuals may strive for excellence but what builds great societies and nations are collective excellence and national distinctions. This is why societies peopled by wild and untamed egos always come a sad cropper when in competition with more disciplined and self-regulating communities. The greatest capacity of genius is the capacity to mask genius. 

    Nevertheless, there is curious convergence of national destiny and individual trajectory about the events that have brought me standing before you this morning that is a tad short of the miraculous and which cannot be ignored. There is a seamless symmetry and a perfect synchrony about the way the events unfolded that is absolutely confounding and which points at the possibility of humanity itself being nothing but mere pawns at the mercy of some Higher Order.

      Let me put it this way. Death has not been kind to many of my teachers in this great institution. Many of the great mentors who shaped the destiny of this illustrious institution with their academic sophistication and cutting edge intellect across various disciplines have since joined their maker. So many of my friends, acolytes and colleagues have disappeared, never to be seen again. Had this been a less brutal and more caring society, a few of them might have been here with us this morning.

      I begin this convocation lecture by paying tributes to these avatars whose contributions to the development of learning and culture in this nation will be better appreciated by future generations. I do not intend to bore you. I have been told that there is always a correlation between the decline of a society and the decline of attention span. So let us cut quickly to the chase.

      The Stalled Behemoth

    From the title of this convocation lecture, we can isolate three contending imageries that capture the current circumstances of the university system in Nigeria. A stalled behemoth evokes the images of a massive sea mammal trapped by adverse developments in the depth of the ocean, probing and thrashing in different directions but still unable to move forward or break through the labyrinth of oceanic adversities.

       But we must remember that this mammoth creature is not dead and is still very much alive. If it does not do something foolish or foolhardy, there is every possibility that it will be seaworthy again once it is able to figure out what has overwhelmed and trapped it in the icy shackles of the deep sea.

      The other two images, re-imagining and repositioning, are redemptive tropes and images of regeneration which speak to how the university system can refashion itself once it is able to free itself from the multi-dimensional debris which is at once cultural, colonial and epistemological.

      The fauna of failure can sometimes be located in the seeds of success. This is the paradox of human development. Even the great universities in other parts of the world that we sometimes look up to in awe and admiration did not crash on the global stage fully rehearsed. There was a lot of false dawns, stumbling, false cues and aborted dreams.

     Consequent upon this evaluation, no history of this great university can proceed without first paying tributes to its visionary builders. The founders of this university were great dreamers, visionary architects who dared nature and human possibility. Hewn out of the same pristine forest from where Oduduwa was said to have first gathered his disparate people together in a federal enterprise, the university was intended to make a statement about the developmental possibilities of the Black race.

       And it did. All over the world, this university is justly celebrated for its stunning landscape, its impressive architecture and majestic presence. It is what the Yoruba themselves call “a ri ma le lo” or something that arrests your attention on sighting. It is a pity that the sundry coalition of Yoruba talents which put all this together in the first progressive coalition of Yoruba people after the civil wars of the nineteenth century could not be sustained. That was perhaps inevitable.

      There were three things the great pioneers of this university put in place which set it on the path of becoming a world class institution. First, they adopted a policy of admitting only the best and the brightest irrespective of ethnic origin, religion or region. And they stuck to their guns no matter whose ox was gored. This was at a time others took to ethnic sourcing and religious recruitment.

      This policy was to provide a platform for elite bonding which would have served Nigeria well as post-independence contradictions and the fissiparous tendencies of a multi-ethnic nation took a firm grip of the polity. Decades later, the fruits of this nationalistic visionary policy became visible. There is no national institution, organization, multinational corporations both at home and abroad where you will not find an Ife product. Speaking the same language at that level makes social interaction much easier.

     The second policy pertains to the development of human capital. The Ife visionary pioneers put in place the best staff development programme that money could buy. All newly recruited members of staff were encouraged to go for the highest educational attainment possible in their fields. Internships were arranged abroad for those who needed international exposure in their various disciplines. I was a beneficiary of this scheme, having been sent to Sheffield and Buffalo for further training.

      It was not a question of free lunch or paid holiday abroad. The scheme was subjected to rigorous and exhaustive monitoring and constant evaluation at the highest level. A friend of mine who had made the highest grade in his class and had applied to be trained in bookshop management got the surprise of his life when he was ushered to the austere presence of the then Vice Chancellor, Professor H.A Oluwasanmi and  bluntly told to forget it.

      He would be going to one of the best universities in the world in his field of specialization instead. He later became one of the celebrated professors in the English Language Department until he relocated abroad.

     In their effort to secure the best teaching staff for the university, Oluwasanmi and his team sourced far and wide and scoured different corners of the globe. They were willing to make generous concessions to the exceptionally talented and no sacrifice was considered too great to bring the greatest brains to Ife.

    This great human scaffolding and capacity building at the highest level of human endeavour laid the foundation for this great university and was to continue after Oluwasanmi left the scene and as Aboyade, the recently departed Cyril Onwumechili and  Wande Abimbola took charge. They did not disappoint in terms of relentless capacity building. Ife is arguably the first Nigerian university consciously built to provide intellectual and cultural leadership for the Black race.

      The liberal and humane ethos of its founding leadership made it a natural Mecca for adventurous scholars from abroad who found its pristine setting and sizzling intellectual ferment quite an alluring combination. Ife also became a destination of choice for distressed international students fleeing from chaos abroad.

       At a point, Ife had students from India, Pakistan, Punjab, Eritrea, Somalia, Ethiopia, Namibia, Burundi, Rwanda, Zimbabwe and South Africa. This was in addition to many victims of internal persecution from the Nigerian university system who found solace and succour and a welcoming embrace from the university.

       The world began to take note. Something truly new was coming out of Africa at last. A cultural and intellectual renaissance was well under way in Nigeria. Powered by a massive influx of petrol dollars and a prudent management of the economy which saw Nigeria through a crippling civil war without the country borrowing a dime, the country was on its way to fulfilling its manifest destiny as the first black superpower.

       The glorious revival of a nation climaxed between the late seventies and the early eighties. As it usually happens in history, it was the moment that Nigeria reached the zenith of its glory that national contradictions that have been simmering under the surface began manifesting. The unresolved National Question began haunting the country again. The civil war turned out to be nothing but a battle for possession and occupation of the country among gun-toting military buccaneers.

      As corruption buried its fangs deep into the entrails of the country, the military stepped in once again ostensibly to curb the monster. But the disease and its pathologies seemed to have grown worse. The university system succumbed to a deep decline from its high noon of excellence to become a hotbed of revolt and insurrection.

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     From the 1978 “Ali Must Go” students’ protest, Nigerian universities witnessed periodic bloodbaths which turned higher institutions into a theatre of mayhem and maiming. The audit of death and destruction is sobering and shaming. In the north where the social anomalies manifested in sharper and more graphic relief, the toll was quite prohibitive.

      The reasons for these calamitous unrests in our higher institutions now appear in bold and damning relief.  As unregulated growth and the absence of scientific population control impacted on the demographics of the country, dwindling resources as a result of corruption and mismanagement of national patrimony became the lot of the university system.

       Unregulated growth and sharp increases in student population also became the norm in our university system as population explosion reflecting directly in an exponential increase in the number of students seeking university admission put pressure to bear on the university system.

    Unfortunately and unaccustomed to dealing with this novel development, university authorities are unable to think out of the box of the famous feeding bottle paradigm with reliance on federal hand-outs thwarting innovative funding and new modes of fund-sourcing. Even the so called strategic intervention funds are not targeted at addressing infrastructural deficits but preoccupied with white elephant projects.

      As the parlous economic condition bit harder and the university sank deeper into a cesspool of decay and detritus , the military authorities bared their fangs relying on the only method of control which they know very well. They had famously described themselves as professional managers of violence and the full weight of savage force was brought to bear on the university community.

      As the students’ populace came under the military hammer, it was perhaps inevitable that their teachers and professors would also find themselves within the optics of the telescopic rifle. The stage for confrontation was set when a high-ranking government official accused university lecturers of teaching what they were not paid to teach. Not long after this, massive retrenchments, mass sackings, summary dismissals and the odd deportation followed.

      This was straight out of some medieval script of authoritarian tyranny. It is unthinkable in a modern society. But it was a reflection of the hegemonic culture in the nation. In America, Noam Chomsky, the crusty old contrarian, continues to spew his anti-establishment expletives from his M.I.T redoubt with nobody disturbing his peace. When Charles de Gaulle was asked to put Jean Paul Sartre away for being an intellectual nuisance, the great man retorted that Sartre was also France.

       Consequently, as a result of the severe economic downturn, lack of job satisfaction and the culture of intolerance, university teachers began deserting their beat in droves. Today, it will be an understatement to say that the intellectual workforce of the university system is badly depleted. Morale is low. The system is in a bad shape.

    But it has managed to stay afloat. This is quite a remarkable achievement in the face of overwhelming adversity. We must single out for commendation the current set of youthful and energetic administrators who are keeping the old Ife can-do spirit alive.

    How then do we begin to slog our way back to universal reckoning and to the old civilization where the Nigerian university system was held in high esteem and where this iconic university was regarded as a citadel of higher learning and pedagogic excellence?

    The picture we have painted so far is of unrelieved gloom; a catastrophic systemic collapse with mutually reinforcing factors. In nautical terms it is known as a perfect storm where and when everything combines and conspires to take a system or an organization down. In a remarkable irony, not even the much lionized and universally rhapsodized Ife franchise escaped some fraying at the edges.

    There were allegations of a hegemonic sub-ethnic formation dominating every aspects of life in the university. Professor Ojetunji Aboyade was later to be accused of surrounding himself with a cabal of partridge-hunting cronies, an allegation which brought out the full umbrage of the old literary lion WS in a piece titled  “Of the Aparo Mafia”. (Aparo is the Yoruba word for partridge).

       As a result of its origins in war and numerous hostilities, the Yoruba faction of the Nigerian elite formation has always been less cohesive more brittle than its Igbo and Hausa/Fulani competitors. This fundamental handicap was also to play out in the politics of Ife. It is the way of all human groups in competition for increasingly scarce resources.

      In charting the way forward, let us remember that it has not been a tale of unremitting doom and gloom. Despite everything, let us recall with William Shakespeare that there is still some architecture in the ruins. There are many of our friends who insist that there can be no question of re-imagining and repositioning the university system until Nigeria itself is re-imagined and repositioned.

    Others maintain that until the Colonial Question is resolved, a situation in which our entire epistemological criteria particularly knowledge of our own history and our own culture are trapped within the discursive formation of the imperialist masters, there can no question of anything being reimagined not to talk of being repositioned.

       According to this school of thought, the Chinese, Indians and Japanese had a head start on us despite being equally subjugated because they refused to surrender their culture and civilization, particularly their religion, belief system and its fundamental worldview. The result is that these sturdy Orientals deal with the west with aplomb and superior flair, knowing fully well that civilizational advance is a revolving door and not the exclusive preserve of a particular people.

    To reimagine and reposition our university system

    First, there must be a wholesale revaluation and revalidation of our entire university curricular system to give it a cutting edge in an increasingly competitive and knowledge driven world. All colonial courses must give way to newer realities. Such newer realities suggest that emergent master-cultures and languages such as Chinese, Japanese, Javanese and modern Arabic should be incorporated into the curriculum for the purpose serious engagement.

        Second, universities must encourage the multi-disciplinary perspective, a situation in which several fields and their unusual insights converge on a single issue making it more amenable to greater understanding. The current narrow disciplines and the equally narrow specialism they foster can only yield fragmented and isolated insights which cannot be building blocks for any honest and holistic inquiry into the plight of the continent.

    These narrow subjects which are the offshoots of the constricted thought-process bequeathed to us by colonial masters and their facile philosophy of Empiricism do not allow the mind to exercise its full sovereignty over contending issues. Consequently, centres for multidisciplinary studies which are a rarity on our campuses must now be encouraged to flourish as a booster station for individual departments and for cutting edge research in global developments.

      Finally, scientific developments and technological innovations always require new disciplinary perspectives. For example, the development of drone technology and Artificial Intelligence both for offensive and agricultural purposes requires novel engineering directives from our various faculties of technology. If we need to recall, Computer Science as we know it today is a direct offshoot of military experimentation on the battle field.

    It is heart-warming to report that barely three years after one lamented the dearth of the deployment of Artificial Intelligence in current university experimentation in a convocation lecture at FUNNAB, the situation has improved considerably with several universities, including this one, latching on to the new frontiers of human civilization. It cannot be a perfect start, given the critical lack of resources and in the absence of the cross-fertilization of ideas that comes with global exposure. 

      With that, we now come to the contentious issue of adequate funding for the university system. Given the epic waste and mismanagement that has gone on, it should now be obvious to even the most starry-eyed idealists that we cannot return to the El Dorado of the past when the university was awash in cash and virtually everything was free including meal and tuition. In retrospect, it can now be seen that this was an unsustainable mirage based on the illusion of wealth.

      The reality has turned out to be more dismal and distressing for the nation. Given the parlous state of the country, this era is unlikely to return for the foreseeable future. But it is the bounden duty of every responsible state to guarantee maximum education for all its citizens while ameliorating the crushing financial burden particularly for the underprivileged.

      The question of adequate funding for the university has created an ethical conundrum for many older Nigerian citizens. There are many who bear the moral anguish of having to tell contemporary undergraduates to bear with the government and their straitened circumstances when they themselves passed through the same system a generation or two earlier with virtually all their needs provided for by the government.

      Yet there are others who could not be bothered by this moral quandary even where silence means complicity with the failure of the postcolonial state and the abdication of civic responsibility. But the impasse has to be resolved. While government must be nudged in the right direction to avoid ostentation and fiscal malfeasance, the university administration must recognize the fact that it is time to think out of the box and come up with a new paradigm of university funding. I will now enumerate a few of the steps that could be taken.

    ·               A means-tested loan scheme catering for the most indigent and the distressed middle class deportees must be immediately put in place. These loans must be backed by philanthropic organizations, churches, schools and even international bodies. Repayment must kick in immediately after graduation pending a period of humanitarian grace.

    ·               University authorities must revamp and expand the current consultancy units into a proper bureau of wealth creation. The mandate of this bureau which should be headed by a top university administrator is to aggressively create wealth for the institution through large scale farming, fishing, low-level industries and the manufacturing of modern agricultural implements, etc. The university can also act as a commodity purchasing board for local farmers.

    ·               Donations, funds, grants, international loans and subventions must be actively sought. The era of university administrators as salesmen is upon us. In this regard, the university must put its best foot forward. In America, the most decorated and garlanded professors are often recruited by their universities for this purpose. Paul de Man, the great Yale literary critic, once wrote of how he fell asleep on a sofa in a giant New York corporation while waiting to see the chairman as part of a university team.

    ·               The issue of Diaspora donations cannot be taken lightly. There are so many concerned alumni in the Diaspora who are willing to give something back to their beloved alma mater provided there is accountability and transparency. If each of these eager donors is made to pledge a thousand dollars each, that will be a cool one billion from a thousand of them. It may well be time for our university system to create a department of Diaspora Affairs. Fortuitously, the Chairman of the diaspora commission is an old student of this university and a proud alumnus at that.

    Mr chairman, distinguished audience and our graduands, I am happy to report that most of these measures are already in place in many of our universities. But they need to be deepened and intensified. The ebullience and resilience of the Nigerian spirit are such that it can survive any adversity and surmount any obstacle. It is with this redemptive trope of national durability that I sign off this morning. I thank you all.

  • The time of Henry the K

    The time of Henry the K

    The human community is like a huge broomstick. The sticks keep falling off no matter what you do. And no matter how long you hang around, it will be your turn to fall off one day. This week, it was the turn of Henry Kissinger, the foremost American diplomat/statesman who bade us farewell this week at the ripe old age of one hundred years.

     It is a mark of his brilliance, prodigious intellect and sheer staying power that Kissinger was churning out books well past his nineties, long after the academic demise of those of his petty and jealous former colleagues who prevented him from resuming his academic career after his distinguished service to his nation ended in 1976 with the defeat of Henry Ford by Jimmy Carter. Thereafter, the Bavarian-born former refugee fleeing Hitler’s imminent holocaust with his parents re-established himself as a writer, consultant and freelance international trouble shooter.

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      Detested and deified in equal measure, Kissinger was a figure of international controversy and contention. Many hailed him as the most consequential American diplomat and statesman of the epoch, while many more dismiss him as a divisive and polarizing figure; a Zionist war-monger who never lived down the formative trauma of Nazi Germany.

      The truth must lie between the two. Kissinger himself once famously said that international diplomacy is often a choice between two contending evils. The third evil are those making the choice.  But for a man to rise from the seedy slums of Bavaria to the pinnacle of American statehood all in one generation is an  epic slog through adversity which is nothing short of heroic. Adieu, Henry.

  • A judicial trash

    A judicial trash

      In several respects, Nigeria is the perfect example of how elite discontent and disaffection undermine and ultimately threaten the very foundation of democratic rule.  Far more than the executive and the legislature, a strong, sound and ethically upright judiciary is the bedrock of modern democracies. This is why this column often strains itself to avoid casting aspersions on the integrity and moral rectitude of their lordships.

       This however is not a blanket endorsement. There is something obviously rotten in the kingdom of Denmark. With a former military ruler and twice democratically elected civilian president trying his best to de-market democracy and de-legitimize the current dispensation with his empty prattle about Afro-democracy and youth empowerment through positive disruption, a novel kind of state destabilization has berthed in Nigeria.

     Unfortunately, the atmosphere of deepening and unrelenting siege is compounded by the Chief Justice of the federation who frequently and publicly lashes out at enemies of the judiciary. When massive hunger in the land is factored into the equation, it may well be time to wonder once again about the fate of liberal democracy among democratically challenged elite groups.                                                                                              

         From now on and whatever may be the provocation, the chief justice of the federation must refrain from descending from the supreme and exalted altar of judicial nobility and rectitude to slug it out with intellectual thugs and psychological hooligans who abound in the system. As far as this lot are concerned, both democracy and the nation itself can go to blazes if they do not have their way. The danger in joining them in unseemly affray is that they have nothing to lose.

       What the reader is about to read was written four and half years ago when we thought we had reached the limits of the judicial maelstrom that had engulfed the nation. But it reads so fresh and apposite to our current circumstances that it could have been written yesterday. As a notable philosopher famously rued, what we think is the limit is not always the limit.

       The lesson from all this is that if we do not want to succumb to an apocalyptic tragedy which will consume everything we have built in the last quarter of a century and all the heroic sacrifices many have put up for democratic rule, we must begin to re-examine the consequences of elite discord and the lack of a critical unanimity among the ruling elite in this country. 

    The Rise of the Judiciarate

    • How elite discontent threatens democracy

        As Nigeria roils in its most combustible presidential electoral dispute since the advent of the Fourth Republic, it is time to understand the role of elite discord in the travails of democratic rule, particularly in postcolonial Africa. The loss or lack of elite amity impacts on certain institutions of the state in a very fundamental way, often opening the door directly to chaos. Unless we focus our attention on this root problem, we will be beating about the bush for a long time to come.

      The judiciarate is a very strange coinage indeed. But it rises to the peculiar circumstances of the Nigerian judiciary. Before now, Nigeria’s electoral destiny was determined by two principalities: the electorate and the selectorate.

       The electorate elects to select while the selectorate selects to elect. No question about which is more powerful. As it was famously observed, it is not those who vote that matter but those who count. But what happens in the case of a tie or a dubious deadlock between the selectorate and the electorate?

       This is where and when the third principality, or what we propose as the judiciarate, kicks in as a tie breaker between the electorate and the selectorate. For the past forty years beginning with the Second Republic, the judiciary has been a looming presence in Nigeria’s bitter and often acrimonious electoral disputes. Despite increasing voters’ awareness and a sharp rise in political consciousness, the judiciarate is increasingly called upon to determine the actual winners of disputed elections.

      In the final analysis, it is the judiciary that counts. And as the National Question bites harder, the state can no longer count on it. Surely what counts so decisively, so finally and infallibly can also become an instrument of political terror, driving the fear of the Lord into the state, particularly if they are not in political alignment.

       This is where the insurmountable contradictions begin. If the judiciary is so powerful and implacable why was its principal helmsman so messily and mercilessly defenestrated by the executive arm? Why are so many of its principal luminaries in tactical retreat?

       On the one hand, the onerous burden and added responsibility of being the nation principal electoral adjudicator has added immensely to the prestige and grandeur of the judiciary. Yet on the other hand,  it is precisely at the point of grandeur and glory that the judiciary’s vulnerabilities and infirmities appear in bold relief for all to see. It is a damning paradox and this is what is responsible for the tragedy of Walter Onnoghen and his fall from grace.

      Onnoghen, an otherwise brilliant and soberly-comported jurist, showed that he was a callow amateur on the political chessboard. There were rumours of a creeping partisanship and of being sighted where he ought never to have been sighted. He was beginning to prematurely flex his muscles in a mistaken belief in the power and omnipotence of the judiciarate.

       There were rumours of compromising phone calls and allegations of unhealthy chumminess with a powerful governor. It was the scary prospects of his adjudicating wrongly in what promises to be the greatest judicial showdown of electoral adjudication that led to Onnoghen being summarily unhorsed from his high horse.

       Power neophytes may scoff at the sheer bloody-mindedness of it all. But these things matter to those who take power seriously. And it did not begin yesterday. At the turn of the nineties shortly after the publication of former president Obasanjo’s Not My Will , snooper sat down to lunch with a very distinguished Nigerian who had played a very prominent role in the electoral abracadabra that led to the emergence of Alhaji Shehu Shagari as the president of the Federal Republic in his majestic north London pile.

        Obviously irritated by some of the revelations in the book, the great man suddenly blurted out: “ Now that Obasanjo is running his mouth all over the place, what if I were to bring out my own confidential files which show that……. “(Details withheld ). It shows that contrary to public disinformation, the military junta knew well beforehand that the electoral showdown of 1979 was going to end at the Supreme Court.

       The 1983 elections showed the judiciary wielding its utmost powers in what is in retrospect a dress rehearsal of the current powers of the judiciarate. A major gubernatorial electoral verdict was reversed to avoid further conflagration. The electoral umpire arrived in his Benin ancestral homestead in a military tank. The putative governor himself fled to Lagos in disguise as the electorate rose to welcome him.

       In the old East, the drama was equally riveting. On the day of judgement, the redoubtable C.C Onoh was seen prowling and pacing up and down the court’s corridor even as he munched banana and groundnut waiting to see which judge would have the folly and temerity to reverse his mandate. In Imo state, Samuel Mbakwe, a former Colonel in the Biafran Reservist Force, dispensed with mere formalities and simply went to the radio station to declare himself elected for a second term. A gun slide, as General TY Danjuma famously put it, followed the NPN landslide. But that was that.

    The aborted Third Republic was full of significant surprises. For the first time in the history of the nation, the electorate as Nigerian masses had a full measure of the selectorate as military and civilian oligarchy.  In a flagrant breach of the rule of engagement, the selectorate began stonewalling. It was obvious that they were not interested in democratic election but the perpetuation of oligarchic rule. The Nigerian people told them to go to hell.

       The military state went into full panic mode. In desperation, the junta turned to the emerging judiciarate for a life line. It obtained a black market injunction from an Abuja High Court which forbade the election to hold. In a controversial broadcast to justify the annulment, General Babangida cited the various law suits which he said were capable bringing the judiciary to ridicule and public infamy.

       He had completely forgotten that his own ouster decrees had expressly forbidden judicial interference in the conduct of the election. It was the military state itself that was bringing the judiciary to public ridicule and infamy. In retrospect, it was a remarkable benchmark in the pilgrim’s progress towards demystification, dishonour and disgrace.

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      But you cannot cure leprosy with skin ointment. As the Fourth Republic unfolded, it became obvious that the grave symptoms had developed into a full blown ailment. The judiciarate was in full bloom, like a monstrous flower. It was also at this point that the judicial vulnerabilities began to manifest in sharp relief. Curiously enough, it coincided with the collapse of the Obasanjo Settlement of 1998/1999 which made it possible for the Abubakar military regime to transit to a civilian regime with some honour and a semblance of equity.

      It will be recalled that in 1999, strong remonstrations and pressures from all sides of the political divide persuaded Chief Olu Falae to drop his judicial challenge to Obasanjo’s victory at the polls. Many felt that this early challenge to civil rule might open the backdoor for ambitious military officers who were yet to be persuaded that the party was over. It showed the substantial degree of elite buy in to the new democratic dispensation.

      By the end of 2003, particularly after General Olusegun Obasanjo decided to annex the South West in an electoral blitzkrieg the like of which had never been seen in the history of the country, the old western component of the détente disintegrated. It was also about this time that a vicious battle for political supremacy commenced between Obasanjo and his deputy.

       But despite this and the spate of assassination of leading figures, Obasanjo managed to keep the lid on the roiling cauldron through a combination of intimidation, cajolery and sheer force of personality. It was a battle of political and psychological stamina, not talk of mental alertness. Four years after the departure of the military, Nigeria was back in the full default mode of political belligerence.

       By 2007, after Obasanjo, as a parting gift, managed to impose Umaru Yar’Adua on the nation in an electoral heist which has since entered the history books as the worst election in the history of democracy, the lid was blown open. Politically sensitive and acutely aware of the crisis of legitimacy which heralded his tenure, Yar’Adua wisely refrained from the fray.

       It was then left to the judiciary to clear the electoral mess. Their Lordships were compelled to add Mathematics to their core competence and professional proficiency. Beginning with the brilliant judgement of the Edo Tribunal led by Justice Umeadi which restored the mandate of Adams Oshiomhole, judicial reversals of purported electoral victory followed in Ondo, Osun, Anambra and Ekiti in no particular order.

         At the federal level, presidential elections were fiercely disputed from 2003 through 2007, 2011 and now in 2019. There were two dissenting minority judgements in 2003 and 2007 by messrs Nsofor and Oguntade. Both, courtesy of General Buhari, have since become Nigeria’s ambassador to the US and High Commissioner to UK respectively.

       As it wades deeper to clear the electoral mess, the judiciary is sucked into the vortex of corruption and sleaze revealing the moral and ethical infirmities of many of their lordships. . The deep entanglement of the Nigerian judiciary in politics has been its greatest undoing to date. The debasement of politics has spread its tentacles to other state institutions.

       The debasement of politics occurs when there is no substantial elite consensus or fundamental amity among political elite about the core values that drive national goals. In such circumstances, anything goes and everything is game. Successful democracies are driven by elite unanimity about where the country is headed. 

       Where elite consensus is lacking as a result of multi-ethnic politics or where a hegemonic group decides to appropriate the political patrimony of the entire political class in pursuit of sectional interests, the road is open to centrifugal forces from below to lay siege on the state. There are written and unwritten rules of engagement. Anything short of that leads to a political jungle of Hobbesian dimensions such as we are currently hosting in Nigeria.

       Since we like putting the cart before the horse, it is useful to point out that the sanitization of the judiciary cannot proceed without a deep cleansing of our errant political culture. Until we come to our senses, there will be many more political and judicial casualties.

    First published in February, 2019  

    The time of Henry the K

    The human community is like a huge broomstick. The sticks keep falling off no matter what you do. And no matter how long you hang around, it will be your turn to fall off one day. This week, it was the turn of Henry Kissinger, the foremost American diplomat/statesman who bade us farewell this week at the ripe old age of one hundred years.

     It is a mark of his brilliance, prodigious intellect and sheer staying power that Kissinger was churning out books well past his nineties, long after the academic demise of those of his petty and jealous former colleagues who prevented him from resuming his academic career after his distinguished service to his nation ended in 1976 with the defeat of Henry Ford by Jimmy Carter. Thereafter, the Bavarian-born former refugee fleeing Hitler’s imminent holocaust with his parents re-established himself as a writer, consultant and freelance international trouble shooter.

      Detested and deified in equal measure, Kissinger was a figure of international controversy and contention. Many hailed him as the most consequential American diplomat and statesman of the epoch, while many more dismiss him as a divisive and polarizing figure; a Zionist war-monger who never lived down the formative trauma of Nazi Germany.

      The truth must lie between the two. Kissinger himself once famously said that international diplomacy is often a choice between two contending evils. The third evil are those making the choice.  But for a man to rise from the seedy slums of Bavaria to the pinnacle of American statehood all in one generation is an  epic slog through adversity which is nothing short of heroic. Adieu, Henry.

  • The June 12 General

    The June 12 General

    When he passed last week after a long battle with illness, the applause was faint and muted, minus an engaging editorial and one or two public commentators who recognized his true heroic worth and sterling contribution to the evolution of the military profession in post-independence Nigeria. Major General Chris Mohammed Alli was a soldiers’ soldier in every sense: noble, brave, bold, forthright and professional to the core.

    The last time we met, it was obvious that he was not in the best of physical conditions. It was a few years back at a clothier’s emporium owned by a Nigerian of Ijesha royal descent on Edgware Road in West End London. If one was astonished by the growing decline, one did not let it on. In these climes, military juggernauts appear to be indestructible.

    The general sat on a chair that had been provided for the purpose. It was clear that he was in some discomfort as he beamed what seemed like a cross between a grin and a grimace. We could only manage a few pleasantries before one disappeared among the maze of sartorial extravaganza.

       The former Chief of Army Staff was a gallant and chivalrous officer driven by an unusual passion for social and political justice.  It was this passion for justice that led him on a collision course with his superiors in the military after the annulment of the freest and fairest election in the history of the country. It eventually earned him a dismissal from service.

      It is a tribute to the courage, professionalism and fair-mindedness of the current leadership of the military that they recognize the qualities of their former boss and swiftly put in place the appropriate measures to celebrate and honour the illustrious departed .Among other things, flags are to be flown at a half-mast for three days.

    Yet it may appear curious and ironic that apart from the military authorities which recognized his stature and contribution, the public response to the demise was tame and low-keyed. The people have since moved on, confronted by new existential threats and political challenges. Even the newspapers and magazines that hailed him as a hero of the June 12 struggle have long disappeared or mutated into something else.                                                                                                                                                                

     In a society without much institutional memory and without a tradition of long-distance protest, this is quite understandable. It is almost thirty years since Major General Chris Mohammed Alli disappeared from public consciousness after being ousted as Chief of Army Staff in a dramatic night of the long knives which sent shock waves through the entire military establishment. Even then, Alli was never one to play to the gallery. He shunned publicity and the klieg light like a plague, believing that a true officer could be seen but never to be heard.

       Neither an activist in uniform nor a politicized officer, Alli, until he breathed his last, held on to his belief that the annulment of the June 12, 1993 was a political misadventure, an error of judgment which would cost the institution dearly. The military had no business in politics, he insisted. Quiet, serious-minded and quite cerebral Alli also enjoyed his drink and was a gentleman officer to the core.

      The paradox of Alli’s career lies in the fact that although naturally rebellious, he was not a professional agitator or an in your face military rebel. It was a case of loyal dissent. He made his point within a certain code of courtesy and civility without degenerating into rudeness and rancour. He could disagree with his superiors without being disagreeable. He was reformist rather than revolutionary.

       Despite his open hostility to the annulment, this was probably what preserved his career for such a long time and saved him from more severe and punitive retribution in the hands of the no-nonsense general from Kano.  His appointment as army boss was a sop to the radical elements in the forces following a particularly rowdy session at Victoria Island after Abacha took over.

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     The infantry general from Kano needed that respite to gather his aces together for the inevitable showdown with the rump of the prodemocracy forces in the military as well as civil society. It was said that General Abacha despite being mildly irritated by Chris Alli’s aluta antics treated him with wary bemusement until matters came to a head and one of them had to go. A veteran of several military ambuscades, Abacha had the patience of a coiled cobra waiting for the right moment to strike.

      The dark-goggled general was a shrewd and gifted military tactician who knew where the real levers of power lay when it came to open confrontation between the two forces. How many divisions can Chris muster, as Joseph Stalin was said to have asked of the pope when he was punching above his weight. As Alli would have discovered on that night, the army chief of staff was a mere staff of the chief of the army staff.

     The spontaneous outburst that Chris Alli might have been hoping for did not materialize. Many in the officer-corps who felt affronted by the annulment and the incarceration of the winner of the election did not feel sufficiently roused or convinced enough to mount a challenge to the system. It would take another four years for the army to exhaust its political and historic possibilities. 

      As it happens in nations, classes, institutions and societies, what was unfolding was a case of uneven development of political consciousness among individuals, sections, groups and segments within the same professional formation.

       At any moment in the life of any organization, there is residual consciousness which is formed by accretions from the past and a reactionary impulse to cling to these. Then there is primary consciousness which is the dominant and dominating worldview in the formation and there is emergent consciousness which are new ideas emerging and yet to withstand the test of realities. It is an eternal battle in which progressive breakthroughs are often followed by counterrevolutionary pushbacks. 

    Major General Chris Mohammed Alli was at the vanguard of consciousness in a conservative military institution that owes its origins and roots to colonial occupation. He paid a terrible price for this. But it could have been worse.

    It is a universal phenomenon. As it has been observed by Louis Althusser, western intellectual tradition often makes the intellectual orphan to pay a terrible price, it is a price which ranges from exclusion, alienation, incarceration, madness and even death.

    Alli was somehow lucky. Long before his death, he had secured and cemented his reputation as a thinking soldier and a military intellectual with the publication of a hefty tome titled The Federal Republic of Nigerian Army: The Siege of a Nation. The allusion to Von Bismarck’s Prussian army is unmistakable.

      It was said that whereas in Europe, other countries produced armies, in emergent Germany, it was the army that produced a country. In post-independence Nigeria, the army appropriated the nation. The Prussia/ Germany army either directly or by proxy cost the world two global wars. The Nigerian Army managed one local war and was only preparing for another before it succumbed.

     This was the road to personal ruin and professional ruination, Alli seemed to be telling his compatriots. For over thirty years, the Nigerian military held the nation to ransom until it ended in mutual ruination for army and nation. This was never the road to travel, Alli insisted with the benefit of deep cogitation and the authority of personal entanglement.

      As it has been noted by many, history is a cruel and unforgiving taskmaster when it comes to making amends or settling account either in open defiance of current developments or in furtive deference to the inevitable. Thirty years after the Nigerian military committed its gravest error of judgment, it is celebrating the passing of a man who not only stood firmly against the error but lost his commission in the process.

        It is a measure of how far both the nation and its military have come that in the very week the army is mourning the loss of its old chief who fell in controversial circumstances almost thirty years earlier, it was also welcoming its first indigenously produced military professor in Lieutenant Colonel Abubakar- Sirajo Imam.

      For a long time, yours sincerely wondered whether this strange anomaly of a general who is also a professor was the exclusive preserve of the old Soviet military. Now, it has berthed in Nigeria. It is a perfect symmetry. History will always vindicate the just. Chris Alli, the quintessential military intellectual, would be chuckling in his grave. May his noble soul be granted eternal repose.

  • Okon’s black-eyed beansfor Joe Ajaero’s black-eye

    Okon’s black-eyed beansfor Joe Ajaero’s black-eye

    Strange times are abroad. As the harmattan chill suddenly descended on Lagos, Okon has adopted the most outlandish antic for warding off the biting cold. He has taken to wearing a full masquerade costume nicked from fleeing armed robbers somewhere on the mainland. So bizarre was the spectacle that it had become an unending source of fun and comic relief for urchins and streetlings who normally gather together whenever they sighted Okon, taunting and abusing him.

    “Egungun egungun, your blokos don come out, he don come out. Say na snake abi na crocodile sef?” they taunted the mad boy as they pointed at an open gap in a critical intersection of the costume. Okon would respond with the full measure of his nettling tongue.

      “Na your papa’s blokos be dat no be Okon. Na your mama’s husband be dat. Na di thin I dey use wire your mama when your olosi father don kaput from burukutu and ogogoro”, Okon would snap back.

    This morning, the crazy boy was sighted carrying a black pouch donning his now familiar egungun uniform with a leglessly tipsy Baba Lekki in tow spewing anti-establishment expletives.

      “Okon, by the way, and before you mislead me once again, what is in that bag you are carrying?” the old man demanded.

      “Baba, I wan reach Ajegunle make I give dem Labour man native juju for him eye. He don tey wey dem give am dem okampi blow for Owerri and each time I see am for paper I see dat him eye don nearly close. I wan make dem eye better make him come another rally for Uyo make him come see him mama him papa,” the mad boy sniggered.

      “So, wetin you put for dem bag? Abi na sigidi sef?” the old man screamed.

      “Baba make you no dey start yelling like dem hyena for dem Obudu forest. Na beans with dem black eyes dey inside. You know say for Itigidi like dat when dem give somebody okampi blow for him eye like dat you go crush dem beans and put am for him eye make dem thing come down small, small. Abi if one obonge blow no come down, wey dem space for another? Abi na black nose he fit get next?” the crazy boy snorted.

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      “Kai, kai, Okon, worukutindi, worukutindi”, the old man began chanting an ancient Yoruba homage to beans as he danced in the manner of a votary of Orisa Oko, the God of farm produce and productivity.

    “Baba, you don come with dem jaguda Yoruba cunny cunny again? Yeye people if to say na among you dem Joe man come do him nonsense, you go dey laugh. Ibo man no dey carry last. Dem come show dem labour man pepper”.

      “Ha, Okon you are a big fool. We tell Joe make him no go for political rally, but mala tira catch am well well,  he no listen. When dem mad Ihube boys come lift am up like useless feather, he come dey cry, papam, papam, papam”, the crazy old man drawled as he burst into his trademark fit of convulsive laughter.

      “Ha, Baba dem Chigbu boy for Alaba tell me say na for a place dem dey call German Hill for Okigwe na where dem dey train dem boys. Even Tyson sef no fit fight dem. Na one old Major for Biafra who dey train dem. Him get one leg and him dey use am bring down elefant for Afikpo bush.” Okon chanted with fear and apprehension written all over him.

       “Okon, Okon, na top security matter. No let dem roga roga boys hear you. If Ogbanje pikin wan quench dat one na him mama him business. Dem time wey I dey worry about dem obodo kontri don pass well well. I fight sotey I beat white man for him own kontri. Now I dey wait for boarding time”, the old man noted wistfully and suddenly vanished.

     Before Okon could gather his wits together, the sky suddenly darkened as a police patrol vehicle emptied its contents of crack detectives on the street. They pounced on Okon and told him they were arresting him for stealing stolen goods and for disseminating subversive docu

  • An afternoon for Femi Olugbile

    An afternoon for Femi Olugbile

    To the cavernous bowel of the NIIA auditorium this wet and windy Wednesday afternoon for the launch of Femi Olugbile’s fictional tribute to Madam Alimotu Pelewura, an iconic avatar of Nigeria’s anti-colonial struggle and one of those amazing women regularly thrown up by Nigeria’s turbulent history. In the event, it turned out to be a literary tour de force as well as a cultural and historical moveable feast.

    The audience that came to honour Olugbile this pleasant afternoon was an A-grade list of the illustrious who have reached the pinnacle of their profession and have made some difference to their society. The chairman of the occasion was Dr Patrick Dele Cole, diplomat, top state bureaucrat and accomplished pen pusher in his own right.

    The father of the day was Alhaji Musiliu Adeola Adekunbi Smith, former Inspector General of the Police and lately Chairman of the Police Service Commission. An urbane and quintessential Lagosian gentleman, the former top cop wondered aloud as to why he should be the father of the day when there were far older people in the gathering.

      The reviewer was the irrepressible JK Randle, one of the nation’s top notch accountants and author of many fascinating books in his own right. In all likelihood, Randle will be remembered as a notable writer who also did sums.

      A royal splash was added by the Oniru, Oba Abdulwasiu Omogbolahan Lawal, who has made a seamless transition from former top cop and former commissioner to the preeminent paterfamilias of his people. There were also Dr Abayomi Finnih, Fola Adeola and the boss of Emzor Pharmaceutics, Stella Okojie, a formidable matriarch in her own right who made a stirring pitch for the rights of women.

     Quiet, contemplative and self-effacing, Olugbile can also be an indignant and abrasive fellow when rubbed the wrong way. A psychiatrist at the cutting edge of his profession, Olugbile has acquired a massive reputation as one of Nigeria’s finest and most accomplished writers. It is polished writing at the very summit of the trade: finely honed and well-nuanced, with a hint of public school prim.

        Olugbile wields his pen like a surgeon’s scalpel: poised, surgical and lancing with delicate precision. It is writing meant for the aficionados and impresarios of the trade. Overtly apolitical and deliberately uncontroversial, he avoids drawing blood, as if he has seen enough of this on the operating table. The literary pugilist will search in vain for the savage putdown or the sledgehammer dismissal.

         Ever since he burst on the scene with his 1986 collection of short stories, titled Lonely Men which won the Association of Nigerian Authors’ prize for prose fiction for that year, Olugbile has not looked back, writing newspaper columns and publishing other works of fiction including Batolica and the outstanding Heroes and Others.

    Sigismund Freud, the great pioneering psychoanalyst, often worshipped Fyodor Dostoevsky, the revered Russian novelist, as his master and mentor when it came to the deep probing of the human psyche. When you add a dash of Anton Chekhov, the gifted Russian writer who was himself a trained physician to this mix, you get a hint of Olugbile’s illustrious precursors.

        The psychoanalyst can only add clinical certainty and clarity to what a creative artist with the fecundity of imagination had already glimpsed as he plumbs the deep catacombs of the human conundrum. If he tarries, the artist himself becomes mere collateral damage, a casualty of the maze. And so does the clinical psychiatrist. According to a character in Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s The Cancer Ward, the greatest affliction that can befall a doctor is to suffer an illness in his own area of specialization.

       Perish the thought, Olugbile is far from the road to Aro. But his professional affiliations seem to confer a special terrorist status on him. It is a profoundly ironic development. In a land of the noble and upright, the psychiatrist is seen as a friendly healer, welcomed with relief by all. But in a society bristling with deviants of the highest order and at the top echelons, furtive glances are exchanged whenever the word psychiatrist is mentioned.

       Consequently, a Foucauldian chill descended on the hall last Wednesday whenever the dreaded word dropped from somebody. Setting the pace was no less a person than the chairman of the occasion who in his jokey, self-depreciating manner let it be known that he ultimately consented to chairing the occasion out of the fear of being declared “mad” if he had refused.

      Another guest, Sigismund Oludoye Fernandez, seasoned administrator and a scion of the notable Fernandez clan who was a member of the interviewing board that gave Olugbile his first job as a certified psychiatrist, also noted rather warily that he could not afford to miss the august gathering in honour of Olugbile out of the fear of being sectioned. Innocent jokes have a way of reflecting general turmoil and anxieties.

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      Gimlet-eyed, soaking up all the plaudits and the occasionally cagey commendations of his professional distinctions was the author himself, a figure of Olympian rectitude and steely forbearance. There is always something mildly unnerving about Olugbile’s calm composure and placid comportment. Like an ancient deity of his people, the author hides it all behind a wall of reticence and veiled bemusement.

      This writer must now confess that he once let Olugbile on to the case of his bosom friend who had puzzled and confounded him to no end since university days at Ife. Billionaire, philanthropist and a leading patron of the arts and prime culture, our man is also an indefatigable non-conformist from his days as a student union activist at Ife. Within a few years of graduation, he had made a dramatic transition as a leading boardroom guru where he continues to ply his devil may care, irreverent trade.

      As the chairman of a committee to present his unusual memoir to the public, yours sincerely decided to invite Olugbile to solve a psychoanalytical conundrum for posterity. In his memoir, the rebel magnate with a touch of Croesus  had described his political and business praxis as an example of positive deviance.

      Yours sincerely described it as creative neurosis so imbued with emotional intelligence and gutsy nous that it would have been impossible to stop the fellow from reaching the pinnacle of his trade, no matter the adverse circumstances. Unlike his bookworm hidebound contemporaries, our man was already seeing beyond his fellow students and teachers alike who were unable to think out of the box.

      The Civic Centre banquet hall came aglow that morning as Olugbile mounted the rostrum. Having reviewed the facts and the evidence, Olugbile concluded that what was before him was a classic case of positive psychosis. It was the hallmark of genius. The audience, including the sovereign of Ondo township, Oba Kiladejo, himself a noted medical practitioner, erupted in applause. A few days later, my friend called and insisted on meeting the remarkable psychiatrist.

        It can be said that the practice of psychiatry has helped Olugbile a lot in his literary endeavours. Deploying a technique which can be justly described as de-estrangement, the writer relentlessly chips and chisels away at the subject matter from all angles until he gets to the heart of the matter. It is literary creativity on the couch.

       This technique is very much in evidence in this remarkable fictionalized biography of an equally remarkable woman. The result is an outstanding work of art which is at the same time a historical and cultural tour de force. The Alimotu Pelewura that comes alive on these pages is a woman of uncommon grace, compassion, civility, courage and fearless patriotism.

       The reviewer, Basorun J.K Randle, takes a mild and genial umbrage at Olugbile’s unrelenting capacity to conflate history with fiction and to fictionalize actual history. In the psychiatrist’s alchemy, fiction is historicized and history is fictionalized.

        On a closer scrutiny, J.K Randle would have noticed his own illustrious grandfather, the eminent physician, explaining to the bemused Pelewura the surgical procedure for removing a particularly nasty fibroid tissue from her womb. The dialogue may be flat and flaccid but both Pelewura and Dr Randle are on the same page and in the right place, too.

       So is Femi Olugbile’s feel for native politics in the colonial period which remains unfailingly acute. The Randle progenitor was an integral part of the anticolonial turmoil which convulsed the Lagos colony for almost a century.

      Originally a Pharmacy Assistant,  the then Mr Randle was handed a severe rebuke by an European doctor for daring to raise an alarm about the humongous dosage the doctor was giving a native patient. Randle resigned his appointment over this colonial contumely and headed abroad and to Edinburgh University. He did not return until he had qualified as a medical practitioner.

        This is not a literary review. That can come later. It is the celebration of the life of an amazon, an unlettered female avatar who rose from very humble beginnings as a fishmonger to the pinnacle of power and glory. Nigeria’s colonial and postcolonial history has the knack of throwing up remarkable specimens of the female species.  It is a trend that has continued till date.

       After a particularly grueling encounter with the Ahomey invaders, the Egba warriors decided to take the corpse of one of their tormentors to their base. Upon close examination after stripping the body of charms and other escutcheons of war, they discovered that it was a woman. Thereupon the war chiefs concluded that it would amount to a mortal affront to Egba national pride to be defeated by an army of women. They rejoined the battle with greater ferocity and drove the invaders out of town.

       From Efunsetan Aniwura who was gruesomely executed on the orders of Aare Latosa, the Ibadan generalissimo, through Madam Tinubu who was expelled from Lagos to later day heroines of resistance against external and internal colonialism such as Funmilayo Ransome- Kuti, Humani Alaga, Abibat Mogaji, Madam Bisoye Tejuoso and Kudirat Abiola, the Nigerian political firmament continues to throw up these amazing amazons. This fictional recall of one of them, Alimotu Pelewura by Femi Olugbile, is a major tribute to these heroic exemplars. May their brood continue to grow.