Category: Tatalo Alamu

  • The Death of a Queen Philosopher

    In Professor Sophie Oluwole who died last week at the age of eighty two, Nigeria and the Black world as a whole have lost one of their most resourceful and creative intellectuals. Our paths crossed rather late in life, but one must recall these encounters with joy, gratitude and with a certain feeling of nostalgia.

    She was quite a handful; an original character in the most sublime and uplifting sense of that phrase. Nothing fazed or daunted her; certainly not man-made adversities, a few of which was thrown at her in the course of a remarkable life. But she would not take any nonsense from anybody for that matter. Despite being naturally reticent and diplomatic, she was nevertheless relentless in her pursuit of gender parity and any attempt to thwart her on that front met with stiff resistance.

    Like all intellectual visionaries, it is only now that she has departed the earthly scene that the true worth and import of her career can be properly contextualized. In a lifelong quest to rediscover the essence of African philosophy and the notion of the African philosopher, Sophie succeeded in reinventing the whole notion of philosophizing Africans as well as what it means to be a popular philosopher in Africa.

    It was a brave and original act, made all the more daring and extraordinary by the fact that philosophy was not Oluwole’s first academic love. She had stumbled on the arcane discipline after a fortuitous capitulation to fear of failure in a mainstream subject. Owing to that fateful decision, African philosophy will never be the same again.

    Like Socrates, the great Athenian philosopher and statesman whom she admired and lauded, Oluwole was also for long stretches of her remarkable career a roadside philosopher, shunning the institutional lustre and self-regarding isolation of formal philosophy to reach and impart knowledge on the mass of the people outside the narrow confines of the academy.

    In the event, mainstream western departments of philosophy and their intellectual oligarchies may scoff at some of Oluwole’s pronouncements as bearing evidence of a recourse to myth, mysticism and sheer storytelling rather than systematised knowledge; some of their denizens may deride her conclusions as hasty and bereft of formal rigour, but Oluwole would upbraid them for judging her by their own philosophical principles and parameters. Every culture must produce its own philosophical uniqueness.

    Unlike some of her contemporaries, most notably Valentin Yves Mudimbe, the Congolese, Paulin Hountondji, the Beninois philosopher and Kwasi Wiredu, the Ghanaian, who sought to undermine western philosophy from the inside, that is as privileged decoders of western thoughts and analytical category, Sophie Oluwole chose to outflank from the outside as a rank outsider.

    By digging deep into the rich culture of her Yoruba people, Oluwole was able to demonstrate that Africans did not first hear of philosophy with the coming of the white people.

    It was a grand feat of traditional elucidation and philosophical nationalism. But it was to produce its own great ironies. As she became increasingly sought on tube and radio chat-shows and at popular gatherings, Oluwole was gradually transformed into a celebrity intellectual; a philosopher queen and a clearing gateway for interrogating popular culture. The invention of the queen philosopher was well on the way.

    As the brief expanded, Oluwole became a diva of traditional divination pronouncing on almost everything under the African sun even as she subjected all western orthodoxies, including its medical and psychiatric practice, to withering dismissal. She wrote and spoke with delicious felicity and infectious simplicity of expression which drew many to her.

    Her book comparing Socrates to Orunmila, the great Yoruba traditional deity and savant, touched many by the profundity of its cross-cultural referencing, the originality of thought and sheer power of elucidation. It is bound to become a classic of comparative philosophy most likely outside the formal academia.

    To many of her teeming admirers, she became known as Mamalawo, a female shaman or traditional healer, a development which would have pleased the western interlocutors who insist that what passes for philosophy in Africa is nothing but miserable and mediocre mumbo-jumbo incapable of analytical thinking. . By reconnecting to her traditional roots and native culture, the modern African philosopher is paradoxically invented as an old savant and shaman.

    But this is fraught with profound political and philosophical contradictions; a quaint attempt to turn back the hands of the modernist clock. The irony is that the discursive formation of western philosophy would chuckle that African philosophy, of its own volition, is back to where it should belong.

    It is impossible to go back to a past that is terminally ruptured. This is why Paul Hountondji, who numbered Althusser and Derrida among his teachers, dismisses ethno-philosophy as nothing but polemical reaction to western thoughts on Africa unworthy of the status of formal theory. Althusser owes a lot to his former teacher and mentor, Gaston Bachelard, the great French mathematician. Knowledge gained through scientific exertion and certitude is superior to knowledge based on superstition and obscurantist mythology.

    Famously, Karl Marx has noted that all mythology tries to dominate nature in and around the imagination and can only retreat as scientific knowledge advances. This is the bane of traditional African metaphysics and was to cause much intellectual duelling between columnist and the late Sophie Oluwole.

    In exasperation she would often dismiss the writer as a victim of the corrupting influence of western intellectual tradition. Like Margaret Thatcher, the Iron Lady, the Igbara-Oke born philosopher and descendant of the famed Aloba family was not for turning no matter the sophistication and subtlety of the argument.

    This toughness of character and steeliness of resolve was to stay with her throughout an eventful life. You would have thought that having achieved considerable national fame and recognition in her chosen career she would have slowed down a bit to soak in the plaudits.

    But it was at this point that she once again expanded her remit to include a stirring advocacy for the downtrodden in the society, particularly oppressed women as they come under the hammer of patriarchal structures. It was a passionate endorsement of traditional African democratic set-up which she believed was superior to modern liberal democracy and its jaded antics. In retrospect and given the radically progressive nature of her advocacy, it was perhaps inevitable that Sophie would be drawn to the redemptive platform of ameliorative politics.

    In all likelihood, it was this advocacy for women and the downtrodden which brought her to the attention of those who invited her as a member of the Board of Trustees of the Obafemi Awolowo Institute for Governance and Public Policy housed on the very premises at Ibeju Lekki where the late political titan was detained during the Western Nigeria political crisis of 1962.

    It was here that we finally met as fellow trustees of the institute. We bonded very well, despite the vast differences in orientation and perspective. Snooper has always been in awe and admiration of women with strong personality and this one was not a spring chicken in any sense of the word. Strong-willed and inured to philosophic adversity, she could precipitate a civil war at short notice.

    Together with her colleague and fellow trustee and board member, Mrs Francesca Yetunde Emanuel, aka General Franco, the first female permanent secretary in the federation and a famous stickler for principles and regulations,  the two women were not going to be browbeaten by any man no matter the past achievement or current distinction. Nothing could be taken for granted, not even the most casual phrasing or elegant ambiguity of formulation. These ladies do not take semantic hostages. We all came away with profound respect for each other.

    It is a measure of the mutual respect and affection that quickly developed between us that Professor Oluwole , as chairman of the World Philosophy Day celebrations held at the University of Lagos on November 17, 2011, requested yours sincerely to give a lecture to commemorate the occasion. The result is the much anthologized and much referenced The Invention of African Intellectual Tradition.

    Some of the issues raised by the lecture remain as pertinent and germane today almost a decade after as when they were originally voiced. Most troubling then as it is at the moment was whether it is actually possible for a race or a people to conduct authentic philosophical inquiry in the borrowed language of their colonial masters.

    But since no individual, race, continent, class, group or sect can solve all the problems raised by religion, philosophy and politics in one fell swoop, let earthly exemplars such as Sophie Abosede Oluwole rest in perfect peace. Mama, it was a great pleasure.

     

  • In the lion’s den

    To Isapatoromoyan, the ancient Yoruba town through the ancestral homesteads of Eko-Einde, Eekosin and Iwere-Ile for the annual pounded yam festival with the rogue Okon in tow. This annual festival is a Yoruba rite of passage and the equivalent of the American Thanksgiving which began centuries earlier when some intrepid descendants of Oduduwa settled in the northernmost fringes of the new empire among hostile tribes who viewed them with dread and trepidation as bearers of a new type of civilization.

    In gratitude to their mighty deity who had helped them to survive another season among implacable warlike marauders who were bent on exterminating them to the single person, they often gathered at this historic site among huge rocks and Olympian crevices with their best yams and the plentiful venison abounding in the sprawling plains to jollify and to make merry as well as to give vent to the more playful and gregarious side of their nature. Very soon, it became routinized and regularized as an annual festival of hope and renewal.

    It was an epic feast of a feeding frenzy beginning at sunrise and ending when even the cooperative moon began to complain of tiredness and exhaustion. It is all too reminiscent of the magnificent pounded yam festival in Things Fall Apart where it took three days for feeders on all sides to behold each other.  Replete with rare venison of extinct herbivores, wild mushrooms which tasted like upmarket sand grouse and some aromatic vegetables now out of historic circulation, it was a moveable feast indeed.

    But it was also a celebration of spectacular heroism, incredible self-sacrifice and the ancestral spirit of all those who gave up their life so that others can survive. It was the hazy beginning of armed empire and fiery battlements. Yet it resolves the post-Oduduwa paradox and the Oranmiyan Question: How a people who had conquered and grown their old empire through the force of persuasion and superior civilization could now resort to fierce conquest and slaying on an industrial scale.

    The empire rose like a comet, subduing and subjugating far and wide beyond the realm of possibility and human endurance, incorporating in its mighty and minatory embrace strange territories and even stranger people leading to an incredible miscegenation of tribes and human tributaries. Yet like all empires, it also eventually fell like an expired meteor as the auld enemies joined forces with superior cavalry and the bearers of a new civilization who felt that the old one was a threat and nuisance to its own version of history.

    Empires rise and fall. And the rest is history. History was the farthest thing on the mind this morning as a historic fog laid its icy fangs on the entire country. The motoring condition had become simply atrocious. You could hardly see beyond your nose. Even some international flights had to be diverted to neighboring and more inclement climes. With Okon in tow, history and harmattan were the least of the problems, human nuisance was.

    Before snooper lay an ancient map of the magic route. You journey from Lagos to Ibadan and then to Moniya, Iseyin, Okaka, Otu and then veer off through an old mystery route known only to old empire hands and noblemen which eventually led them back to the ancestral shrine at Ile-Ife. You then come back through Iseyin, the scenic and spectacularly picturesque Ado Awaye, Eruwa, Igbo Ora, the “Randa” intersection near Abeokuta and then back to Lagos through Ewekoro, Orile Wasinmi—Segun Odegbami’s ancestral hideout—— and Sango Otta.

    The journey had hardly started when Okon began making subversive commentaries in his rasping breathless monotone. Irreverent and caustic, Okon does not take hostages.

    “Oga, I just say make I tell you say dem  dey sell diesel for 245 naira for today. Petrol revenue dey rise and naira still dey fall. Na dis year we go know who get dis yeye kontri. If dem like make dem send dem soldier everywhere. When soldier don finis for barak, he mean say katakata don come be dat.” The mad boy yelled.

    “Okon leave me alone and leave the government alone.  At least they have started paying the very poor and aged people the money they promised”, yours sincerely snapped.

    “Oga, no be yeye nonsense be dat one? Dem for build food shelter, employ Okon as Chairman for Belly Infrastructure make I dey feed dem old people. Na food dem people need. Na dis dem one –chance boys dem find find food for”, the crazy boy sniggered.

    “By the way, Okon what do you think about the prophecies this year from the men of God?” snooper asked trying to steer the mad boy away from the path of subversion and sedition.

    “Ha oga  dat one he be like say oversee come oversee overseer”, the mad boy crowed and burst into deranged hiccups.

    By now we were approaching the bridge after the Shagamu intersection. All hell suddenly let loose as some hoodlums  jumped out on the road from nowhere, forcing the car to a screeching a halt just before a crater.

    “Come out!! We are kidnappers!” one of the thugs screamed.

    “We no be kid, so make you just go nap dem kids”, Okon bravely shouted at them.

    “Shut up, you fool!” one of them screeched and hit Okon with the barrel of his gun. Snooper jumped up and hit the edge of the bed. Snooper has been dreaming. Yours sincerely has been hallucinating.  Happy New Year in short advance to our readers.

     

  • Hope suspended….. hopefully till next year

    State security and uncaptured combatants

    It would have been better to end this eventful year on a note of high hopes and expectations. Buoyed by rousing defiance of adversity and the incurable faith that everything will be alright in the end, that would have been in keeping with the great Nigerian spirit of indomitable courage.

    But brutal and uncomfortable facts keep impinging on syrupy and saccharine reality, turning the great Nigerian paradox of hope amidst sheer hopelessness on its head. Hoping against hope is not the cure for hopelessness. It is the marijuana of the hopeless.

    Nigeria is bleeding from a thousand cuts, like a great elephant besieged on all fronts. There is anger and frustration in the land. Our people are hurting. Everybody is angry with everybody. There is massive insecurity and hunger everywhere. Reason or rational argument becomes the first casualty in such circumstances. Just as it is impossible to philosophize on an empty stomach, it is also impossible to conduct reasonable discourse with a hungry and angry person. The kingdom of the belly is not at material par with the paradise of the brain.

    On Tuesday evening, Air Marshal Alex Badeh, a former Chief of Defence Staff facing prosecution for self-enrichment, was taken down as he returned from his farm in what bore the hallmark of a classic political execution. It was a great reckoning in a little corner of the Abuja-Keffi highway. Hopefully, this is not the first warning shot of an approaching political tsunami as the presidential elections of next February begin to take an ominous shape.

    The very next day, President Mohammadu Buhari addressed a very rowdy session of a National legislature that is divided and polarized all the way down the line. It was a historic show of shame. Not since Caligula, the Roman emperor, sent his horse down the Roman senate to rough things up and “lively up” proceedings has the world witnessed such legislative rascality. Decorum and dignity went out through the door.

    Even before the federal authorities had vowed to fish out Badeh’s killers for appropriate punishment, the comments and obituaries have taken a decidedly partisan and ugly hue. If one were to take an audit of the highly decorated soldiers killed in supposedly civil circumstances in the past two years it would be quite a statistic of shame.

    Consequently, it should be apparent to all that the military itself is bleeding and hurting all over. Bugged down in an unconventional and asymmetrical warfare which defies its orientation and originating ethos, besieged on many fronts by hostile multi-dimensional forces and enemy nationals, the army’s patience is beginning to wear thin as a result of combat-disorientation. This explains its testy and highly controversial upbraiding of Amnesty International.

    In such a climate of national hysteria, rational discourse and measured interventions become the first casualty. Yet in order for the country to heave forward, in order to probe and feel our way out of the terrible mess, we must re-establish the template for rational national discourse.

    There is already a national consensus that corruption is the greatest bane of this country. Corruption has eaten so deep into the national fabric that it often appears natural and divinely ordained. The goat eats where it is tethered is a famous African proverb. But the goat is also a captive where it is tethered.

    Corruption has become so deeply entrenched, so embedded, so interwoven that it has acquired its own self-legitimating order as an integral part of human culture or part of the totality of human existence in this clime. It will take a revolutionary concussion or a series of radical character-remoulding events to weed out.

    Unless we are reconciled to the evolutionary procedure of a disease burning itself out after inflicting the greatest possible damage on the afflicted organ, it will require a more holistic and hands-on approach to tackle the bane of corruption in Nigeria. In serious societies, fighting corruption has never been a tea party,

    Corruption has its systemic, structural, diachronic and synchronic dimensions. Corruption is not limited to taking possession of what does not and should not belong to one, it also includes giving out to others as a result of primordial considerations posts and preferment which do not and should not belong to them particularly in multi-ethnic and multi-religious societies emerging from the throes of colonization.

    Many of President Buhari’s teeming supporters believe that he means well for the country, however flawed in conception and partisan in execution his anti-corruption mantra may appear. Yet it is also obvious that his provincial pattern of patronage, narrow sense of privilege and stubborn self-righteousness get in the way and are a terrible blight on his anti-corruption crusade.

    Nigeria is in a serious national emergency. Whoever wins next year’s presidential elections must expand the scope and size of his vision to put in place a bipartisan cabinet of truly accomplished Nigerian patriots and tested technocrats who will drive accelerated economic development and deepen the culture of democracy away from the accretions of authoritarian rule and accumulated military hangover.

    This is because Nigeria has been thrown into a deep conundrum. The exponential growth in population and the changing demographics in favour of youth have proved overwhelming for the talents of economists thrown up by successive post-military governments despite success in a few spheres.

    In any nation where population growth exceeds expansion of economic opportunities , the Swiftean possibility of mutual elimination and social cannibalism is never far away. This is an iron law of nature which has exercised the mind of economists since the seventeenth century. Civilized governments anticipate this and plan well ahead for it.

    The ritualization of poverty is here with us. At no other point in modern human society have a people been this close to rampart cannibalism with the gory trade in human parts thriving.  It is a world-historic tragedy that the nation with arguably the greatest eco-diversity that the world has seen cannot feed its own people.

    But it is said that a man can make for himself a throne of bayonets, whether he will be able to sit in it is another matter. The hunger stalking the land, the lack of social security and safety valves for the poorest of the land, the massive de-education of the populace and the general lack of opportunity for a teeming and dynamic young population have now returned to haunt our security forces in all their grim and gruesome possibilities.

    In the north where there has been a complete collapse of redemptive social vision and ameliorative politics, it has spawned the greatest and most vicious insurgency of our time, feeding on and feeding off the teeming multitude of uneducated and unemployed youth mired in superstition and religious hallucination now complicated by the global rise of militant Islamism.

    In the east, it has helped to breed a rough and ready lumpen-proletariat weaned on a diet of ethnic Exceptionalism , the crude delusions of Black Zionism driven by a militant and secessionist urge to upend the Nigerian state. In the west, it has produced a congeries of urban social misfits bent on wreaking vengeance on the entire society leading to crimes so horrendous that they are better imagined.

    Finally and reinforcing the social mayhem is the phenomenon of uncaptured or undocumented Nigerian combatants. As Nigerian youths absconding from the concrete hell of the post-colonial state are thwarted and frustrated in their mission in stateless Libya, they returned or are repatriated home with violence and vengeance lurking in their heart.

    Many of these have already received rudimentary or full military training. Brutalized and dehumanized by their horrid experience, they return with full blown Diasporic dementia. We can see their handiwork in the spate of recent killings across the nation and the fact that they are unfazed by the might of the Nigerian military. When they are in number, they confront them toe to toe and chin to chin without wilting under fire.

    When it is not convulsed and confused by these developments, the Nigerian state is perplexed and nonplussed and can only confront them with the conventional approach of a military trained in symmetrical warfare. But it will not work. According to a famous military saying, the past is prologue and when the enemy changes in nature, the nature of the army confronting it must also change. Nothing short of a complete overhaul of the state and security architecture will do at this point.

    Given the circumstances we have enumerated above, it should be obvious that the Nigerian presidency is not a job for a political adventurer, an economic haymaker or a security neophyte either. General Babangida will be laughing at us. The Fourth Republic is structured on the concept of protracted transition and permanent national emergency.

    Those who designed the Fourth Republic have also attached to its presidency an immutable job specification. Nigeria is a classic example of how structural contingency circumscribes human agency. This is the basis of the contemporary Nigerian conundrum and it will remain so until either the paradigm or the nation gives way.

  • A time to mourn and a time to move on

    As this memorable year swings to a close, yours sincerely is finally able to force issues with time itself in order to gain a reprieve to properly mourn and celebrate beloved friends who fell to the grim reaper this strange and tantalising year.

    There are times when the grim necessities of life make it impossible to grieve; when the din of earthly combats make it impossible for you to send off beloved friends who have succumbed to the grim reaper, silenced and stilled forever and never to be seen again this side of human existence. Yet without proper closure, only affronted memories remain. Let the dead bury dead in the land of the quick and the dying and in the incredible and eternal commotion of coming and going.

    But there is a time to mourn and a time to move on. In life, you have to choose between growing old and witnessing untold adversities or dying young in order to be spared the cruel brutalities of human existence. Yet what will life be without the cultivation of deep friendship and unusual affection!!

    Some of these personalities are so mutually hostile and incompatible; so incredibly suspicious of each other that only a person who is himself a vast ensemble of human possibilities can play host to them all and at the same time. This is what is known as a gift for friendship and life will be a meaningless and chaotic farce without it.

    These were the thoughts that preyed on snooper’s mind as the columnist churned his way through the vehicular hell of the notorious Ife-Ibadan Road as one made his way back to Lagos from the rural and bucolic beauty of Ifewara this last Friday after honouring Business mogul, High Chief and Baba Oba of Ifewara, Oladele Fajemirokun, the son of the fetching and immensely personable good old Henry himself. Making good his promise last year after he was installed as the Baba Oba of Ifewara, Chief Fajemirokun was back in Ifewara to dedicate a set of buildings to his ancient paternal ancestors two days ago.

    Almost fifty years after first meeting in cloudy circumstances ( You can guess what that means) at the iconic University of Ife, the Baba Oba of Ifewara still wakes snooper up in the dead of the night with a string of imprecations which often sends his beloved wife giggling and laughing with delight. Snooper often replies in kind with invectives from the deep forests of Osun.

    And almost fifty years after, the notorious Ife-Ibadan road was still consuming its grisly menu of human diet. If one were to take an audit of the great and potentially great people, particularly staff and students of the university that have perished on this road, what an endless cortege of shame and misery would it have been!!

    Among the first batch to be dispatched in 1973 was Onome Ibru, the son of the late business mogul, Pa Michael Ibru. Handsome and dashing like a Greek deity, Onome was returning to Ife to check his first year result when he had an accident on the road. Valiantly and brilliantly, the late celebrated Professor Julius Odeku was said to have drilled a hole through his skull to suck out blood to no avail.

    A year after in 1974, one of Onome’s pall bearers and cousin, Leke Adenuga, aka Sexy Leks, broke his spine in an accident on the Kano highway while returning as a serving corper to watch the Ali-Foreman fight. He died a few days later as his father, Dr Adenuga, made strenuous attempts to evacuate him abroad.

    In 1983, it was the turn of Dele’s old roommate at Ife, Colonel Michael Alaiyemola. A military genius who was a captain at twenty two and with a fetching Citroen car (MO1) to match, Mike would often announce in the dead of the night and after a protracted bout of drinking that he was headed for his Mopa homestead. Nobody could stop him. He was commanding the military cantonment in Ojoo when he died in his sleep. This past Monday, snooper was with Rotimi, his widow, at the annual remembrance get together for J.K Randle organized by his son, Bashorun J.K Randle.

    Early this year, it was the turn of Chief Isola Filani, an old power broker and PDP chieftain. Although belonging to different political persuasions and ideological spectrum, this did not disturb our friendship. When he complained after what was clearly a botched operation, we had advised him to seek medical restitution abroad. He never returned.

    Although Isola, could become choleric and temperamental when infracted, he was as generous and as kind-hearted as they come. Snooper remembers with pleasure the three wonderful nights Isola spent with him in the village a few years ago with his childhood friend, Moyo Ogundipe.

    At dawn, the two Ekiti rustics would start parading the streets of the village in their loincloths like their pristine ancestors soaking up the splendours of rural bliss. Whenever snooper remonstrated, Isola would ask him to shut up, sternly warning him that if older men were keeping his company, he should learn how not to abuse the honour and generosity. Now, they are both gone. And so has Colonel Gabriel Adetunji Ajayi, a much decorated combatant officer, bosom friend and former reporting colleague at the Nigerian Tribune, who never quite survived his military ordeal.

    Finally a few months back, yours sincerely sat sandwiched between the inseparable duo of Pastor Seye Ladapo and High Chief Ope Bademosi at the early morning prayers for Dr Adewale Adeoyo, iconic publisher and man of exquisite taste, on the occasion of his seventieth birthday. The banter was infectious. A few weeks later, Seye collapsed and died while Ope was murdered on the day of Seye’s funeral. Ondo town is still mourning the loss of its illustrious sons. May the soul of all the departed rest in eternal bliss.

  • On Neo-colonial Polls Betting

    The Ragged-trousered philanthropists at work again

    In its storied and fascinating life time, The Economist, the iconic London magazine which prefers to see itself as a newspaper, has got many things right. So authoritative is its style of delivery, so magisterial its mode of exposition and so extraordinarily accurate is the predictive power that when the magazine sneezes, the rest of the global political society must catch cold. Many have actually concluded that this is no longer within the remit of ordinary journalism but political intelligence enacted at the summit of sophisticated eavesdropping.

    Whatever it is, it is indeed a rare sight to have the London magazine floundering and flopping on its belly like a beached whale. This was what happened recently as the magazine virtually reversed itself on its earlier conclusions on the forthcoming Nigerian presidential election.

    In the ensuing fiasco, the magazine’s Foreign Correspondent and editor of its Economic Intelligence Unit, Aman Rijiv, recused himself from the new finding. Occasional changing of mind should not be ruinous of reputation. The irony is that in refining its position, The Economist may actually be inching closer to the reality on ground. But this is not just a case of punditry gone awry. It is a symptom of a more fundamental problem.

    Please permit this columnist to introduce a new concept into the crowded field of modern Political Science this morning. Unlike normal pools betting, which is straightforward gambling with football games, neo-colonial polls betting is playing political games with the electoral fortunes of former colonies.

    Sir Kessington Adebutu, aka Baba Ijebu, and Chief Ayoku, his late best friend, are masters of the first kind of game which involves formal mastery of footballing dynamics and a profound psychological insight into the disposition of the troops on the day of battlement. The masters of the second game are our former colonial masters and the institutional masks they wear to enforce compliance and self-undermining complicity as the case may be with their self-designed International Order.

    These include, but not limited to, global financial behemoths, multinational think-thanks, powerful media organizations and the assorted array of international do-gooders. They are the ideological apparatuses of the new globalizing super-state famously espoused as the hegemonic post-Cold War Liberal Democratic Order by Francis Fukuyama and his “end of ideology” mantra.

    The game is not new. As a matter of fact, there is nothing new under the sun any more, only newer versions of an old game. When Pliny, the Elder, famously noted that something new always came out of Africa, he was not only referring to strange hybrid animals but also to the endless assortments of oddities, oddballs, cranks and other bizarre exotica from the founding continent that graced and entertained the old Roman Imperial Court.

    Yet it was also this “strange” continent that produced many distinguished generals, scientists, statesmen and philosophical savants that helped to stabilize and advance the cause of the Roman Empire   But as it was at the beginning, so it is at tail end of this phase of human civilization.

    Till date, Africa has continued to serve as humanity’s nursery bed for the transplantation of rare species of human genius to the metropolitan centres. Deprived of the human nutrients that sustain civilization and the cultivation of superior culture, Africa continues to sink further in a hellhole of abandoned hope and aborted expectations.

    You would have thought that given this miserable circumstance our old taskmasters would leave us alone. But not yet, at least not as long as there is some sign of life on the continent; or so it seems. Unlike the past, however, emphasis appears to be shifting from the political and economic fortunes of the continent to its electoral fate in the hands of bitterly divided and badly polarized national elite groups.

    Nigeria’s post-military trajectory is a compelling case file for other mammoth countries on the continent. As national contradictions sharpen and as fierce competition for political power proceeds apace, the gap of influence and prestige not to talk of national notoriety among the various power groups has closed up, making elections too close to call and electoral predictions an increasingly risky business. The vote-weary electorate has developed its own political neurosis.

    This is what has brought The Economist of London to resounding grief. But it is not the case that these western institutions usually hold nocturnal meetings to determine the electoral fortunes of targeted nations. It is rather a function of an ideological symmetry arising from shared values and a unified vision of what the civilized world should look like. In order to deepen the argument and draw the appropriate lesson, it will be necessary to return to the origins of the crisis of neo-colonial polls betting and where Nigeria is coming from.

    Presidential elections in Nigeria during the early phase post-military transition were a fairly brutal and cruel affair. You could almost tell who was going to win and by what margin. In 1999, with the military power masters breathing down everybody’s neck and without a pan-Nigerian counter rally such as was seen five years earlier during the June 12 democratic melt down, it was easy to see which way the electoral pendulum was swinging.

    In 2003 having railroaded the dominant and emergent power groups into compliance with his second term, there was no way anybody could have stopped the incumbent president, Olusegun Obasanjo, from coasting home to victory.

    Thereafter, Obasanjo proceeded to complete the demolition of the regional power groups standing between him and national ascendancy. Afenifere was encouraged to commit political suicide while the old northern power mafia was completely chastened and tactically subdued.

    In 2007, despite the Third Term fiasco, Obasanjo retained enough political presence of mind and control over the nation’s massive security apparatus to impose his electoral will on the nation. Going by self-admission, the election which produced the late President Umaru Y’ardua was a crude and heavy-handed affair. It was so severely flawed that it precipitated a nation-wide revulsion with electoral gerrymandering. It was an electoral watershed for the nation.

    Notwithstanding the fact that both the 2011 and 2015 presidential elections could not be said to have passed the litmus test of high electoral integrity, they can nevertheless be said to reflect abrupt shifts of electoral moods in the nation. While the Jonathan ascendancy could be said to represent a national nod in the direction of ethnic justice and political equity, the Buhari triumph of 2015 could be traced to a pan-Nigerian uprising against corruption and incompetence.

    But as the 2019 presidential election draws nearer and with neither the 2011 nor the 2015 election sating the national hunger for ethnic justice or the pan-Nigerian quest for social equity which drove them in the first instance, the competition is much fiercer this time around and far more desperate than anything we have seen before, which explains why the national mood is redolent of a tense political stalemate and neurotic sabre-rattling.

    In the obvious absence of a mass-propelled, pan-Nigerian Third Force driven by visionary anger and impassioned revulsion at the state of the nation, and given the inability of the dominant parties  to present clearly differentiated programmes and ideological departures from each other, this national weariness and the feeling of a stalemated cliff hanger will surely persist.

    It is this fog of national disorientation that has so catastrophically wrong-footed The Economist of London and afflicted its power of electoral forecast forcing it to uncharacteristically reverse itself on the forthcoming presidential elections within a spate of three months. The post-colonial condition does not spare even the colonial interlocutors themselves.

    Yet it is not as if these national electoral variables are cast in stone. They change and are changing. This is only discernible to those who have their ears close to the Nigerian ground. If Nigerians are mystified about the present, they are not confused about the past. If they don’t know where they are going, they know where they are coming from. They are yet to forgive the PDP for its serial infraction of the national psyche.

    Given the inability of the ruling party to deliver on its campaign promises no matter the mitigating circumstances and the reality of continuing public suspicion of the PDP over its past delinquency, it is virtually impossible to call the election at this point. But in post-colonial politics, all that is solid often melt into thin air. The ground will begin to shift as the election approaches. In fact the huge mud sleet is already beginning to slide.

    In all likelihood, the outcome of the forthcoming presidential election will not be shaped or greatly affected by the great issues of our time such as restructuring, devolution of power, the herdsmen imbroglio, settler/indigene controversy and the oppressive gender discrimination prevalent in several parts of the nation. Ironically for the generality of the people who are even more severely affected by these issues, these are nothing but elite intellectual masturbation.

    Given the persistence of ethnicity, regionalism, religious sectarianism and cultural grandstanding in our political set up, the presidential election will be determined by more mundane issues  such ethnic solidarity or where one’s ethnic bread is better buttered with immediate effect, cultural affinity, religious, regional and sub-ethnic block-voting.

    The post-colonial polity is not about ethnic nobility of purpose or transcendental heroism. Nigeria cannot be an exemption. As unfortunate as this may sound, anybody expecting another ethnic group to court noble self-sacrifice on behalf of others or indulge in some heroic, pan-Nigerian grandstanding at this critical moment of mutual hostility and misunderstanding is a political neophyte not worthy of any intellectual consideration.

    This is what the Yoruba call “Idi bebere syndrome”. However misshapen your own child’s mid torso may appear, you cannot because of that remove its bead and place it around the mid-section of another person’s child. This is the damning reality of a multi-ethnic nation unable to find common values and it will be so until we sit down to talk rather than making recourse to elections as a political talisman.

    Rather than fixing our elections for us with a view to continuous control of the levers of power, our former colonial lords and their institutional agents should encourage us to fix the roiling cauldron of ethnic, religious and regional animosities they have bequeathed to us and which has turned many citizens into sub-human savages. There was no polls betting in pre-colonial Africa and things were not nearly as demeaning of human existence as this. The Economist should please note.

     

  • Okon dazzles the iron ladies of chat shows

    To the lush meadow of Ikosi-Majidun and the magnificent precincts of Global Television where the brainy and beguiling ladies of the nation’s premier prime time television chat show were hosting Okon and his delinquent sidekick, the gifted but irascible Baba Lekki. The Christmas season of endless parties and festivities having fully kicked in, Lagos has ratcheted up its normally frenetic pace and there was frenzied goodwill and optimism in the air.

    This cool beautiful morning with its splendid Harmattan haze, the man of the moment was looking sober and strangely respectable in resource control attires with hat to match. Okon could easily have passed off as minor bunkering nobility. The only problem was Baba Lekki who was dressed like Father Christmas. Pole-hugging drunk as usual, the old contrarian crept up the podium on all four and ended up on the bare floor. Before long, he was snoring like a decrepit trailer revving up a hill. The ladies wisely ignored the human fiasco and went for their main man.

    “Sir, it is International Human Rights’ Day. You were recently detained by the police”, the lead lady opened with caution and wary cool.

    “Ha thank you, my sister”, Okon began with an expansive flourish. “Okon no dey lie. Na for Woman Rights dem police come nab man. Dem say I thief dem woman wig and him crocodile teeth. Dem no ask why dem yeye woman dey lie say him be young girl. If to say dem agaracha be like any of you, I go pay any amount”.

    Upper market in looks and exquisitely well-bred, the lead lady began to squirm on her seat in terminal embarrassment. But she was rescued by her more gamey colleague and stormy petrel who took the battle directly to the impudent rascal.

    “Okon!” she called out to him with stern composure. “ I must caution you that this is not a forum for naughty jokes.  So, given your experience, which one do you prefer, police cell or military cell?”

    For once in his life, the crazy boy appeared chastened and subdued. “ I sorry madam. I don tell baba say I no wan come here. I been dey afraiding of dem Lekki ladies and dem beentos. Yanga finish man for police cell. Soldier no dey get cell. Na dem Boko Haram get cell”, Okon whimpered.

    “Dem get shell too. Obonge shell” somebody whispered.

    “And dem dey shell dem soldiers anytime insha Allah” an IPOB veteran hollered with sadistic relish as he eyed everybody with a malignant scowl.

    “Stupid Ibo man, no come put sand for my garri oo. I no dey abuse dem soldiers”, Okon screamed. At this point, the lead lady decided to change tack and alter the direction of the discussion.

    “Sir, what is your take on child abuse?” she asked with celestial sweetness. Recovering his notorious gaiety and gamey irreverence, Okon struck again.

    “Ah my better sister, I no dey take child abuse at all. When I be young anytime my papa dey abuse me, I dey abuse am back. Him dey curse me, I dey curse am back. He get time like dat he come whack my head and I giam double uppercut and he come kaput like cocoyam leave. Na dat night him vamoose from village”, Okon bellowed and the entire audience collapsed in convulsive mirth.

    “Ok, Chief Okon, what is your position on same sex marriage?” one of the ladies asked.

    “Ha my nwanem maranma, same sex marriage na same position marriage. Na same sex Sikira dey do. I don tell am make him go learn from dem Cameroon women. But he be like say him Ijebu mama don swear for am”, Okon jeered. At this point, the stern, no-nonsense lady seemed to have had enough of Okon’s serial delinquency.

    “Oh my God, I am tired of this stupid man!” she screamed as she made to leave. This seemed to have roused Baba Lekki from the pit of hell. The old contraband staggered up.

    Bia, abi dem no go serve refreshment for dis yeye show? I am tired of this bourgeois chicanery. Me, I want ekuru served with agidi and some Miranda or Krola”, the old man slurped and began swinging unsteadily towards the lead lady. The station blackened out.

     

     

  • The Crisis of Production and Consumption in Contemporary Nigerian Print Media

    The global in the local

    Edward Felsenthal , the chief executive of Time Magazine,  in a significant welcome message to the new proprietors of the famous weekly, spoke about “ the extraordinary speed of disruption in [the] industry”.( Time Magazine, October 1, 2018).  A few weeks later, it was the turn of The Guardian of London.

    After a typically sober piece on Nigeria, the iconic mouthpiece of Leftist intelligentsia, in a classic enactment of jeremiad journalism, resorted to its now familiar plaintive plea for monetary assistance from its readers.( The Guardian, December, 2018) It was not fake news by any stretch of the imagination.

    The impact of new technology on newspaper production and the changing global pattern of consumption of news have led to a radical shift of fortunes for the news media. Perhaps we are at the threshold of another Copernican revolution in the way and manner the human race assimilates and disseminates information.

    Yet despite its dire and uncertain future, the news about the imminent death of the newspaper industry worldwide now appears to be grossly exaggerated. In the past decade and a half, grim obituaries of the press have appeared in advanced nations with alarming regularity. ( Williams, 1988, 2005, 2011) In-house pundits predict it, just as sympathetic undertakers prepare for the concluding rites.

    Sophisticated media surveys and scholarly studies seem to have reached a damning verdict about the viability of the contemporary press as currently structured, its sustainability as a long term economic project and the possibility of survival in a rapidly globalizing world fraught with uncertainties. A recent study concluded rather glumly that the print media was not about to die but about to commit suicide

    Yet like the mythical phoenix, a bird with a remarkable capacity for self-regeneration, the Nigerian print media, like the global press, has also shown an impressive flair for ceaseless self-transformation and a surprising capacity to reinvent itself where and when it matters most.

    However, it must be admitted that the situation is more like a re-enactment of the myth of Sisyphus. Newspaper houses that cannot adapt to changing circumstances must wither and die. Many have done so accordingly.

    It is therefore not surprising that despite its ability to fend off decline and death, a deathly haze surrounds most newspaper houses the world over. Morale has never been lower. Precipitate fall in fortune and summary demise never seem to be far away. Tell-tale signs of malaise abound.

    In America, the efforts by their concerned owners to separate insolvent print media from the more buoyant electronic media has been described as resembling a  busy divorce court with so many suits going on at the same time.

    How are the mighty fallen indeed!  As we noted earlier, the once mighty Guardian newspaper of London occasionally begs its own readers for financial subvention to stave off closure while the Evening Standard counterpart gives out free copies just to boost circulation even as The Independent, the doyen of donnish respectability, is spending its last moments in the intensive care unit.

    In a feat of malevolent clairvoyance, Roland “Tiny” Rowland, famously ordered that the proceeds of a successful libel suit against Private Eye, the London satirical magazine, be allocated to funding research into “diseased organs”. On its own, poker-faced and without batting an eyelid, Private eye often appeals to its readers to contribute generously to offsetting the fruits of its libellous labour.

    It is truly the age of diseased organs of mass communication. Contemporary newspaper houses are no doubt distressed and rattled by adversity. But respect for analytical clarity and the specific internal logic that drives each manifestation of the crisis demand that we must contextualize and put things in proper geo-political perspective.

    The international picture painted in the preceding paragraphs is to help us gain a local perspective of a subsisting crisis of the print media in the era of globalizing capitalism. To this end, our overriding aim in this survey is to beam a searchlight on the Nigerian dimension of this crisis and proffer suggestions for a restorative paradigm shift.

     

     The Nigerian print

    media in critical view

    While the crisis of print communication is no doubt a global one, its most severe manifestation can be found in The Third World, particularly in Nigeria and many other African countries, where endemic political instability combines with the economic ravages of globalization and local mismanagement to produce a unique form of mass poverty and the total evisceration of the middle class.

    The fate of the press can always be linked to the fate of the middle classes and the increasing differentiation of taste and the choices forced upon them by the means of production as they impact on the mode of consumption. In any human society, the mode of production always determines the pattern of consumption with each nation finding its level in the median.

    It is indeed useful to recall at this point that the modern press is a product of the Industrial Revolution which began in England in the mid-seventeenth century and rapidly spread to other parts of Europe. The seismic shift in the ownership of the means of production led to the consolidation of a new class—the middle class— and a dramatic rise in literacy, the advent of leisure which is a sine qua non for an exponential increase in the reading culture and the rise of the newspaper industry as the most potent mode of mass communication.

    Four hundred years after this “bourgeois” revolution which completely reworked the political and economic map of the ancient world as we knew it, a new type of revolution appears to be the underway. But this time around, in a great irony of history, it is the old middle class or salaried aristocrats and their print media which appear to be its principal casualties.

    The rampaging momentum of the forces of globalization, with their virtual abolition of time and space, their enhanced ability to move capital and labour across the globe, the switch to new technologies of production and the radical restructuring of the old capitalist categories, have led to unprecedented prosperity on a scale that the human race could only have dreamt of five hundred years ago. But it has also bred a huge disparity between the very rich and the very poor leading to a new global multi-racial underclass.

    Yet as it was the case during the Industrial Revolution which led directly to the internationalization of slavery, Africa appears to have been worse hit again in the Age of Globalization. As a result of its weak and delinquent political institutions and inability to modernize its jaded economic structure, globalization has led to accelerating poverty, suffering on a biblical scale and the flight of human capital from the continent. The old middle-class which was a product of the decolonization project has all but disappeared.

    Perhaps further contextualization will aid the historical perspective. Unlike the old generation of pre-independence journalists and pen-pushers of antiquity, the contemporary Nigerian journalist is far better educated and better exposed. Gone have been the days when journalism in Nigeria was regarded as the dead-end of deadwood or what Awolowo famously called “ the flotsam and jetsam of the Nigerian society”.(Awolowo, 1948)

    The visionary Graduate Policy of Alhaji Babatunde Jose at the Times group and the return of American-trained professionals in the late seventies coupled with the advent of New Journalism as pioneered by the recently deceased Tom Wolfe brought prestige and glamour to Nigerian journalism. The typical top-flight Nigerian editor began to see himself as a power broker in rivalry with the dominant fraction of the ruling caste.

    Unfortunately as history would have it, the period also coincided with the advent of a new breed of sophisticated and war-hardened military rulers who did not believe that you can purchase power parity with cultural or economic power for that matter. The ensuing collision of altars brought harsh reality back. As the military class project of perpetual domination opened and deepened, most journalists settled for co-optation rather than confrontation. It is better to be compromised than to be consigned to the cemetery.

    Unlike the founding fathers of Nigerian journalism who fought colonial rule to a standstill with the sheer ferocity of their pen and a section of the press which waged a hit and run warfare against military despotism, the current global crisis of journalism has left the typical Nigerian journalist with no appetite for heroism or visionary grandstanding.

    The impact of this crisis on the Nigerian print media can therefore be better imagined. Ravaged by dwindling sales, seemingly hostile new technology, poor public perception, miserable remuneration, low self-esteem, opinion-rigging and the commodification of news dissemination, the contemporary Nigerian print media is in dire straits indeed.

    The newsmagazine segment appears to be worst hit. At the moment, there is no truly national weekly newsmagazine worthy of the name in circulation in Nigeria. The great magazines of the mid-seventies up till the late eighties, Newbreed, The Week, Newswatch, African Concord and African Guardian which contributed immensely to the cultural and intellectual renaissance briefly enjoyed by the nation have gone into oblivion. The News has become a monthly while Tell periodically surfaces in the newspaper stand.

    The only exception is Africa Today owned by the veteran journalist, Kayode Soyinka, which is packaged and published from London and has shown unusual resilience and a remarkable capacity to adapt to changing circumstances. Perhaps it should also be mentioned that an online version of The News operates fitfully and is hobbled by adverse circumstances.

    With their capacity to break and develop news suborned by the advent of social media, the magazines lost the prime source of vitality and relevance. For a moment, they relied on a cast of pundits and informed commentators to see them through, but the rise of bloggers and ersatz columnists operating from the safety of the internet and without any claim to objectivity and fidelity to the truth seem to have scuppered their claim to distinction.

    Since nature abhors a vacuum, everybody with access to a laptop and the internet has become a columnist. Bloggers thrive where angels fear to tread and the democratization of journalism has opened the door to a brave new world of Kamikaze commentators operating like jungle snipers. The web, with its dense and impenetrable cyber-foliage, lurks with journalistic assassins, equal opportunity terminators and blackmailers tormenting their victims at will.

    Yet it has not always been like this. At the height of its glory in the mid-seventies, the Sunday Times of Nigeria sold half a million copies. In the early nineties, the special interest Weekend Concord edited by the duo of Mike Awoyinfa and Dimgba Igwe hovered around the same figures. Today, the two papers have been rested and the combined daily sales of newspapers in the country cannot approach the two hundred thousand bench mark.

    With the worsening exchange rate of the naira as a result of corruption, mismanagement and disastrous economic policies, the cost of newspaper production has become prohibitive. It should be recalled that between the mid-seventies and the early nineties when the Nigerian print media was at the zenith of its glory, the naira competed favourably with other currencies. But disastrous economic policies of succeeding regimes opened the gate to Armageddon.

    As a result, there is no single functioning paper mill in the country at the moment and all the critical components of news production have to be imported. The once vibrant newsprint mills of Iwopin and Oku Iboku have been allowed to collapse as a result of government neglect and penchant for misplaced priorities.

    But far more ominous for the newspaper industry in Nigeria and the Third World was the recent decision of the Chinese authorities to ban importation of newsprint grade of pulp while virtually shutting down all their newsprint plants. Consequently, China now forages for her huge consumption of newsprint in the global market like everyone else.

    While this is a hardnosed strategic drive to protect her economy, the impact on the newsprint market has been catastrophic, driving the price of high grade newsprint to $940/MT in a matter of days.  Because of an already depressed industry, newspaper proprietors may be reluctant to pass on the cost to the consumers immediately. But needless to add that in the long run, somebody will have to pay for this steep rise in production cost.

    Nigeria’s new generation of billionaire publishers are unlikely to pick the tab for long even if consideration for political survival compels them to do so for now. They have shown that they are not in this business for charity purpose. Indeed it can be argued that the rise of billionaire publishers, or what can be called the Nigerian equivalent of Russian oligarchs, has not stemmed the tide of steady decline of the print media in Nigeria.

    One reason for this is the fact that publishing oligarchs are not the same thing as the old press barons; the one is into publishing often as a result of political calculations and economic self-protection while the other was there with a genuine passion to grow the industry irrespective of immediate impact on fortunes.

    But such are the imponderable complexities of human history that the ultimate social spin-off of a particular political project may be at variance from the base political motivation of its initiator. While not reversing the fortunes of the Nigeria press, the advent of oligarchs has helped the Nigerian press to stave off certain death by injecting new titles into the system.

    In a sense, then, the rise of billionaire publishers throws an interesting searchlight on Nigerian’s economic and political trajectory as well as the evolutionary pattern of press ownership and consumption.

    In the mid-seventies, the Chairman of the Times publishing group, Alhaji Babatunde Jose, had stoutly resisted the attempts by his bosom friend, the billionaire magnate, Henry Fajemirokun, to take over the company on the grounds that it was too politically risky to vest the controlling power of such a powerful institution in an individual (Jose, 1987; Fajemirokun 2018).

    But shortly after the military coup of 1975, the federal authorities, acting through the then Chief of Staff, Supreme Headquarters, General Olusegun Obasanjo, compulsorily acquired majority shares in the Times’ publishing group.  However after almost three decades, the federal government, under President Obasanjo, sold off the business as a virtual scrap to a shadowy group of ruthless asset strippers. The same fate was later to overtake the iconic Newswatch magazine.

    By the time it was sold, the once vibrant and dynamic Times newspaper group had become a poor shadow of its former self, hobbled by internal mismanagement as well as by fierce competition from emergent, independently owned newspapers which gave it a run for its money.

    A decade and a half after this historic climb down by the federal authorities, the Daily Times publishes fitfully and without any pretence whatsoever to regularity of appearance until recently. This is in sharp contrast with family-owned newspaper outfits such as the Ibadan-based Tribune titles which have been in continuous existence since 1949; The Lagos-based Punch since 1979; The Guardian since 1983; The Vanguard since 1985.

    It should be stated by way of further exploring the dynamics of newspaper ownership in post-colonial Nigeria that of all the newspapers mentioned, only the Tribune titles started out with an explicitly political and cultural mission. The publisher of the Concord group did not survive his detour into politics while the founding publisher of The Guardian barely survived an assassination attempt after he decided to opt out of a brief excursion into politics.

     

    What is to be done?

    So, where do we go from here? There is no point in crying over spilled milk. The external factors militating against the sustainability and continued viability of the print media in Nigeria cannot be redressed by internal rectification alone. Until purchasing parity is restored to the vaporized middle classes and lower class wannabes, reader consumption will continue to nosedive.

    For example, due to the great Welfarist project embarked upon by western countries after the Second World War which was fallout of the America-inspired Marshall Plan, it is not unusual to happen upon a subway tramp on a cold morning in London clutching a copy of his favourite daily tabloid. In contemporary Nigeria, it would amount to an impossible anomaly to find a paid worker holding a copy of a current newspaper.

    The worsening decline in the purchasing power of the average Nigerian over the decades has led to deadening of the demand stimuli in the newspaper industry. Whereas in the sixties leading up to the early seventies the average middle class family could afford its choice foreign magazine either through direct purchase or drastically subsidized subscription, that market has practically evaporated.

    For their daily fare of news, many people simply tune in to radio stations and television programmes or troop to the open readership of what is known as the “ Peoples’ Parliament”, a typically Nigerian euphemism for free consumption of information at the newsstand. In the process, the solitary communion mandatory for proper digest of issues is lost.

    The net result of all this  has been a massive de-education of the populace, a critical shortfall in social consciousness and a drastic decline in civil enlightenment which bode ill for the democratic project as well as public awareness. In any society where this happens, there is a steady regression into the Hobbesian state of nature which induces Stone Age pathologies such we are witnessing on a daily basis.

    While many of our media analysts are focused on the phenomenon of a “captured press”, it has not occurred to them, going by the preceding analysis, that this might be a mere symptom of a more devastating ailment. In a captured society, the press itself cannot escape captivity.

    The virtual disappearance of the once vibrant Nigeria middle class is the major factor aiding the virtual collapse of the Nigerian newspaper industry. While internal disequilibrium can be rectified, external ailments require massive social re-engineering through purposeful governance. This is beyond the scope of this survey.

    In any sane society, the middle class remains the great stabilising buffer between the very rich and the very poor, the stabilising rock of social values; the realm of possible and tempering dreams of redemption. When successful societies talk of inclusive growth, it is not about producing a few rogue billionaires but massive social engineering which lifts as many as possible from the hellhole of abysmal poverty and immiseration to the safety net of middle class existence.

    Where the middle class disappears as a result of malign governance, the press itself begins to resemble the malign state it is supposed to capture and interrogate: reeking of corruption, impunity and malfeasance of the highest order. As it has been noted, in such circumstances, the Fourth Estate of the realm becomes the Fourth Realm of the estate. (Williams, 2011)

     

    Toward a paradigm shift

    From the preceding analysis, one can conclude that in order to stave off death and possible extinction, there is an urgent need to deepen and expand the revenue base of the Nigerian print media. There is no need to reinvent the wheel where it already exists. Some of the measures proposed here are already being put into practice both within and outside the country. What remains is to refine and finesse them to suit local circumstances.

    The print media need to enhance their revenue base through multiple sources of income. This often requires thinking out of the box or wading into unfamiliar and unconventional territory. Print media can diversify into real estate or invest in blue chips companies in times of buoyancy. This allows profits from other sectors to be parlayed and leveraged to ailing and underperforming sectors.

    At the height of its glory, the property portfolio of the Times Group was enough to sustain the newspaper industry in the entire country. The future newspaper conglomerate will boast of an estate section, a commodities trade department, probably a food chain and a full blown, semi-independent IT segment which is capable of breaking new grounds in news dissemination.

    As painful as this may sound, the newspaper industry is not a charity organization. Deadwood and surplus staff must be weeded out in order to enhance remuneration. But to minimize the impact, those amenable to dynamic multi-tasking can be retrained and retooled before deployment to areas of critical shortage.

    As the case is at the moment, there are simply too many redundant staff loitering about in newspaper houses.  A sizable number of them are simply beyond redeployment. When this is not the case, experience has shown that ghost workers and deliberate inflation of the wage bill abound.

    This is a case of double jeopardy in which failure of IT and modern technology reinforces failure in other departments. A simple modular software programming would have captured current staff and greatly reduced the possibility of wage bill inflation.  Once everybody knows that this ruthless technology is in place, it serves as a deterrent and disincentive to the criminal-minded.

    Special events and photo-ups must be paid for upfront, so must reportage of weddings, funerals and vanity adverts particularly by politicians. The tendency has been for state governments to rush in adverts at the last moment in order to renege on payment schedule. In a climate of political volatility in which succeeding administrations find it difficult to honour the obligation of previous administrations even where they belong to the same party, this subsequently becomes a bad debt.

    The current fitful and half-hearted online presence of most Nigerian newspapers must be jettisoned for a more hands-on and enterprising approach. Whether we admire the internet or not, it has come to stay with us, and there is nothing anybody can do about that. The online staff of our newspapers needs to be boosted.

    Breaking news must be immediately displayed online in order to boost traffic which is imperative for internet circulation. Partnership with Google, Facebook etc must be encouraged and sustained in order to boost foreign currency earning which has become critical to sustained viability and even survival.

    Necessity is often said to be the mother of invention. In a feat of visionary and proactive thinking, some Nigerian newspapers have cottoned on to special publications within publications which cater for special interests. In this respect, The Nation’s sporting newsletter has become a runaway success boosting the circulation figures of the daily in a tremendous manner.

    So has the Style pull-out of This Day and its legal forum. These now need to be deepened and broadened to include subjects like Culture, Literature, Automobile, Boxing, Fashion, Travels, Betting etc. The prospects of overseas grants to newspapers in developing countries must also be explored. But this should not be expected without some conditionality attached. In all likelihood, success will depend on the international perception of the newspaper as a bastion of democracy and development.

    Finally, whether we like the opinions or not, whether we disagree with their informed commentary or agree with it, punditry still matters a lot when it comes to the fate of newspapers. Star columnists must be cultivated and well remunerated. The newspaper has been famously described as the nation talking to itself.

    A lot of this national dialogue is refracted and redacted as the case may be through the opinions of star writers. In developed nations, it is not unusual to find a single columnist being better paid than the editor of the paper. This is even more critical in developing countries where weak institutions confer on leading commentators the status of secular sages and magi. To this end, international syndication and consumption of great articles, features and columns must be explored.

    If there is any major lesson to be learnt from this survey, it is that in developing countries, state ownership of newspaper titles has been a major social, economic and political disaster. It is a flagrant assault on democracy and separation of power. In almost sixty years of independence, all the state-sponsored newspapers in Nigeria have died an inglorious death. It is another avenue for waste, mismanagement of resources and corruption. This is not the way to go.  With the needed reforms in place, the print industry in Nigeria will bounce back.

     

    ©Tacitus, 2018.

     

     

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  • When is a party?

    Party dissonance in post-military Nigeria

    We must thank the almighty for his mercies. In a question of weeks when this eventful year takes its final leave and 2019 shows its inscrutable face, Nigeria would have had twenty years of uninterrupted civil rule. This is some cause for some national celebration. It is quite a record in the history of post-independence Nigeria. It has not always been a smooth sail.

    There have been some monstrous icebergs on the route, enough to sink the Titanic itself. But the nation’s legendary luck has prevailed even in the scariest of circumstances. There is cause for some cautious optimism. After all, it has been famously observed that democracy is not a destination, but a process; a journey riddled with banana peels.

    Yet despite the deserved celebration, even the most cautious optimist must concede that party formation in Nigeria remains a tricky and problematic issue. The saying abroad is that the black person simply does not do political parties. In most of Africa, stable and organic parties remain a rarity, with the possible exception of the ANC which was founded in 1912 as a protest movement against the apartheid system, and which did not come to power until the nineties.

    A hood does not make a monk. It is now obvious that the South African miracle —if it is indeed a miracle and not a reward for discipline and hard work— is proving hard to replicate elsewhere in Africa, particularly in post-military Nigeria. Parties proliferate and die quickly, like everything else in the tropics. Such is the alarming rate of infant mortality that the sick babies of opportunism do not even get the chance to be properly named before they are interred in shallow graves.

    Those who believe that these things do not greatly affect the nation and that it does not matter what you call a dog as long as it brings home rabbits are in for a great shocker. Party proliferation is a symptom of a political elite fundamentally at war with itself and the nation. This war of all against all has already cost the nation the possibility of a virile, vibrant and visionary Third Force with the potential of shattering the deadlock of what is essentially a one-party system in disguise.

    It has forced our ambitious but politically inept youngsters to a political cul de sac, just as it has compelled the old political gamers to return to their vomit.  Any talk about political liberation or a programme of accelerated economic development of the nation outside of the current framework is dead on arrival.

    For the time being, nothing will happen, or can happen, outside of the old framework bequeathed by the departing military patriarchs. We are back to the old hegemonic party formation and any report about the death of the old order is based on exaggerated but futile ill-will.

    In the circumstances, any talk about taking Nigeria to the next level, within the context of weak party formations and a clear absence of a coherent and comprehensive ideology of national development is an assault on logic and common sense. Nigeria can only be taken to the next level when we refine and redefine the current party structure and when full electoral sovereignty is returned to the electorate.

    In the thick fog of national disorientation, let us acknowledge the presence of an old institutional bug bear lurking in the shadows. Military intervention represents a radical rupture of the political process. Political order is terminated. Legislative procedure is abridged. The judiciary is hobbled and civil society comes under a hammer.

    It is civil and social death by any other name. The struggle to push back an anti-democratic post-military state in all its authoritarian and unitarist excesses cannot be restricted to periodic elections but to the cumulative and collective efforts of the people in their bid for emancipation. Elections merely serve to routinize this arduous and complicated process of national redemption but that is only if and when they reflect the true national will.

    We have come a long way since 1999 and hopefully we have left behind us the brazen rigging and sheer electoral banditry which characterized the first phase of post-military transition. There has been a qualitative improvement in electoral transparency. This is not due to the benevolence and goodwill of the state but the result of human struggle and a battle of will and wits to force the state onto the path of rectitude and restitution.

    When the history of this period is recorded the sagas of the Aregbesolas in Osun, Adams Oshiomholes in Edo, Peter Obis in Anambra , Kayode Fayemis in Ekiti and Segun Mimikos in Ondo will be given pride of place as the defining moments of people’s power aided by patriotic judicial activism. A persecuted judge like Ayo Salami will be accorded his rightful place as a hero of post-military democracy in Nigeria in the fullness of time.

    Yet as it ever so happens in the bitter crucible of politics and the zero-sum game of power in contemporary Nigeria, a democratic victim of yesterday can easily transform into an anti-democratic villain of today. Nothing last for long in the tropics, not even mass adulation. Most of those who have gone down as political scoundrels in contemporary Yoruba political imagination started out as popular heroes of the emancipatory politics of the old Action Group.

    Enoch Powell, the dyspeptic old Tory hell-raiser from the West Midlands and a precocious professor of Classics in an earlier incarnation, put it with brilliant epigrammatic brevity when he noted that all political careers end in failure. When the road bifurcates between the collective aspirations of a people and inordinate personal ambition, the wise person not driven by the dark furies of personal insecurities knows which road to take.

    This is why it is now imperative to strengthen the existing party formation in Nigeria with a view to instilling party discipline and infusing the parties with a transcendental sense of mission for which they will be remembered by posterity rather than mere electoral jobbery. Such was the discipline and sense of mission of the old Action Group that it was willing to lose the 1954 federal elections in the old West until its radical, innovative and emancipatory policies properly kicked in.

    When then is a political party? A political party is usually an association or gathering of like-minded people of the same ideological orientation with a view to capturing state power or modulating its direction and the outcome of national power struggles as the case may be.

    It is the collective ideology based on a broadly similar worldview that unifies the party, fosters group cohesion, solidifies identity and engenders unanimity of action based on a shared vision of the nation.  Without this unanimity of vision based on shared values, the political party becomes an atomized and atomistic collection of warring political warlords.

    Now, it is possible that in a multi-ethnic and multi-religious polity wracked by centrifugal forces and unbridgeable cultural habitus groups with dissimilar ideologies and incompatible worldviews may come together in a party with a view to forging or forcing a national consensus.

    Such a coalition of contraries will have to forge an ideological consensus based on streamlined values  and harmonized ideals if it is not to disintegrate into its particularistic components held loosely together by power and its privileges. It is a tough template to will into existence requiring extraordinary skills of conciliations and cohabitation. Such has been the traumatic fate of the APC ruling party.

    On the other hand, it is also possible that in the course of a lifetime, a person’s worldview and political ideology may undergo gradual changes or sharp alteration consequent upon major political developments. If such people belong to a political party based on shared values and ideology, personal honour and integrity ought to compel them to throw in the towel. There must be no equivocation about this.

    President Mohammadu Buhari’s swift countermand of the directive of the Adams Oshiomhole’s led NWC of the APC to aggrieved stakeholders to withdraw all pending legal suits against the party and embrace the process of reconciliation initiated by the feisty former Labour stalwart throws this national quandary into sharp relief. Based on the perception that this violates the fundamental rights of party members to legal succour, Buhari’s heart is surely in the right place.

    But this is ultimately unhelpful and a clear invitation to party anarchy. As we have argued above, a party is either a coherent, organic party or a loose conglomeration of political warlords. Court cases may lead to fearsome complications for the APC. There is absolutely nothing stopping a party stalwart from developing a sudden hostility for the political aspirations and the ideological momentum of his party.

    Once a political party has exhausted all the internal mechanisms for reconciliation and redress, those who still feel aggrieved, rather than being encouraged to seek court justice, should be encouraged to leave the party so as not to become pollutants and contaminants of the common pool.

    This may sound harsh and unforgiving. But we are either going to have authentic political parties or we are not.  The deleterious effects of patch-patch parties and politics on the nation’s political transformation and economic developments are here for everyone to see. It is the habit of treating a grave political development with kids’ gloves that is responsible for the Saraki tragedy and the subsequent inability of the ruling party to make a major dent on the nation’s problems for three and a half years.

    In the First and Second Republics, neither the Action Group nor the UPN could be said to be held down by Awolowo and his top lieutenants. Party decisions often went against their personal wishes and innermost desires. But they took it all in the chin. This was the subsisting culture in the First Republic until the divergence between the Republican ethos and the royalist tendencies uneasily cohabiting in the Action Group became unwieldy and unmanageable within the framework of a single party.

    For example, it is a well-documented fact that Chief Samuel Ladoke Akintola was not Chief Awolowo’s first choice to succeed him as premier of the old Western region. But he was swiftly reversed by party grandees and oligarchs. In the Second Republic, Awolowo saw his personal preference first for Canon Emmanuel Alayande in old Oyo State and later for Josiah Olawoyin in Kwara State briskly overwhelmed by popular revolt. Despite defeat and apparent humiliation, not one of these sterling personages saw it fit to abandon their party.

    The havoc that military intervention has caused to party formations and party consciousness in Nigeria is obvious enough. But twenty years after their departure, we cannot continue to blame the military for our political woes. The question whether the Black person does political parties will be answered in Nigeria and its Fourth Republic in the coming months. As the dominant party, the onus is on the APC to show the way.

     

  • Werewere and wonranwonran land Okon in police cell

    To the Pemberton police station off Ilubirin jetty where Okon is being held on the double-barrelled suspicion of ritual killing and trading in human flesh. Mad men often see farther than most men. It was not long ago when a distraught lunatic known as Clifford was caught under a bridge cooking human flesh for dinner. His infamous retort was that since everybody was eating everybody, he could not fathom what he had done wrong.

    Since then, ritual killing and trading in human parts have become part of the nation’s grisly folklore. More famously, Field Marshal Idi Amin Dada, the rogue former cannibal ruler of Uganda, had been known to observe that the only difference between human flesh and venison was that human flesh is saltier. Something new always comes out of Africa indeed.

    Despite his bluff and bluster and occasional lunacy, it would be a bit of a stretch to imagine a punitively carnivorous yokel like Okon taking a dig at human flesh.  Apparently the mad boy had gone for a tryst in a local hovel with a well-endowed woman of easy virtues. Unknown to Okon, the lady was an ancient hag wearing a wig, false eyelashes and false teeth to the bargain.

    So incensed was Okon when he discovered this racket that he decided to teach the woman a lesson by making away with her enabling falsetties in the dead of the night after she had fallen asleep. But he ran out of luck when he was accosted by a police patrol team. According to the mad boy: “Dem police jump out. Naim man come pick race, Naim dem tackle man. Naim dem woman head and him teeth come scatter for ground. Naim dem police beat man sotey and dem say I be Badoo boy from Ikorodu. But Okon na common cook. Naim dem come throw man inside dem police cell”.

    At the Pemberton Station that morning, Baba Lekki was already valiantly on his feet running rings around the duty officers with his legal barbs and witty innuendoes.

    “What is the difference between a wigless body and a body less wig?” the old contrarian demanded. The desk sergeant was taken aback by the old man’s temerity.

    “Baba, dem difference na your yam head. When I put you in the cell with Yanga, you go sabi dem difference,” the crazed scoundrel replied with a menacing scowl.

    “Officer, I put it to you that you are a blockhead”, Baba Lekki pressed. The desk sergeant completely lost his cool and patience.

    “Foolish old man. Na your papa be blokos head, I will charge you with speaking battery of a police officer on legal duty bordering on arson and artillery”, the desk sergeant screamed. At this point, the intelligent-looking duty corporal waded in.

    “Baba, se you be mad man impersonating lawyer or you be lawyer impersonating mad man?” he demanded from Baba Lekki. The old man ignored him.

    “Na dat one dem Fela man dey call impersonate come impersonate impersonation”, a detainee whimpered from one of the cells.

    “Corporal, prepare Cell four and charge this useless old man with double impersonation,” the desk sergeant railed.

    “Oga, Cell Four na ready ready cell. Yanga no dey carry last. Him beat dem Okon man dis morning and shit dey all over dem floor”, the wolfish corporal noted and saluted briskly.

    “Not on your life. I demand Habeas Corpus for the detained”, the old man screamed.

    “Wereee!! habibu kupus ko, sunkunmus suranmus ni ,” the mad sergeant snorted with savage  relish. It was at this point that a superior officer in mufti who had been watching the drama with keen interest briskly walked to the desk and ordered that Okon be released forthwith.

  • A great scientist at eighty

    To the magnificent and exquisitely upholstered Radisson Blu Hotel on Isaac John Street, Ikeja penultimate Saturday for the eightieth birthday ceremony of Professor Francis Joshua Abiodun Oluwole, aka Aladura.  Not a particularly religious fellow, the nickname is as confounding as the man himself. The first impression is of a moody irascibility which does not suffer fools gladly. But this is an armour against inanities.

    Once you get to know him, Oluwole is as humble and as humorous as they come. In keeping with the tradition of this column of looking out for worthy and exceptional Nigerians whose story can serve as a beacon of hope and trope of inspiration for coming generations, we bring you this morning the life and times of a great scientist and a great individual.

    Among geniuses, there are more fabulous geniuses and among legends, there are more remarkable legends. The Oluwole family of Ijare Ekiti has already passed into legend. It is a known fact that the Ekiti people took to western education with a fierceness and zeal bordering on the fanatical. The result is there for all to see. It is the greatest local pool of self-educated titans that the country has seen. Almost every household in Ekiti can boast of a professor.

    But even in this stellar galaxy the Oluwole family stands out, having produced five professors in a generation, two of which ended up plying their trade in world famous institutions: Berkeley and Columbia respectively. Yet they have all kept away from the klieg-light and the vapid garrulity that often accompany fake distinction in Nigeria.

    What makes this family saga of unrelenting scholarship even more remarkable is the fact that the founding paterfamilias was an unlettered rustic farmer. But Oluwole the elder knew his onions. He might not have gone to school. But he had other things going for him. He was a man of phenomenal physical strength and energy, often rising before dawn to clear a whole farm before planting the seedlings.

    This feat of bearish strength and exceptional industry was to earn the older Oluwole a memorable nickname. Allied to this was his remarkable integrity and personal honesty which made it possible for him to run a whole council with diligence and distinction. With the blessing of retrospective insight, it would seem that the founding father was an original visionary who stuck to his views no matter whose ox is gored. This seemed to have resonated well with his peers and contemporaries in Ijare who treated him with wary respect and reverence.

    When these sterling genes found expression in another field of human endeavour through his offspring, they triggered a remarkable explosion of excellent scholarship. As the oldest child, the mantle of leadership fell on the young Francis Abiodun to continue where his father signed off. After his higher school education, the future professor assumed full responsibility for the training of his younger siblings. Despite the rumbling background of pulsating polygamy, this is a story of nobility and selflessness.

    This was the remarkable man people came from all walks of life to celebrate this beautiful Saturday afternoon. But it was not an occasion for social lunchers and political wannabes. Going by Oluwole’s evident distaste and disdain for social climbing and unscrupulous political gaming, it was obvious that the guest list had been scrupulously vetted and stringently scrutinized. Oluwole was once known to have politely declined the offer of a choice plot of land at Victoria Island by General Yakabu Gowon in token appreciation of his services to his fatherland during the civil war.

    Give me a place to stand, and I would move the world, goes a famous saying. Oluwole as a young and precocious primary school pupil announced his intention to move the world quite early. As a primary five pupil in his local school at Ijare, Oluwole wrote a letter to the principals of the leading secondary schools in the old Western Nigeria asking them to furnish him with details of admission procedures for their schools since he intended to arrive at one of them to study very shortly.

    For a boy barely nine years old, this was a daring and extraordinary thing to do. Genius does not recognize human obstacles, only the unlimited possibilities of human aspirations. Even at a young age, the rural lad was already encumbered by the burdens of destiny. In the event, only Canon Mason of Christ School, Ado Ekiti bothered to respond.

    This was to engender another round of mythmaking about the exceptional endowments and mystical powers of the young boy with the rural folks of Ijare whispering about in awe and trepidation that the white man had written to Aladura. The young man took it all in his stride probably wondering why a mere exchange of letters should be a subject of such agrarian ululations.

    One person who was not greatly amused by the development was Oluwole’s primary school headmaster. Greatly pleased by the local fame of his gifted ward, he was nonetheless mildly nonplussed by the temerity. He had summoned the boy to his office to unfold the strategic route he had mapped out that would see him emerge as a pupil of Government College, Ibadan the following year. But that was on the condition that he completed his primary education.

    But the rural prodigy was having none of that. Unknown to his headmaster, the young lad had already sat for the entrance examination to the star secondary school in the area and had been offered admission. And so with the support of his father, the young Oluwole headed for Aquinas College, Akure without having completed his primary school education.

    Fate and his father’s declining fortunes immediately played a cruel card. As a result of his inability to pay his school fees on time, Oluwole was persistently sent home for long stretches. When his father came up with the fees, a mysterious bout with malaria intervened, hobbling the young lad for even longer stretches. At that point, it seemed the precocious chap already had a great future behind him and it was generally agreed that between them, either poverty or persistent illness was going to end a promising career.

    In an act of exemplary nobility, his classmates wrote all his class notes for him making sure that he didn’t miss anything. According to his classmate and bosom friend of seventy years, Professor Sylvester Adegoke, Oluwole’s classmates not only made sure that that he didn’t miss anything, they were also willing to share their food and provisions with him.

    As speaker after speaker rose to give their testimony, it was clear that we were dealing with a man of extraordinary brilliance, unusual humility, uncommon determination, utter selflessness and compulsive generosity. But it was Sylvester Adegoke’s moving tribute to his beloved friend that stood out for its matchless grace, its generosity of spirit, its utter devotion to sublime friendship and for the light it throws back on a golden generation of talented Nigerians.

    Adegoke himself would go on to become one of the nation’s leading geologists and a stellar exemplar of the entrepreneurial egghead. It was said that the great battle of Waterloo was won and lost at Eton College, the Duke of Wellington’s alma mater. It was clear that afternoon what transformative role a great and innovative secondary school can play in the subsequent life of its pupils.

    The two friends met at Aquinas College. As usual with many youngsters, they began to bond after a physical confrontation ended in a cliffhanging stalemate. Being taller, older and bigger, Adegoke thought he could give the agrarian urchin the trashing of his life. But the young Ijare native fought off his assailant with the determination and ferocity of a warrior ant forcing Adegoke back to his corner. The older boy developed a healthy respect for his younger classmate.

    Thereafter, a lifelong friendship began which has been further cemented by marriage between the two families. Part of the pleasant fallout of this union of soul mates was a reversal of the normal order. The parents also became friends visiting each other several times and trading off the values of Ondo cosmopolitanism with the redoubtable ethos of pristine Ekiti. When the duo started receiving salary after their higher school education, they resolved to keep only two pounds for their monthly upkeep and to send the remaining to their parents.

    On the academic front, healthy rivalry brought out the best in the two friends. According to Adegoke, he had led the class until the third year when the Ijare prodigy came from nowhere to rout everybody. Thereafter, Oluwole was simply unstoppable, smashing record after record until there was no record to smash. The loneliness of the long distance runner had kicked in.

    According to Adegoke, after a stellar performance in the School Certificate examination which resonated and resounded through the ravines and gorges of the old Akure Province, the Ijare youngster pulled out another joker from the hat of genius. While his friends were opting for local universities, Oluwole began mentioning a strange word: Berkeley. Nobody in that provincial set-up had heard the name before. But genius does what it must.

    And so it happened. While his colleagues settled for local universities, Oluwole headed for Berkeley University with its star-studded, Nobel laureate-suffused laboratories in faraway California. But once again, fate intervened to bring the two friends together. By the time Adegoke finished his first degree in flying colours, —Zoology specializing in Botany—Oluwole had already established himself as a prodigious researcher of exceptional promise in Berkeley.

    A chance remark by Adegoke of interest in research in plant sedimentation brought out the best and most proactive in his friend. There was a great department of Paleontology at Berkeley. Pronto, the forms and documentations duly arrived. Before anybody knew what was going on, Adegoke had headed for the graduate programme at Berkeley.

    Some years after his graduate programme, Adegoke, now a young and precocious professor of Geology at the old University of Ife, was instrumental to bringing his friend back to Nigeria. The then Vice Chancellor, the visionary Hezekiah Oluwasanmi, made it a habit of touring all the great centres of learning in the world to source for outstanding Nigerian talents to bring back home. The result was a university whose star-studded departments could rival the global centres of excellence.

    But nothing lasts for long in the hot and sultry tropics. In retrospect, it can be said that Oluwole’s spell at Ife was a sad and sorry anti-climax.  Politics, malevolent envy and sub-ethnic infighting set in with their septic claws infecting everything in sight. Despite his best and bravest efforts, the great laboratory he had hoped to establish never quite materialized.

    The great talents he had hoped to mentor and nurture became victims of the larger societal rot as well as a military-inspired intellectual mfekane. By the time Oluwole threw in the towel in 2001, seventeen years ago at the age of sixty three, he must have been a sad, exhausted and disappointed fellow indeed. It is not inconceivable that some of his former colleagues are still plying their trade at Berkeley.

    But Francis Abiodun Oluwole is not alone in this savage abridgement of hope and expectations. Nigeria is a demented hen which sucks the best of its eggs. The only consolation is that when the story of Nigeria’s brief intellectual renaissance is written, the Ijare-born prodigy will be remembered as one of its leading lights and exemplary luminaries. Here is wishing the great professor many happy returns.