The Nation Newspaper

Tag: Conversation

  • My last conversation with Mama HID Awolowo

    My first encounter with Mama Hannah Idowu Dideolu Awolowo was on November 5, 1983 after the presidential election, which Papa Obafemi Awolowo contested and was rigged out.

    Mama had accompanied her husband, the symbol of progressive politics in Nigeria, on a visit to the Nigerian Tribune’s new office complex at Imalefalafia Street, Oke Ado in Ibadan. The Tribune office had just moved from Yemetu Adeoyo area to the new site. It was an historic visit which, according to the then Administrative Manager of Tribune, the late Mr. Olumuyiwa, was Papa’s second visit since he founded the newspaper in 1949.

    Before that event, I had had close contacts with the sage in my assignment as the Tribune reporter who covered his presidential electioneering campaigns in 1979 and 1983, which he contested on the platform of the Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN). I traversed the length and breadth of Nigeria with him during those memorable periods. It was fun all through, being embedded in the campaign train of the greatest progressive party ever to emerge in the political history of Nigeria.

    In the new Tribune office complex, Papa Awo, flanked by Mama, moved from one office to the other as they inspected the facilities so far installed. The inspection tour of the complex was about to end when Papa suddenly sighted me and called out my surname. Mama’s attention focused on me immediately and I could see a look of surprise on her.

    “So you are Folu Olamiti, “Omo Baba” (Papa’s god son), she interjected. For me, it was an encounter of a lifetime, more so as Mama from that time developed a special interest in me. From then on, I must pay courtesies to Mama specially each time I went to Ikenne for one assignment or the other and enjoyed her warm hospitality. Indeed, the passing away of the sage in 1987 made the bond between Mama and I grow stronger. Mama drew me closer each time, leaving me with a strong determination to be absolutely loyal to Tribune just as I increasingly became a caucus member of the Awolowo family.

    The situation remained so till July 3, 2015 when Mama entreated me to visit her in Ikenne. For me, the visit was divinely inspired. This was because a week earlier, I had a dream and saw Mama spotting a sparkling white apparel and looking every bit resplendent as she ushered me into the larger family sitting room. As I settled down for our usual mother and son discussions with eagerness to tap more from her wisdom, I woke up.

    After the dream, I put a call to Mama and her secretary picked and handed over the receiver to her. I felt her usual strong and clear voice immediately. She was excited to hear from me and we fixed the appointment for 2.00 pm.

    Mama was ready and waiting for me. She looked splendid in a native dress. Typical of her, she was seated waiting while I was 15 minutes behind schedule. The guilt of arriving late for the meeting hit me as I sighted in her favourite corner of the spacious sitting room. Then I thought about the impressive ways she usually arranged her time and schedules. She was ever smart and mentally alert. You could hardly fault Mama on any plan she drew for engagements with people or groups. Even in her old age, she usually worked round the clock.

    I had had the privilege of paying several visits to Mama, yet my last visit was touching and memorable. She beckoned on me to move closer. Almost immediately she intoned; “Folu, I have aged. My legs are weak. They can no longer support my body. My hearing is impaired and my eyes are also fading.” I interjected quickly and said, “Mama there is nothing to worry about. Your complaints are traits of old age.”

    I assured her that age notwithstanding, her elements; most especially her mental alertness was still intact. I prayed with her and expressed conviction that she would live to clock 100 years while the world would love to celebrate that rare grace. Mama seemed not to follow the track as she kept a low tone in response. Then she broke into silence as if to communicate some doubt and premonition on what was to come.

    Mama dosed off for a few seconds and became awake only to shift her thoughts to Tribune. She expressed joy on the rising and flourishing status of the Tribune titles. She was full of hope that the management would be able to keep the flag flying for long.

    She said: “I am indeed happy with the resounding progress the Tribune titles have attained. It gladdens my heart and lifts my soul. I hear that the paper is one of the best in the country today. A few weeks ago, I travelled to Ibadan to formally commission the multimillion Naira printing machine they just bought. Though I was feeble, I was wheeled into the Production Room and I laid my hands on the machine to bless it for effective performance. I prayed for the entire members of staff and those who had contributed one way or the other to the success story. I assure you Folu that even when I cross over to the next world God will continue to grant my heart desire to keep Tribune going stronger and stronger.”

    From her countenance, one could see that the concluding part of that statement was more than just a wish. It was a fervent prayer to God to preserve and sustain Tribune long beyond her time.

    On Monday 16 November 2015, Mama symbolically made her last appearance at the Tribune House in Ibadan. It was also the 66th anniversary of Nigerian Tribune – the oldest surviving newspaper in Nigeria – a newspaper long ago nicknamed by Papa as ‘Apamaku’ (never say die newspaper). Mama’s lifeless body laid there as hundreds of both Tribune staff and other well wishers bid her farewell in the premises of a newspaper she toiled and laboured to nurture to greater height.

    It goes without saying that the best honour those Mama left behind in Tribune can give her is to continue to work harder and ensure to keep the company’s flag flying and NOTHING should be allowed to truncate this lofty legacy of the Awolowos.

    Having watched and interacted with Mama for decades, I can conclude that she was a woman of clean heart. She found it difficult to hold malice against anyone. She abhorred indolence, hypocrisy and liars. She was a symbol of purity, as she always ensured that her surroundings remained clean and spotless. I never witnessed any occasion where she raised her voice against anyone even in anger when provoked. If she felt she was right on an issue, she stuck firmly to that position. And if she wanted something done she would press till it was done.

    Her strong point was her ability to sustain the political dynasty of Chief Awolowo. That accounted for the reason Awo’s residence in Ikenne remained a Mecca before and after his exit.

     

    • By Folu Olamiti, Abuja.

     

  • Conversation with Herbert Macaulay

    Conversation with Herbert Macaulay

    It is October 1st, Nigeria’s independence anniversary. Winter is fast approaching in Washington. It is unseasonably cold, and as dawn retreated for daylight, you could smell the sharp and biting Arctic air as if one is trapped in a giant refrigerated tent. Like a practiced flaneur, the celebrated hangabout, snooper has slipped out of his hotel room and is already on Thomas Circle.

    Very soon afterwards, you arrive at Massachusetts Avenue. The name itself evokes power and glory; it exudes historic distinction and the very essence of American greatness.  You remember the Boston Tea party and the beginning of the end for Imperial Britain. Empires always begin to unravel at the very moment of their maximum power. You remember the great learning institutions of Massachusetts. That is the intellectual engine room of American supremacy. Armies of ideas clash relentlessly, transforming America and changing the world in the process. You remember the dashing and dazzling Kennedys and their Hyannis Port. And you remember and wish Barack Obama well.

    There is nothing more exciting and exhilarating than taking an early morning walk in a historic and powerful metropolis. The power and magic of the great city draw and tantalize you. You are lost in the anonymity of the surging crowd. But somehow you manage to retain your distinct and discrete identity. As you watch, you are also aware of being watched. As you gape and gawp at the modern pyramids, you marvel at the infinite fecundity of the human imagination. You may not appreciate the arrogance and boorishness of many Americans, but this is the summit of human advancement for now, and there is nothing anybody can do about that.

    Snooper is a notorious walkabout. Twice in this incarnation, he had been accosted on suspicion of wandering with intent. But ambling about in post 9/11 America in the early hours of the morning has its particular perils. And not when you are very close to the White House, the greatest power complex on earth for now. As the polite and courteous Indian-born driver taking you to your hotel from the airport darkly hinted, there are at least twenty five different undercover agencies operating in the Washington area. Walking is not a crime, but you must mind your body language. The possibilities are quite dreadful and spine-chilling. What if one is suddenly pulled over as a suspected disciple of Ibn Khaldun, the great fourteenth century Egyptian historian, philosopher and cultural theorist? Fear chills the spine. Even as one knocks this out on the computer, you have a feeling that something might trigger off the alarm bell.

    But back to Massachusetts Avenue, the fear of being pulled over forces snooper to affect an elegant royal carriage; a Black Edwardian dandy in the manner of the political Liberator and uber-nationalist , Herbert Samuel Heelas Macaulay. True to its name, Massachusetts Avenue is indeed suffused with power and glory. The Avenue houses so many foundations, the power-houses of American restless regeneration. It is only in America that you can have so many foundations, a glorious tribute to the redemptive and restorative power of ruthless capitalism. Money-making can be stretched beyond the limits of logic and human possibilities just to prove a point. But that is where it ends. Sam Walton, the owner of the Walmart chain, was still driving his old banger while making his astronomical sums. And what about Bill and Melinda Gates who are models of rectitude and restraint despite their outlandish wealth?

    You walk rapidly pass the John Hopkins University school of Advanced International Studies and the Brookings Institute. Massachusetts Avenue is truly living up to its billing. You are truly in the precincts of some of the major totems of America’s cultural imperialism. The wintry cold begins to bite harder. Against one’s better judgment, one had departed Nigeria without adequate preparations for this mugging weather. Now, one is being gradually mauled into a state of disorientation by the freezing atmosphere. You remember once again that back in Nigeria, it is Independence Day. In anger, you curse the memory of the leaders who have made it impossible for you to spend the day at home in Nigeria and in rest and reflection.

    Now, you are passing the Australian embassy and all the pent up demons suddenly erupted. How was it possible for a bunch of no-hopers and scoundrels to create a first-class First World country in a record time while sub-Saharan Africa continues to sink deeper in a historic hellhole? As the cold bites harder and a state of semi-stupor sets in, a dandified and regal-looking man with majestic walrus whiskers suddenly appears to be walking with snooper. He was straight out of Victorian Lagos, and was quite a splendid sight to behold. His diction was English public school with crummy and creamy velvet.

    “It is Independence Day, and how are you people coping?” he asked with stentorian authority.

    “We are not coping at all”, snooper moaned in distress.

    “You must take heart and be bold because nation-building is not a colonial tea party or a one-day wonder”, the old man noted with avuncular pity.

    “Take heart, take heart, that is what they all say, but no heart is made of stone”, snooper noted with a churlish whine.

    “ I understand that….”, the old man began but was rudely and brutishly silenced.

    “Don’t understand. I’m cold and feverish. In any case, one of our leaders once referred to Nigeria as the mistake of 1914. I agree with him”, I mumbled rather disjointedly.

    “Who said that and when?” the old man asked in quiet alarm.

    “Ahmadu Bello in 1953”.

    “Ah, you know I left the scene in 1946. In any case, who is Ahmadu Bello? I handed over to Zik”, the old man noted in regret.

    “Zik lost command and headed for Enugu. Even Awolowo said Nigeria is a mere geographical expression”, I noted.

    “Ah that Ijebu boy again? I knew he was up to no good. I thought he disappeared for good before the good lord recalled me”, the old political wizard croaked with good-natured mischief.

    “He went to London to read law”, I replied.

    “Ah that meant that he found a way round his bankruptcy? All of you must know that it is too late to start complaining about the size of Nigeria. The sacrifices have been too great. Do you know that I died from the pneumonia contacted in Kano?” the great man queried.

    “You left it too late”, I moaned in acute distress.

    What?” the old man asked in disbelief.

    “The handshake across the Niger”.

    “But the white people wouldn’t allow us to interact. You know I fought them to a standstill”, the old man noted with an expansive flourish.

    “May be, they have a point there”, I noted.

    “What point could they have had ?”, the old man wondered aloud.

    “It was not the first time contact with strangers will prove fatal to you and your family”. I observed with an intellectual frown.

    For a long time, the old man eyed the younger man with a mixture of suspicion and wary respect. Then affection and warmth returned to his majestic hooded eyes. “I know what you are talking about, but it doesn’t matter. Out of evil comes great good.  In 1809, the slave raiders from the north sacked the village of Osogun and captured the father of my mother, the great Samuel Ajayi Crowther. They sold them to Portuguese slave traders. But we thank god for small mercies. Without that incident, there would have  been no Bishop Samuel Ajayi Crowther, no Abigail Macaulay, my mother, no CMS Grammar school,  and no Herbert Samuel Heelas Macaulay, my humble self. Tell your compatriots not to despair and that adversity has its sweet rewards”.

    With that the old man vanished into thin air, like the old wizard of Kirsten Hall that he was. I was also beginning to feel warm and comfortable. It was not a question of magic or dramatic recovery. The mundane truth is that we have arrived at our destination on Massachusetts Avenue in Washington and the place is warm and cosy. A different kind of fireworks was already in the works that morning.

     

    (First published October, 3rd 2009)

  • The model secondary schools of Governor Amaechi: a portentous conversation at Eleme

    The model secondary schools of Governor Amaechi: a portentous conversation at Eleme

    Barely two weeks ago, I was in Port Harcourt for the state banquet that the Rivers State Government held to mark the 80th birthday of Wole Soyinka. The last time that I visited Port Harcourt was about eight years ago and that was a private visit. Long before then, when I was the National President of the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU), I had visited the garden city many, many times. This was because like the University of Benin, the University of Port Harcourt had one of the strongest branches of ASUU. Although this was more than 30 years ago, those visits to Port Harcourt remained very fresh in my mind for the simple reason that we all in ASUU were then on a great mission to rescue tertiary education in our country from the consequences of vastly inadequate funding and coercive control by our military rulers and their civil service henchmen. This is why, from that period on, Port Harcourt has always conjured up in my mind struggles and efforts to make education in our country at par with the best and the most modern national educational systems in the world. This observation leads me directly to the subject of this piece, the widely discussed model secondary schools of Governor Rotimi Chibuike Amaechi.

    Although I knew that I was going to be in Port Harcourt for only two days during this recent visit for the state banquet for Soyinka, before the visit I had specially requested that on one of my two days in the garden city I be taken to see some of these much talked about model secondary and primary schools of Rivers State. Our hosts graciously consented to my request and so on Wednesday, July 30, I was taken to three sites: the Model Secondary School outside Port Harcourt at Eleme on the Port Harcourt-Aba road; a model primary school and a primary health care centre both in the garden city itself. As a matter of fact, the plan had been for me to see about seven different sites but I was so engrossed both by what I saw at Eleme and my conversation with the Principal of the school that we ended up spending such a long time there that I could only be taken to three out of the many sites that I was meant to have been shown on that day.

    Buildings and physical infrastructures do not necessarily make a school a showpiece of great educational achievement or possibility, but they do constitute a minimal condition for teaching of  high quality. The Seventh-Day Adventist Primary School at Oke-Bola, Ibadan that I attended more than half a century ago is not far from my house. Anytime that I walk past the school I experience a great sadness. This is because things have fallen apart for the school in terms of buildings, infrastructures and the physical environment. The buildings are not only the same plastered mud structures in which I was schooled as a child, they are now in worse conditions. Moreover, all the surrounding space has been taken up by residential buildings and commercial enterprises such that the school playing ground and “farm” are gone. I state this not just as a matter of personal regret and angst but also as a mark of the great retrogression that has overtaken many of the primary and secondary schools of the city of Ibadan, the most dramatic of all being what now remains of the prestigious Government College, Ibadan, of old. And of course, this pattern is broadly true for many other parts of the country.

    The Eleme Model Secondary School amazed, even dazzled me by the quality of the buildings and infrastructures. [And by the way, so did the model primary school that I visited in Port Harcourt]. The schoolrooms, the libraries, the IT rooms, the science laboratories, the auditorium, the dormitories, the sick bays, and the recreational grounds are models of impressive architectural design and sturdy, durable physical execution. It is no exaggeration to say that in physical infrastructure most of the new private universities in Nigeria, together with many of the older public universities are considerably inferior to what I saw at Eleme.

    Given the fact that each of the 23 local government areas of Rivers State will ultimately have one of these model secondary schools, this is potentially one of the few great, positive legacies that oil wealth would, in the fullness of time, have left for future generations of Rivers State and Nigerian citizens. As I went through the Physics, Chemistry and Biology labs, I marveled at the fact that all the equipments and facilities were of the most up-to-date vintage such that if they are put to good and efficient use, it would not be mere fancifulness to dream of our first Nobel Prize laureates in Physics or Chemistry coming from these Eleme science labs!

    I come now to the most crucial and critical part of the wonders that I saw at Eleme. This pertains to the physical or indeed, technological infrastructure of instruction and learning at the school. This is based almost entirely on what is known as the apparatus of the “smart class” and its very innovative approach to pedagogy. It has to be seen and carefully assessed to grasp its truly revolutionary and also controversial impact; one can only rather inadequately convey in words how it actually works. Perhaps the best approach to describe the “smart class” as a tool of instruction is to invoke the analogy of a booklet or manual that comes with a product, giving detailed, step-by-step instructions on how even a technologically challenged person can assemble and use the product. Thus, in the case of the “smart class”, every subject in the curriculum, indeed every branch of a subject, is packaged into modules that unfold as a teacher clicks on an icon on the computer screen. In other words, everything has been pre-packaged into the modules; all the teacher has to do is click on the icons on the computer screen as he or she takes the students through all the modules that make up a subject or a particular branch of a given subject. For instance, to teach students at a biology class the processes of photosynthesis, the teacher clicks on the icons of all the modules that make up full instruction on photosynthesis. Theoretically, this is learning made not only easy and up-to-date in terms of the latest knowledge in a subject, it is also learning made great fun and very interactive between teacher, students and the computer screen.

    Unfortunately, the students were on holidays when I visited the Eleme Model Secondary School and for this reason, I could not see the apparatus of the “smart class” in operation with students in their learning environment. More generally, it would have been more rewarding to have had direct interactions with the pupils of this extraordinary school whose essence, as its name implies, is to act as a model for what secondary schools of the future in our country will or should be. This was why, in place of such a direct encounter with the students of the school, I had a long conversation, a long question-and-answer session with the school’s Principal. It is to this session that I now turn in my closing observations and reflections in this piece.

    I did not need to ask, but it was clear to me that the reason why the Principal and nearly all the teachers of the Eleme Model Secondary School are from India is because of the centrality of the “smart class” to the pedagogical processes of teaching and learning at the school. The presumption, perhaps the reality here is that Nigerian universities and colleges of education are not (yet) producing teachers knowledgeable or versatile in the technology of the “smart class”. This may be true, but it does raise the fundamental question of shared cultural background between teacher and student, instructor and pupil in the uses of the “smart class”. Let me explain.

    Teachers can never be mere instruments for operationalising the apparatus of the “smart class”. They share certain assumption, values, biases and even phobias with their pupils. This is not a mere nationalistic or jingoistic plea for replacing the Indian teachers at the Eleme Model School with Nigerians. Rather, it is a strong view that since the national systems of education of the world do not operate within a cultural vacuum, it is important to complement the introduction of the “smart class” technology into Nigerian secondary school education with teachers who have a shared cultural context with Nigerian students.

    Tactfully, I did not raise this issue directly with the Principal of the Eleme Model Secondary School. Instead, what I did was to have a long conversation with him in which I tried to get his sense of the social background of his pupils. I am glad to report that he seemed to have taken a deep and sympathetic interest in the background of most of his wards. For instance, when he informed me that the ratio of students from very poor families to kids from relatively well-off families was about 70 to 30, I was both elated and dismayed. I was elated because this fact shows that the overwhelming majority of kids receiving quality, ultramodern schooling in Governor Amaechi’s model secondary schools are children who could never, remotely, have had the chance to receive any education at all, let alone high quality education. But I was also dismayed by the Principal’s information to me that because of their severely deprived economic and social backgrounds, many of his pupils seem unable to take full advantage of the benefits of the school because of their parents’ lack of interest in whether or not their children were doing well at school.

    Will these model secondary and primary schools take root and grow to become standard bearers of the future of education in our country? Or will the next administration after the expiration of Amaechi’s tenure let them go to waste? Finally: the culture of maintenance in our country is one of the worst in the world, the forces of atavistic regression always hovering in the background of every progressive development in our country and our continent, thanks to the backwardness of our ruling pseudo-bourgeoisie. Thus, I wonder: if I come back to Eleme in another ten years, will the bush have taken over this splendid showcase of a profound belief in education and the right of everyone, especially the most needy, to quality education? I most certainly hope not!

     

    Biodun Jeyifo

    bjeyifo@fas.harvard.edu

  • Conversations with Lamidi Fakeye

    Conversations with Lamidi Fakeye

    Omooba Yemisi Adedoyin Shyllon Art Foundation, Quintessence and Revilo Company Ltd (publishers) will launch the book Conversations with Lamidi Fakeye by Dr. Ohioma Pogoson and Omooba Yemisi Shyllon on March 27 at the Freedom Park, Broad Street (Old Prison Ground), Lagos Island, Nigeria.

    Pogoson is a Senior Research Fellow (visual arts) at the Institute of African Studies, University of Ibadan, where he teaches postgraduate courses in African art and tourism. He received a PhD in visual arts in 1990 from University of Ibadan. Pogoson is also a fellow of the Akademie Schloss Solitude, Germany. He recently edited two major publications on Nigerian contemporary art, Soliloquy: Life’s Fragile Fictions (2011) and Photography in

    History, History in Photography: The Ikons of Dotun Okubanjo (2011). Pogoson is a recent recipient of the 2012/2013 University of Cambridge/Africa Collaborative Research Programme on Art and Museums in Africa.

    Omooba Shyllon, a chartered engineer, marketer, stockbroker and a legal practitioner is one of the largest collectors and sponsors of Nigerian art. He is reputed to own the most comprehensive collection of art in Nigeria. He sponsors annually three to six international artists, curators and art historians to visit and study his collection while researching into Nigerian visual culture.