Three (four?) years have passed since we last exchanged correspondence, but it all seems like a galactic intermission. My grateful thanks to you for your flattering reference to me in an interview you granted one of our diurnal journals the other day.
I have closely monitored developments in the sphere where, most recently, you brought your insights, perspicacity and savoir faire, to say nothing of your prodigious lexical endowment, to bear on matters of state, right beside the indefatigable Comrade Governor, helping chalk up for posterity imperishable accomplishments–a record that no doubt led to the visceral rejection of the group seeking to supplant yours by the discerning people of Edo State.
You have thus far been reticent in commenting on developments in the aforementioned sphere in general, and resoundingly silent on the recent imbroglio in the once-hallowed forum where fists were freely employed and objects not nailed to the floor were converted to lethal missiles, leading the sedate and highly revered Monarch of the Kingdom to denounce the riotous members of the State Assembly.
You will doubtless have noted that the National Day, our Independence anniversary, again occasioned an orgy of collective self-flagellation not untinged with self-pity, and that a milestone that should have been marked with rejoicing and rededication bred, instead, resentment and recrimination.
Should we now christen it National Catharsis Day? Or National Lamentation Day?
It is a development deeply to be deplored that, since your departure, not a whiff of your oratorical virtuosity and lexical wizardry has issued from the legislative house in which you held the members and indeed the entire nation spellbound for four years. For the most part, its proceedings are dilatory and desultory, and its transactions are about as transparent as a brick wall.
When it comes to how much of the public purse they have chosen to award themselves, they are as secretive as oysters. At that point, even the few among them who condescend to discuss public issues become tongue-tied, incoherent.
The other day when the much-learned senior attorney and chair of the Presidential Advisory Committee Against Corruption, Professor Itse Sagay, whom no one has ever accused of frivolity or psittacism, disclosed that senators took home N29 million every month –yes, every month – as recompense for their exertions, they went nuclear.
They disputed the amount, though some knowledgeable persons tell me it is grossly and egregiously understated. They mocked the learned professor, disparaged him, berated him, taunted him – they did everything except disclose how much compensation they award themselves every month.
It is a measure of how precipitously standards have plummeted since your time that the most talked- about lawmaker today happens to be a shameless exhibitionist, a person who would sooner punch you in the face or kick you in the groin than engage you in serious debate.
I am talking, dear aburo, about a poor imitation of a street minstrel and dancer who stakes a larger claim on his sexual prowess than on his cerebration, and would rather flaunt his collection of exotic cars—acquired through legislative work, presumably — than state for the record what he has done for the people in whose name he sits in the legislature.
But he is not alone. The place has become a cushy asylum for former state governors, many of them fearful of their own shadows. And yet, President Muhammadu Buhari says the power to review the incurably flawed 1999 Constitution foisted on the country by the departing military inheres in this self-dealing body and in the Council of State, an advisory body that meets only at the President’s pleasure.
Mr President doth misapprehend the role of the Council of State in the constitutional order, it would seem. His prescription in the face of the clamour for restructuring is not in the least reassuring.
Being an indefatigable monitor of the lexical topography, you will have discerned that “restructuring” has suddenly become the most intractable term in contemporary political discourse. Many mainstream political actors are claiming that they cannot fathom what it means.
Apparently, unlike you, these people have not cultivated the habit of consulting the dictionary, let alone a predilection for burrowing into it and internalising it from cover to cover to disinter its hidden riches. The online Cambridge English dictionary defines the term simply and authoritatively as “organising a company, business or system in a new way to make it operate more effectively.” Nothing more.
And yet, the very mention of “restructuring” drives even some usually sanguine people into a condition bordering on catalepsy. Can you extract from your lexical arsenal a term that will cure them of their heebie-jeebies?
That would be all for now, dear aburo. I look forward to the unalloyed delight of perusing your response. Meanwhile, good luck on work in progress, and in your tireless and immensely rewarding engagement with your dictionaries.
Fraternally
OD
Rewane: A postscript
Not a few readers have remarked that my October 10 column “Rewane: 22 years later” did not do justice to the statesman’s great personal kindness.
Some spoke of how, without fuss and without ceremony, he assigned to needy persons, some of them total strangers, rent-free accommodation in his vast property holdings in Lagos and Warri, funded scholarships in local and overseas institutions, picked up bills for overseas medical treatment, and handed out cash to persons who were down on their luck.
“How could you have omitted his great legacy, the prestigious Hussey College, Warri, that he founded and endowed, together with his brother Chief O. N. Rewane and Chief Elliot Begho?” a correspondent remonstrated.
Emmanuel Olanrewaju Bandele, retired professor of medicine at the College of Medicine of the University of Lagos, trustee and one-time president of the Nigerian Thoracic Association and currently consultant chest physician at the Lagos State University College of Medicine, has asked me to enter this testament to Rewane’s legendary munificence in the public record.
“Around 1985, I was offered admission to the world-famous Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, to undertake some research. All the University of Lagos College of Medicine could offer me was a round-trip ticket.
“In my desperation, I approached Dr Irene Rewane, since deceased, a niece of Chief Alfred Rewane. She gave me a note to take to him. He welcomed me with warm friendliness and immediately wrote me a cheque which helped substantially with my upkeep.
“Thanks to his singular philanthropy, the research contributed largely to my becoming a professor of medicine, and the experience I gained helped in the management of Nigerian asthmatics.”
End of Professor Bandele’s testament.
It remains to close with a personal reminiscence.
I met Chief Rewane only once, in 1984, and it was by chance.
I had gone to keep an appointment with Chief Anthony Enahoro in his suite at The Sheraton Hotel in Ikeja. He had left word with an aide that I should meet him in Chief Rewane’s residence at Oduduwa Crescent, in Ikeja, Lagos.
On my being introduced to him in his expansive living room, Rewane drew a long breath, fixed me with his eyes and said in mild rebuke: “So it is my aburo Tony that brought you here? You would not have come here if he had not asked you to meet him here?”
Pardon the digression, but I would gather that Rewane and Enahoro were always bantering about who was older and therefore entitled to deference from the younger. Published records indicate that Rewane was older by seven years, but Enahoro was unyielding.
To resume: I apologised. Chief Cornelius (C.O.) Adebayo, general secretary of the Enahoro-led Movement for National Reformation, joined in the apology, assuring our host that I meant no disrespect. Our host seemed reassured. A warm handshake followed, and he made me a cup of tea, a ritual emblematic of his hospitality.
As I made to leave, Rewane said he hoped it would not take his aburo to bring me to the house again. “This is your home,” he added. “Feel free to visit or call me whenever you wish.”
Much to my regret, I never availed myself of the offer. Nor did I see him again.
