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Tag: Reminiscences

  • Reminiscences about Christ’s School Ado-Ekiti

    I was in Christ’s School Ado-Ekiti between 1956 and 1960 as a teenage boy. I had the greatest time of my life in this school. The school is a sectarian school belonging to the Anglican Communion. When I was there, the entire population of the school was about 250 students from form one to five. We sat for our Ordinary Level certificate of the University of Cambridge Overseas Examination Board at the end of the fifth year.

    There were 50 students per form and each form was divided into two classes of 25 each. Each class was small enough for all the students to know each another and for the teachers to know each of us by our first names. We had good teachers and dedicated teachers. Of course we did not have as many graduate teachers as in the various government colleges. But our teachers and students were determined to do well.

    The secret of the success of the school lay in the leadership of our principal the Reverend Cannon Leslie Donald Mason, an English gentleman and a devoted missionary who gave his life to serve others. He embraced the “in loco parentis” concept of standing as a parent for all of us while we were in school. He was not only a teacher, administrator, cleric, doctor and nurse; he was also a strict disciplinarian. He actually moulded our character. He ran the school as a typical British public school on the model of Harrow, Eton or Winchester. This included waking up early in the morning at 6am to pray before going out to do physical jobs such as cutting the lawns and taking care of the gardens generally .

    Praying was very important in the life of the school. We prayed at 6am in our various dormitories after which we cut grasses and kept our lawns green and tidied up our various dormitories before going to the cafeteria at 7.30am. We prayed before and after each meal.  Then we would go to the chapel for congregational service between 8.30 and 9am conducted by the school principal. Then we would march to the classrooms accompanied by the school bands.

    The academic activities began immediately and lasted till about 12.30pm when we would have a short break till 1pm. Academic activities would then resume until 2pm when we would go for lunch. After lunch then we would go to our different dormitories for siesta of one hour. We had four dormitories named Harding, Dallimore, Bishop (Mason), and Babanboni houses named after Anglican missionaries who opened the Ekiti area to Christian proselytisation in the past.

    Our siesta lasted for one hour and by 3.30 pm we were up and headed for personal studies and games which then ended at 6pm and by 6.30pm we went for dinner which ended at 7pm and we would go for evening studies affectionately called “Prep” till 9pm. Then we would end the day at the chapel before going to bed. “Lights out” was at 9.30 pm.

    This routine was repeated every day of the week with the exception of Saturday and Sunday. Saturday was generally for cleaning of our dormitories and our surroundings and for games. We were allowed to go out of the campus for about five hours once in a month if we wanted to go out. Those who had nowhere to go stayed and played on campus. On Sunday, we would worship in our chapel in the morning and evening. Our uniform during the week was white shirt over blue shorts. On Saturdays, we wore khaki shirts over khaki shorts. On Sundays, we wore white shirts over white shorts while the senior boys in form five wore white trousers.

    The senior boys ruled the schools like army captains over their recruits. Prefects were appointed from the senior form and a head boy was on top of the prefectorial hierarchy. Secondly, seniority started from form two upwards and if you were one year ahead  of any other student, you wielded considerable power over those one year below you. There was fagging and bullying of junior students and everybody looked forward to when they too will be seniors. We dared not call our seniors by name even if you were older and you came from the same primary school or home. We had to prefix their names by “senior”.

    We celebrated academic excellence and we followed the example of old students who did well after school and we tried to follow what they did. This made our students to do very well in our final year examinations. But whatever we did was anchored on discipline. Punishment was sure and swift for any infraction of school regulations. We had three types of punishment. The lesser one was what was called “school imposition” which was for minor offenses. There was “Yoruba imposition” for anybody who spoke Yoruba on the campus. This banning of Yoruba language was to enforce the mastery of the English language. Finally there was what was called “school detention” which was reserved for serious offenses such as stealing or fighting or cheating. Any student who got into school detention three times could be expelled. Expulsion was very rare in the school.

    Apart from academic activities, the school also encouraged students to participate in farming, carpentry and bricklaying. A few students were involved in running the generating plant that provided the school electricity because Ado-Ekiti in those days did not have municipal potable water and electricity. Students also ran the school health centre after rudimentary training by experts and the school principal. On the whole, no one could pass through the school and not be prepared for the outside world. This was a great thing for teenagers exiting the school after five years. Some left the school into life of work as teachers and as clerks in government and commercial organizations. Many left and through self-help of going to Advanced Level schools, found their ways into the universities at home and abroad and made something of their lives as doctors and secondary school teachers and university professors and civil servants.

    There was no guidance and counselling about what young people could do after school. Until recently, very few Christ’s school old students became engineers, lawyers, surveyors, architects, pharmacists, insurers or estate managers. We did not know much about professional courses. Those who became doctors were by chance and this is why there are many old boys who are professors across Nigerian universities after their doctorate degrees in various academic areas. This is because all they wanted to be was become physicists, chemists, zoologists, botanists, mathematicians, historians, economists, geographers and so on. Unfortunately, this is responsible for the dearth of entrepreneurs in Ekiti.  The role of this school in Ekiti State, southwestern Nigeria and Nigeria has been phenomenal and there are few schools that have made this kind of impression that Christ’s school has made in Nigeria.

  • Reminiscences (GG at 85)

    Reminiscences (GG at 85)

    First, a confession: The subject of this article is well known to this reporter. So, dear reader, take it easy, if you feel that there is more than a tinge of subjectivity here. But, I assure you, “Notebook” will be as conscientious as it has always been.

    Our first meeting was in September, 1974. The sun was getting set to set, its recession a bit slow. Behind the hills that ring the town, the sun was showing its face, bright but weak. And there he was, just after a long row of palm trees that lined the red-earth, dusty road that led to the school premises, mowing a field of green grass that had grown wild. He had on only a pair of white shorts, his trademark, as I discovered later. No top.

    As he looked up from what I later found out to be a routine for him when students were on holiday, he wiped the sweat off his brow and continued his business. I announced my presence.

    “Good evening sir.”

    “Pele o (hello). How’re you?”

    “I’m Gbenga Omotoso, the table tennis player you discussed with Mr Babajide in Ibadan.”

    His face brightened up. He burst into laughter and seized my hand as he screamed: “Ping pong!”

    And so began my relationship with the man who paid my – and many others’ – way through secondary school, a teachers’ teacher, father of many children –none of them his, biologically – worthy chief, consummate farmer, confident trainer and frontline humanist.

    Chief Guy Gargiulo, an Italian naturalised Briton, was the headmaster at Ajuwa Grammar School, Okeagbe – Akoko, Ondo State, from 1963 to 1978. He had had a stint as a Physics teacher at Igbobi College, Lagos before moving to Okeagbe to help give the new school a push.

    He reached age 85 on August 13, but all was quiet as he was away in England. He has since returned to Nigeria and a reception was held in his honour last Saturday on the very premises where he helped shape the future of many students who are today prominent citizens

    Among them: Otunba Solomon Oladunni, former Vice Chair, Mobil; Tuyi Ehindero, ex-Managing Director, Unilever, Zambia; Dr Tunji Abayomi, rights activist-lawyer and politician; Akinwunmi Bada, ex-CEO, Transmission Company of Nigeria; Oba Oladunjoye Fajana, ex-African Development Bank/World Bank chief and now Ajana of Afa, Okeagbe; The Right Rev. Jacob Ajetunmobi, Bishop of the Anglican Communion, Ibadan Diocese; Tayo Alasoadura, former Commissioner for Finance, Ondo State; Rear Admiral Sanmi Alade, Commandant of the National War College; Mike Igbokwe, Senior Advocate of Nigeria (SAN) and a legion of others in banking, sports, industry and government.

    There are not many people of whom one can say: “O…he had a great influence on my life.” Many there are who can proudly say this of GG, as we excitedly call him. All his efforts were geared towards implanting in us all the virtues to which he subscribed – hard work, courage, loyalty, endurance, honesty and more.

    He feared nothing. The only fear he ever had was being bitten by snakes, he told us. But the day he held one and was bitten, the fear ended. Then he started reading about snakes. We were taught how to catch and keep them. But GG warned us never to go near the cobra, saying there was no remedy to its poison. The last time I visited, he had at home two snakes, one of which he nicknamed Angelina.

    Gargiulo’s idea of education is not the mere acquisition of a certificate as a visa to some perceived Eldorado; not a theoretical exploration of some esoteric facts and figures, but a total package to prepare the youth for any challenge that life may hurl on their way. Every student was encouraged to learn a trade – bricklaying, auto mechanic and others. The Ajuwa Printing Press, which was run by students, was central to the programme.   It printed our exercise books, report cards, inspirational poems, such as Nobel laureate Rudyard Kipling’s “If” , and the ubiquitous poster, “Speak English, remember your WASCE” that adorned our classrooms.

    Gargiulo persuaded us all to love farming – we all had copies of a poem he wrote on then Head of State General Olusegun Obasanjo’s “Operation feed the nation” (everything in that military era was an “operation”) as he led the way every evening. The maize farm was a beauty to behold, the sheer greenery and the glittering golden, thread-like strands sprouting from the cobs. The vast row of teak, shedding their rustling leaves in the harmattan.  The short palm trees and their scarlet fruits. The gmelina.

    Our yam came from the school farm. The eggs we had once a week came from the school poultry. It was fun caring for the rabbits and watching the cows graze .Our farm produce were sold and the proceeds invested in shares in the name of the school.

    Sport was for GG a priority. The yearly marathon was compulsory for all. So was swimming. The community and the students built a dam to facilitate this. From the dark brown pool and the pontoon that were carved out of the dam, boys and girls were moulded into national champions. No fewer than two former students are now coaches. This reporter was a table tennis star, the very reason he won GG’s heart.

    GG believed that no student was so bad that there was no redeeming feature. He once told of a student who led the mechanics club. He was poor, academically, but Gargiulo predicted his greatness. The man rose to become a top Leventis Motors manager, admired by all for his deep understanding of Mercedes cars, just like the Germans who built them.

    It was not all fun at Ajuwa, however. I recall a riot. GG had gone to Ibadan to buy books. The day he was to return, students stormed the Okeagbe-Ikare road, wielding cudgels and clubs and chanting war songs. Some sympathisers advised GG to stay away to save his life. He refused.

    He parked the van a few metres away from the school, walked.  His face creased by a big frown, he asked the unruly students:”What’s going on here?” “You want to kill me? Go ahead now!” He was booming like a lion and swearing–he always did when seized by anger. His hair sprang up and his hands betrayed red hot blood coursing through his veins. His face was red – it was always so whenever he got angry. Oh, how we used to panic on such occasions.

    One after the other, the students dropped their weapons, ran to hide behind the palm trees and sneaked into the classrooms. Later that night, GG relived the incident. “I saw that you, like the others, held a stick, but I was damn sure you wouldn’t hit me,” he told me.” “It was the wise thing to do; otherwise you would be attacked,” he added. “I never knew he saw me among the mob.”

    GG had few friends.  Prominent among them was the late Tai Solarin, the frontline educationist and social activist.

    GG was always struggling to speak Yoruba. He reasoned that if he could speak Yoruba, there was no reason for us not to speak English. His favourite proverb is “Aya nini ju oogun lo” (Being bold is greater than having juju). To those who scorned him for always wearing shorts, he would say: “Sokoto gbooro ko d’ola” (A pair of trousers is no symbol of wealth). He wore trousers only on special occasions, such as when a governor was visiting.

    When Immigration officials harassed him in Akure, the Ondo State capital, demanding his papers, they got more than they bargained for. They asked him to be reporting in their office every day, wondering why he would not relinquish his British citizenship if he so much loved Nigeria. One day when he was tired of it all, GG faced the officials and said: “Gentlemen, “ ti a ba ti n fi apari isu han alejo…” (When hosts begin to show the guest the hard top of the yam, it’s time to leave.”

    “They didn’t let me finish,” he recalled. They said ‘go; just go now!’ That was the end of the matter.

    But he wondered why he should suffer to earn a permanent stay here after about 30 years. “Even in my old age, I can still contribute to building this great country.”

    Thankfully, Gargiulo’s immigration issue has been resolved. I hope and trust that Nigeria will reward him with a national honour – soon.

    The last time I visited my alma mater, less than two years ago, I learnt of how Gargiulo shed tears on seeing the destruction of his dream. I was touched. Ajuwa is  like a war- ravaged town, battered and bludgeoned by the very people who swore to care for it. Plundered. An old lady, used and dumped. Gone is the press. Wrecked are the mechanic’s workshop and the tractor . No cows and chicks. Rabbits? Gone. All gone.

    Rot, rot, rot everywhere.  But this is the story in almost all areas of our national life.   Ajuwa’s fate is not strange. But, when cometh another GG?

     

    • This article,first published in 2013, is being rerun with some changes as a tribute to this exemplary man, who was 85 on August 13.

     

     

    Charly Boy and the angry traders

    Eccentric musician Charles Oputa (aka Charly Boy) has grabbed the headlines, but not for a new hit song. He is in the news for leading the “Our mumu don do” (Enough of our stupidity) campaign asking President Muhammadu Buhari to “return or resign”.

    That is a legitimate venture. So is Buhari’s medical vacation.

    When Charly Boy, 66, carried the campaign to Wuse Market in Abuja on Tuesday, he was attacked by traders, who obviously believe that most Nigerians are no “mumu”.

    The Wuse attack was an attack on freedom of expression. It is unacceptable.

    A taxi-cab driver who claimed to have witnessed it all told of how Charly Boy escaped miraculously. One source told me that the musician was truly manhandled, but that it was incorrect that he lost all his custom-made jewellery. Intact are the hand chains, neck chains, ankle chains, waist chains, ear rings, nose ring and other pieces that define the essential Charly Boy.

    He escaped with all his trademark trinkets, to lead another demonstration again, soon, I gather   Nice work, Charly Boy.

  • Nigeria: Agonising reminiscences!

    Wait a minute! So, yet again, for some days in the past two weeks, we Nigerians did not know the exact health conditions, and the exact whereabouts, of the president of our country?  This is so uncannily similar to another experience some eight years ago when we Nigerians did not know the true health status and the exact whereabouts of our elected president for weeks. For any Nigerian of my advanced age, these experiences cannot but open the gate to an agonizing walk down memory lane, and to uncomfortable questions.

    Let us face it, we as one country called Nigeria have waded in great agony through what, arguably, qualifies as the worst half-century in the history of any country in the world.  Virtually everything of importance that our country has touched in the past 56 years has been done in the dark, and has yielded rancor, hostility, poverty, conflicts and bloodletting.

    We entered into independence preparations through a federal pre-independence election whose outcome was manipulated and viciously contentious. It was the election that was supposed to produce the government that would lead us into independence, but it led us, first and foremost, even in the months before independence, into dark plots by some sections of our country against another, and into a future picture of conflict and doom.

    That 1959 pre-independence federal election also laid the foundations for the kind of elections we have had since then in this country – elections marked by utmost desperation and crookedness, elections whose results are pre-determined in dark corners by those who would rather see Nigeria crack and perish than let any true voting outcomes rob them of power.  The very first post-independence federal election of 1964 followed in the same mode, and was so blatantly corrupted and violent that Nigeria could not put a new federal government together for days. And yet, when the Western Regional election came some months later in 1965, the federal desperadoes were so bent on controlling the Western Region that they went on and rigged the election in the most insulting manner imaginable. That banditry provoked the youths of the Western Region into exploding – in a revolt that went on stubbornly for months, until all governance over Nigeria literally collapsed, and until some young officers in the army finally stepped in and shut down everything.

    In spite of over one decade of military dictatorship, mass pogroms that took tens of thousands of lives, and a horrendously bloody civil war that took millions of lives, nothing about our elections changed. When an election came again in 1979, the desperation, manipulation and crookedness returned too. Stunned beyond measure, the country could muster not much of a response. And the result was that when elections came in 1983 again, the confidence to rig and manipulate was much more shattering and much more infuriating. Violence followed in many parts of the country. In the then Ondo State, the youths declared outright war and, in only one single morning of carnage and death, almost totally wiped out a whole generation of local politicians who had helped the federal agencies to rig the Ondo State gubernatorial election.

    Another military coup soon shut down the civilian regime. And many years of military rule followed, dragging Nigeria down into the most corrupt and most murderous dictatorships in all its history. Even so, when elective politics returned in 1999, the crookedness and election manipulations returned with it. At the elections of 2003 and 2007, Nigeria’s rulers, declaring the elections to be “do-or-die” wars, broke all bounds with official violence and manipulation of election processes and results. International observers, many of whom had come at the invitation of the Nigerian government, were so shocked that they issued a worldwide report that essentially wrote off Nigeria as a country below the level of human civilization.

    But that was not enough to change anything as far as Nigeria was concerned. Only a few weeks ago, Nigeria recorded one of its most violent elections in the Rivers State as federal agencies and state forces faced off in a sickening blood fest. And so it goes on and on.

    In the midst of all these betrayal and degradation, a major blessing that God had programmed into the soil of Nigeria for millions of years was reached by human ingenuity. Nigeria became a big producer of mineral oil, and a wide door became open to wealth and prosperity for Nigerians. But Nigeria’s rulers had their own Nigerian kind of response to the blessing. They set upon the blessing with subhuman greed. Worse still, they abandoned the sources of wealth that Nigerians had developed before the coming of the oil bonanza – sources of wealth like cocoa, groundnuts and palm produce. In these ways, they gradually spread poverty into the lives of most Nigerians. In short, the Almighty God gave wealth and prosperity to Nigerians, but the rulers and leaders of Nigeria turned it all into hopeless poverty for their countrymen.

    The ordinary Nigerian ceased being part of the equation of national politics and governance. The purpose of all politics became simply the jostling for positions from which one can share in the oil money.  The brightest and best in our land abandoned truly productive enterprises and embarked on wheeling and dealing for some shares in the stolen oil money.  Nigeria has made much more money than most countries of the world, but almost all of it has gone for sharing among the powerful and influential – from the heights of the federal government to the most remote local governments.  Abject poverty gripped the lives of ordinary Nigerians. Public facilities and services disintegrated and perished, so that even our most important highways became death traps. The young person who sincerely desires to embark on some honest business can no longer do so, because he cannot find the loads of money that he would need to bribe public officials for the official documents and licenses that he needs, and because he cannot be sure of the electricity, the water, the roads, and the reliable public services that businesses need. Support was withdrawn from our schools. Our school teachers, denied proper teaching needs and often going for months without salary, lost heart as well as professional dedication.  Our children ceased to learn anything at school, and their performances in the vital public examinations plummeted disastrously. The same fate befell our universities, as the professors were deprived and battered into academic incompetence; and the little academic work that remains is frequently interrupted by professors’ strikes and students’ riots. Crowds of our educated men and women roam the streets without employment. Crowds of others haunt the embassies of foreign countries, in desperate efforts to flee from the hopelessness of their own country.  Many even attempt to reach the African Mediterranean coast and southern Europe by walking the hundreds of miles across the Sahara Desert – with many of them dying in the effort. Large numbers of Nigeria’s educated young women regularly get trapped into sex slavery in different parts of the world. We have produced, and are producing, some billionaires, most of whom are robber billionaires; but we have produced, and are producing, a country of mostly hopeless paupers.

    Naturally, in the midst of all these, inter-group hostilities and conflicts have grown in most parts of our country – nationality versus nationality, religion versus religion, immigrants versus indigenous hosts, cattle herders versus peasant farmers, etc.  On a regular basis, we are slaughtering one another with a ferocity beyond description.  A deep darkness has descended upon our country, and the soul of our country has shriveled and more or less died.  By the year 2004, informed observers in the world were predicting that our country would break up in a few years.  From all indications, we are very close today to the fulfillment of those dolorous prophecies.

    We Nigerians need to pray for our president. We need to pray, and pray fervently, about our country. And, may be, we also need to ask the question: Are we doing the wrong thing by stubbornly keeping this country together as one country? Is this a venture that God does not approve of?

  • Reminiscences

    Reminiscences

    IT all seems quiet now.  The last vestiges of the campaigns – posters, banners and billboards – are being removed. Gone are the street parades, the town hall meetings, the throbbing rallies and the hot beer parlour arguments that often ended in broken heads and bloody noses. The prizes have been won and lost.

    But, can we really forget the elections? The lessons are instructive as they are compulsive. In Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) Chairman Attahiru Jega we saw the beauty of equanimity amid provocative turbulence and tension. General Muhammadu Buhari’s courage is exemplary – he ran four times before getting the trophy and he never wavered from his goal despite all those irritable comments and intrigues. By the way, has anybody seen Femi “Amebo” Fani-Kayode and his cousin Dr Doyin Okupe? Are they in town?

    President Goodluck Jonathan would not behave like a punch- drunk boxer with a stubborn chin; he threw in the towel even before the bell went off. Wisdom. Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu was, like an experienced marathoner, tenacious in his reformative struggle, despite all the mines on the way. Many Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) front liners could not wait for its demystification. Lacking in principle and character, they jumped ship – in droves. Fair weather friends all.

    There are many other lessons. Elder Godsday “the bully” Orubebe – is it true he is a church leader? – showed us the futility of desperation and irascibility. Now, there is a hilarious video of three kids re-enacting the scene in which the former minister grabbed the microphone and created a huge scene at the collation centre.

    Besides the lessons, there are also those words and phrases which will remain with us for a while. The All Progressives Congress (APC) came with the battle cry “change”. Everywhere its leaders went, they sang “change”. To their opponents, the slogan was derogatory and they used it to deride the APC. First Lady Dame (Dr) Patience Faka Jonathan – I understand she is busy preparing her handover notes as the president of the African First Ladies Peace Mission – taunted APC chiefs about the slogan. She told a crowded rally: “They are crying for change; are they conductors? U enter their bus?”

    Will she still see “change” as an empty Lagos bus conductor’s language? I doubt it. General Martin Luther Agwai will also never joke with the word “change”. He was fired from his SURE-P job for saying at former President Olusegun Obasanjo’s birthday that “the only permanent thing in life is change”. To the President, that was an affront too contemptuous to stomach. Gen. Agwai was fired – just like that. He was confounded by the rapidity of it all and the fact that no explanation was given as to why he got the push. Poor guy.

    Unlike Gen. Agwai who was not told why he had to go, the Ugbo monarch, Oba Obateru Akinrutan, knew why he was being scorned all over town. He was accused of snatching a ballot box during the elections. One had thought this style of rigging elections was obsolete, courtesy of the Permanent Voter Card (PVC). The kabiyesi had to address the media, saying he never did that, adding that his adversaries were carrying the rumour just to malign him. Imagine his majesty in full regalia of his exalted office – beads, crown and all – storming a polling unit and, in the full glare of all his subjects and officials, grabbing the ballot box and fleeing like a common thug, angry youths in hot pursuit. What a way to denigrate the royalty. Thankfully, the press conference put the matter to rest.

    His royal majesty, I am told, was among the monarchs whose help President Jonathan sought to “capture” the Southwest. Did he “deliver”? Many of them did not. To deliver, for the sake of refreshing our memory, is to promise that your candidate will triumph at the polls and actually ensure that he does either through fair or foul means, thereby justifying the “mobilisation” that you must have got.

    Many PDP chiefs, who failed to deliver after collecting hefty “mobilisation”   are now being asked to refund the cash they got. This, I learnt, is partly responsible for the gale of defections that hit the ruling party.

    But then, when is a “defection” no more a mere change of parties by an individual or a group? When does it become an “exodus”? The answer has been found in the terrible fate that suddenly became the lot of the PDP as many of its leading lights jumped ship and the party sank in a sea of electoral misfortune.

    Many were surprised at Lagos Governor Babatunde Fashola’s wit. On the hustings, he proved himself a master of repartee and wisecracks. To Akinwunmi Ambode’s opponent Jimi Agbaje’s camp, his appellation J.K. is enough to rouse the crowds at the campaigns. “J.K. we know, J.K. we trust”, they screamed in  colourful posters. Then, Fashola unravelled it all and J.K. becomes “Just Kidding” – an uncharitable allusion to the PDP candidate’s hazy views of the workings of the government and his ability to do the job. Of course, we all saw how APC chiefs were sweating and swearing and screaming when they realised that the fellow wasn’t kidding. While APC got the prize, we got a new phrase. Now whenever somebody dreams big and we are not convinced he or she is serious, we say he or she is “just kidding”.

    President Jonathan knocked everyone for six when he called Gen. Buhari to congratulate him even before the final results were announced. There was jubilation in the land as the news broke that Dr Jonathan had conceded defeat. Instantly – without any deep reflection, some insist – he was pronounced a statesman.  Not so fast, said the critics. Was it not a Hobson’s choice? Was it not so glaring that even the blind could see that it was all over? Has a mere telephone call become the restitution for all the sins of the administration?

    Even as the arguments on statesmanship raged, Dr Jonathan yesterday roared that he is still in charge and that Buhari should not form a parallel government-all because of a transition committee’s terms of reference. Easy. Dr Jonathan easy. You have been in charge for six years. That a committee is directed to do an overview of some agencies shouldn’t be a big deal; should it?

    There was no agreement on the matter of what makes a statesman, but the President’s action set off a series of such as many others conceded defeat. Kaduna State Governor Ramalan Yero admitted to being beaten by the garrulous former Federal Capital Territory (FCT) minister, Nasir El-Rufai.

    Senator Teslim  Folarin conceded defeat in Oyo. Senator Rashidi Ladoja keeps crying that he was robbed. Benue Governor Gabriel Suswam surrendered to Senator Barnabas Gemade. In Niger, Umar Nasko conceded defeat to Abubakar Sani Bello.

    Former Information Minister Labaran Maku refused to toe the line. He described his loss as a coup against the people. Really? Interesting. In Kwara, Labour Party (LP) candidate Mike Omotosho said the result contradicted the people’s wish and many were asking: how?

    Chief Edwin Kiagbodo Clark, the Ijaw leader and President Jonathan’s sidekick , has said he can’t kill himself  because his man lost the election. That’s the spirit.

    Until last Saturday, the governorship elections in Abia, Imo and Taraba  were said to have been “inconclusive”. In other words, they needed to be rerun. But in Akwa Ibom, a winner has been announced in the governorship election, which was run concurrently as the House of Assembly elections on April 11. Now the question is: where are the results? If the Assembly elections are inconclusive and the results are left hanging somewhere in space, why and how did we get results for the governorship election. Can one be “conclusive” and the other “inconclusive”? Or is the word a mere euphemism for some fraud, which in this case seems to have blown up in the face of its perpetrators? We don’t really know.

  • Reminiscences (GG at 80)

    Reminiscences (GG at 80)

    FIRST, a confession: The subject of this article is well known to this reporter. So, dear reader, take it easy, if you feel that there is a tinge of subjectivity here. But, I assure you, Notebook will be as conscientious as it has always been.

    Our first meeting was in September, 1974. The sun was getting set to set, its recession a bit slow. Behind the hills that ring the town, the sun was showing its face, bright but weak. And there he was, just after a long row of palm trees that lined the red – earth, dusty road that led to the school premises, mowing a field of green grass that had grown wild. He had on only a pair of white shorts, his trademark, as I discovered later. No top.

    As he looked up from what I later found out to be a routine task for him when students were on holiday, he wiped sweat off his brow and continued his business. I announced my presence.

    “Good evening sir.” “Pele o (hello). How’re you?” “I’m Gbenga Omotoso, the table-tennis player you discussed with Mr Babajide in Ibadan.”

    His face brightened up. He burst into laughter and seized my hand as he screamed: “Ping pong!” And so began my relationship with the man who paid my – and many others’ – way through secondary school, a teachers’ teacher, father of many children –none of them his, biologically – , worthy chief, consummate farmer, confident trainer and frontline humanitarian.

    Chief Guy Gargiulo, an Italian naturalised Briton, was the headmaster at Ajuwa Grammar School, Okeagbe – Akoko, Ondo State, from 1963 to 1978. He had had a short stint as Physics teacher at Igbobi College, Lagos before moving to Okeagbe to help give the school a push.

    He advanced in age to 80 on August 13, but all was quiet as he was away in England. He returned to Nigeria this month and a reception was held in his honour last Saturday on the premises where he helped shape the future of many students who are today prominent citizens: Otunba Solomon Oladunni, former Vice Chair, Mobil. Tuyi Ehindero, ex- Managing Director, Unilever, Zambia. Tunji Abayomi, rights activist-lawyer and politician. Akinwunmi Bada, ex-CEO, Transmission Company of Nigeria. Oba Oladunjoye Fajana, ex-African Development Bank/World Bank chief and now Ajana of Afa, Okeagbe. The Right Rev. Jacob Ajetunmobi, Bishop of the Anglican Communion, Ibadan Diocese. Tayo Alasoadura, former Commissioner for Finance, Ondo State. Commodore Sanmi Alade, Nigerian Navy. Mike Igbokwe, Senior Advocate of Nigeria (SAN) and a legion of others in banking, sports, industry and government.

    There are not many people of whom one can say: “O…he had a great influence on my life.” Many there are who can proudly say this of GG, as we excitedly call him. All his efforts were geared towards imparting in us all the virtues to which he subscribed – hard work, courage, loyalty, endurance, honesty and more.

    He feared nothing. The only fear he ever had was being bitten by snakes, he told us. But the day he held one and was bitten, the fear ended. Then he started reading about snakes. We were taught how to catch and keep them. But GG warned us never to go near the cobra, saying there was no remedy to its poison. The last time I visited, he had a snake, which he nicknamed Angelina, at home.

    His idea of education is not the mere acquisition of a certificate as a visa to some perceived Eldorado; not a theoretical exploration of some esoteric facts and figures, but a total package to prepare the youth for any challenge that life may hurl on their way. Every student was encouraged to learn a trade – bricklaying, auto mechanic and others. The Ajuwa Printing Press, which was run by students, was popular. It printed our exercise books, report cards, inspirational poems, such as Nobel laureate Rudyard Kipling’s If, and the ubiquitous poster, “Speak English, remember your WASCE” that adorned our classrooms.

    Gargiulo persuaded us all to love farming – we all had copies of a poem he wrote on Obasanjo’s Operation feed the nation (everything then was an operation; the military era) – as he led the way every evening. The maize farm was a beauty to behold, the sheer greenery and the glittering golden, thread-like strands sprouting from the cobs. The vast row of teak, their rustling leaves dropping in the harmattan. The short palm trees and their scarlet fruits. The gmelina. Our yam came from the school farm. The eggs we had once a week came from the school poultry. It was fun caring for the rabbits and watching the cows graze.

    Our farm products were sold and the proceeds invested in shares in the name of the school.

    For GG, sport was a priority. The yearly marathon was compulsory for all. So was swimming. The community and the students built a dam to facilitate this. From the dark brown pool and the pontoon that were carved out of the dam, boys and girls were moulded into national champions. No fewer than two former students are now coaches . This reporter was a table tennis star, the very reason I won his heart.

    He believed that no student was so bad that there was no redeeming feature. He once told of a student who led the mechanic club. He was poor, academically, but Gargiulo predicted his greatness. The man rose to become a top Leventis Motors manager, admired by all for his deep understanding of Mercedes cars, just like the Germans.

    It was not all fun at Ajuwa. I recall a riot. GG had gone to Ibadan to buy books. The day he was to return, students stormed the Okeagbe-Ikare road, bearing cudgels and sticks. They were singing war songs. Some sympathisers advised GG to stay away to save his life. He refused to. A few metres away from the school, he parked the van and walked, his face wreathed in a big frown, even as he asked the unruly students:”What’s going on here?” “You want to kill me? Go ahead now!” He was booming like a lion and swearing–he always did when seized by anger–. His hair sprang up and his hands betrayed red hot blood running through his veins. His face was red – it was always so whenever he got angry.

    One after the other, the students dropped their weapons, ran into hiding behind the palm trees and sneaked into the classrooms. GG, later in the night, relived the incident. He told me: “I saw that you, like the others, held a stick, but I was damn sure you wouldn’t hit me. It was the wise thing to do; otherwise you would be attacked.” I never knew he saw me among the mob.

    GG had few friends, among them the late Tai Solarin, the frontline educationist and critic.

    Gargiulo was always struggling to speak Yoruba. Why? The logic was that if he could speak Yoruba, there was no reason for us not to speak English. His favourite proverb is Aya nini ju oogun lo (Being bold is greater than having juju). To those who scorned him for always wearing shorts, he would say: Sokoto gbooro ko d’ola (Trousers are no symbols of wealth). He wore trousers only on special occasions, such as when a governor was visiting.

    When Immigration officials harassed him in Akure, the Ondo State capital, demanding his papers, they got more than they bargained for. They asked him to be reporting in their office every day, wondering why he would not relinquish his British nationality if he so much loved Nigeria. One day when he was tired of it all, GG faced the officials and said: “Gentlemen, ti a ba ti n fi apari isu han alejo…(When hosts begin to show the guest the hard top of the yam, it’s time to leave.” “They didn’t let me finish. They said ‘go; just go now!’ That was the end of the matter. But, why should I suffer to get a permanent stay here after about 30years? I still, even in my old age, contribute to building this great country.”

    The last time I visited my alma mater, less than two years ago, I learnt of how Gargiulo shed tears on seeing the destruction of his dream. I was touched. Ajuwa is a like a war – ravaged town, battered and bludgeoned by the very people who swore to care for it. Plundered. An old lady, used and dumped.

    Is this strange? No. Considering the rot in almost all areas of our national life, the fate of Ajuwa is not strange. But, when cometh another GG?

    Obasanjo finds his size?

    WHEN former President Olusegun Obasanjo lampooned President Goodluck Jonathan’s handling of the Boko Haram monster, it was clear that a civil war was on in the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP). Jonathan didn’t turn the other cheek. Cheeky Christian? Rather, he delivered a blow at the heart of Obasanjo’s much vaunted agility to tackle such problems. He said Odi was a disaster, an atrocity against women and children. In fact, His Excellency was short of calling in the International Criminal Court.
    Enter Gen. Yakubu Gowon. He said Obasanjo’s castigation of Jonathan was “highly irresponsible”. Now, observers are asking: Has Obasanjo found his match?