IN my humble view, Nigeria has had only three statesmen at its highest level of governance. These are Zik, Balewa, and OBJ. A statesman is a senior male politician widely respected for integrity and an impartial concern for the common good. If we go beyond the politician, I would add the names of Ernest Shonekan and Abdulsalami Abubakar, who ruled under a military regime.
The late Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe returned to Nigeria from the United States to rekindle the fire of nationalism, mobilise the youths, and ginger up the old to make a final push to end servitude to Her Majesty’s Government.
He was widely expected to take over the mantle of leadership of a post-colonial Nigeria but his vision of a united and strong nation was blurred by the dust of ethnic nationalism provoked by others who were driven by distrust, fear, and envy.
Zik was a statesman because he decided that Nigeria was greater than his personal ambition, and accepted to play a nominal role in the power equation of the emerging nation. A grateful nation conferred on him a string of firsts – first president of senate, first indigenous governor general, and first (ceremonial) president. When he retired to Nsukka, his Onuiyi Haven became a political Mecca for succeeding Nigerian rulers.
Then came 1979 when Zik was conned into identifying with a political party in order to give the Igbos an identity and place in the then evolving political order. It was a spectacle to watch the old man pummeled both within and outside the ring by the likes of late Chuba Okadigbo who equated him to an ant, and Gen. Olusegun Obasanjo who mocked him in a book as a man that fell from Olympian heights as Zik of Africa to hit rock bottom as a local chief called the Owelle of Onitsha.
Zik got his recognition as father of an independent nation largely as a result of the acknowledgment of one man – Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa. Although his votes would make him head of government of Nigeria in 1960, the late Sir Ahmadu Bello preferred to remain in Kaduna and complete his programme for the Northern region. He sent Balewa to rule Nigeria, who accepted to work with Zik as president, and allied with him until his death.
Tafawa Balewa was a statesman because he was respected across board for his integrity and his commitment to the common good. Today, 44 years after the first gun was fired to kill him and signal military rule in Nigeria, no one has found evidence of his having salted away public money.
The charges that instigated the first coup of 1966 would not have been sustained in court if Tafawa Balewa was arraigned as a political gangster and corrupt politician.
It took 13 years before the army produced its first statesman. The man, Gen. Olusegun Obasanjo, successfully ended military adventurism into Nigerian politics (for a while) in 1979 when he handed over power to a civilian regime. He thereafter retired to a farm at Ota, but what a farm it turned out to be! A grateful nation and an awed international community replaced Zik’s Onuiyi Haven with Obasanjo Farms as the political Mecca of Nigeria.
After the Abiola debacle, occasioned by arbitrary exercise of power, Nigeria saw in him a stabilizer, who could lead us once again on our journey to the Promised Land.
But did he lead us? The jury is still out on this one. What is sure is that he achieved an unflattering exit from power, with his image as a national and international statesman seriously dented. Ironically, even before he left power, it was interesting to watch the President who once derided the Owelle title quickly grab a local chieftaincy title and meddle in the affairs of the Owu palace, even as he attended to affairs of state.
OBJ is no longer a darling of the international community and, outside the PDP, has become a spent force in Nigeria.
OBJ’s second coming would not have been possible if Nigeria’s first graduate ruler, Chief Ernest Shonekan, was allowed to consolidate his power in the Interim National Government that a departing IBB hurriedly contrived.
Shonekan inherited a deeply fractured and bleeding nation, settled down to flush the political mess he inherited, only to meet an implacable opposition mounted by activists fighting to reclaim the mandate that was denied millionaire businessman, late Moshood Abiola.
The pro-democracy group was determined to throw away the dirty IBB bathwater with the new born Yoruba ruler. Shonekan would have none of it, threw in the towel, and thereafter retired to his business. Today, Shonekan is sought after by Nigerian presidents looking for sensible advice.
The army’s second statesman inherited the odiferous stable left behind by Gen. Sani Abacha, the late maximum ruler. General Abdulsalami Abubakar shunned the temptation that ruined the reputations of his uniformed predecessors Gowon, Buhari, and IBB. His predecessors went against public opinion and reneged either on their promises or the popular expectation that they would deliver democracy within a deadline date.
Gen. Abubakar, on the other hand, promised and organized reasonably credible elections, handed over power, and like Obasanjo, also retired to a farm. Unlike Obasanjo, he did not make his farm famous, and his personal house, which I am told is also grand and sits atop the same stretch of hill, is not as famous as that of his brother general who stepped aside.
But no matter: a grateful nation and an appreciative international community applauded General Abubakar who is now widely consulted and used on democratic and international peace keeping assignments worldwide. Who would not love this type of “retirement”?
To his credit, the less-famous Minna general has kept a low profile, shooting up his integrity quotient, has avoided local chieftaincy squabbles, and thus far refrained from engaging in political games. I daresay his work for the nation has not ended.
There are lessons that can be drawn from the lives and times of these statesmen.
In Nigeria, it has become clear that, by accident or design, power will not devolve to those who pursue it with single-minded commitment, their earthly resources, or indeed a robust ethnic support base. Power has always been conferred on those who do not seek it, but who at the same time are widely acknowledged for their integrity and impartial concern for the common good. In addition, those who assume office with these basic “qualifications” find it easy to retain power as long as they maintain these character traits for which they were elected.
This may not have served us well in the past, but it nevertheless exposes a common reality that every Nigerian who has been conferred with power must take into account.
It is clear that there is no substitute for hard work. To illustrate with a manager’s example: when a worker is promoted to a position of responsibility and members of his family begin to focus on how long he would stay on in that position, (rather than what to do for the company within the job contract period), the manager may find it difficult to do the things that will mark him out as a man of integrity, and to focus on things that will promote the common good.
The final lesson is that Nigerian presidents who reign, reign and go away, peacefully, buy their tickets to statesmanship, a jet setting retirement, and a chance to come back to power again another day.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Yar'Adua's 'Untimely' Death
Vanguard 12 May 2010
THERE is an aspect of the life and times of President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua worth examining. This aspect holds the key to understanding the way that the late president sought to exercise power and to reshape the post-Obasanjo presidency he inherited.
When, on 29 May 2007, the late president declared the process that brought him to power as irregular, he may not have been referring only to the presidential elections. He could as well have been referring to other political maneuvers that the strongman of Nigerian politics engineered to bring him to power. Yar’Adua looked clean on the campaign rostrum, but behind the scene, he was being smeared with political dung.
He did not seek the office, a necessary qualification for the Nigerian top job. He was terminally ill, and therefore could not rule for long, or effectively, and he must have known that his tenure could become a liability to the political North, whose turn it was to produce a PDP president for eight years. To have known all this and accepted the job implies that he was hoping to last for four years, and be in a position to organize another election that would produce a Northern successor. What was important was to wrest power from the strongman.
Nuhu Ribadu’s EFCC splashed the first dung. Yar’Adua was initially proclaimed a thief, but the EFCC pulled his file when Baba expressed interest in him as a successor. He must have known that the file could miraculously appear and be celebrated both by the media and the National Assembly any time he carried out executive action that angers the kingmakers.
The possibility of this embarrassment becoming real was very high – as long as Ribadu remained chairman of a post-Obasanjo EFCC.
The final straw came when he was allegedly wedded to a governor who was alleged to be the biggest thief of all. This governor allegedly bankrolled his campaign, to dump the biggest political muck on the incoming presidency.
It did not matter if 1000 Bode Georges were jailed during his presidency, or whether one million ministers, federal directors and daughters of ex-presidents were caught in the act of corruption and arraigned, nothing impressed Nigerian media unless this governor was prosecuted and jailed.
Not doing so would do irreparable damage to his reputation as a man of integrity, and ginger up the governor’s numerous media foes to attack his commitment to the anti-corruption war. Attorney General Aandoaka’s bid to handle the matter as a legal brief was his undoing, and it was an albatross that hung on the president’s neck in death.
Yar’Adua apparently did not want this baggage and was determined to break free. He served notice of his intention shortly before his inauguration as President, when a Time magazine reporter suggested that he would surely become a puppet.
The president-elect laughed out loud: “Puppet? You obviously don’t know me,” he said.
Groomed by an aristocratic family that has been at ease with power through the generations, Yar’Adua knew how to break away from the iron-grip of any godfather and create a powerful counterforce, from where he would seek to recreate Nigeria in his own image. It was a long shot but, in my view, he did give it a good try.
He began his attack by acknowledging the shortcomings of the political process that brought him to power and promised to tinker with the Obasanjo electoral law that the whole world held to blame. The subsequent Uwais Report on electoral reforms has been hailed as a charter to get Nigeria out of its many election false-starts.
He then went on to depersonalize the many federal institutions where the Obasanjo tigers roamed freely in the wild, and completed the rout through the policy that pegged the tenure of directors in the federal civil service, which weeded out most of the permanent secretaries that supported the tigers. These policies received general acclamation because they assured the survival of these institutions.
He thereafter turned to security, another area where inherent lapses harmed the electoral process and depressed Nigeria’s earnings from its mono-crop economy. He initiated the reform of the Nigeria Police and was pursuing this with vigour.
The MD Yussuf report on reform of the Nigeria Police was also hailed as the document that could get Nigeria out of the security mess that she finds herself in. The deft appointment of Ogbonna Onovo, a seasoned but frequently by-passed officer, ensured unexpected outcomes in subsequent elections.
In addition, Yar’Adua began the process of bringing peace to the Niger Delta, initiating an amnesty programme that brought a ceasefire to the creeks, spared foreigners from incessant kidnappings and its damaging impact on the country’s image, and most importantly, ensured that crude oil began to once again flow uninterrupted.
It was on the political front that Mr. Yar’Adua was warming up for the final onslaught, when illness interrupted him in November 2009, and death finally halted him on May 5, 2010. He was attacking from many fronts:
One of his first actions, even before he was sworn in, was to quickly make friends with the Lagos governor and Bola Tinubu, perhaps to get the critical media leverage, even as he aligned with known Obasanjo political foes. He was committed to the restoration of Lagos, the entity that his father once presided over as a federal minister.
He then went about quietly and methodically sidelining the strongman, thereby stoking a revolution that swept like wildfire through most states of the South (he did not have to worry about the Northern states).
The reliable godfather strongholds of Enugu, Ebonyi, Uyo, and Abeokuta collapsed, as their governors emphatically rejected local godfathers aligned to Ota and quickly settled down to work for their people, in order to consolidate their political bases for future elections. Yar’Adua looked the other way as the remaining strongholds were dismantled by the judiciary at Awka, Port Harcourt, Benin, and Akure.
Through these maneuvers, Yar’Adua was able to build a strong political base with the “independent” Nigerian governors, which was fully expressed by the creation of the powerful Governors Forum. It is clear to perceptive observers that the Forum silently functions as a counterforce to the strongman’s political machine.
The “untimely” death of Mr. Yar’Adua has put a spanner in the works. The sloppy attempts to “manage” his health status were merely efforts to buy time, consolidate Yar’Adua ascendency and deal a final blow to the looming image of a strongman whose evil grin echoed distinctly in the background. It may in fact, have had nothing to do with Turai, a woman who, in my view, saw widowhood staring her in the face and sought to make the most of it to ensure that she and her children never lacked, again.
Yar’Adua’s “untimely death” gives the strongman another opportunity to quickly rally and reclaim his waned power and influence. There are two forces standing between the strongman and this ambition for power: the governors and Goodluck Jonathan, the new President.
The governors wield enormous powers to alter the results of any upcoming PDP presidential primary, and thereby complete the Yar’Adua initiative to lay the ghost of godfatherism to rest in Nigerian politics.
At the same time, Dr. Jonathan is now the top dog. He has the power (even beyond EFCC) to call out the troops, whip the governors back in line, and return the country to what she has been programmed to be for the next 50 years.
What will Mr. President do? This would depend on the briefing he received and what he agreed to do at the time he was handpicked for the VP job, and how he wants history to remember him. Will he continue the Battle of Liberation from where his departed “brother and friend” left off, by siding with the governors? Will he reach out for the big stick and create an elbow room for the strongman take charge, again? Or will he strike out on his own, in order to carry out a political surgery that could put our ailing country on the path of recovery, and give us respect in the world? Or will he play everything to his chest, waiting for the opportunity to do what he must do for history?
His decision will be known by whoever he chooses as his vice president.
THERE is an aspect of the life and times of President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua worth examining. This aspect holds the key to understanding the way that the late president sought to exercise power and to reshape the post-Obasanjo presidency he inherited.
When, on 29 May 2007, the late president declared the process that brought him to power as irregular, he may not have been referring only to the presidential elections. He could as well have been referring to other political maneuvers that the strongman of Nigerian politics engineered to bring him to power. Yar’Adua looked clean on the campaign rostrum, but behind the scene, he was being smeared with political dung.
He did not seek the office, a necessary qualification for the Nigerian top job. He was terminally ill, and therefore could not rule for long, or effectively, and he must have known that his tenure could become a liability to the political North, whose turn it was to produce a PDP president for eight years. To have known all this and accepted the job implies that he was hoping to last for four years, and be in a position to organize another election that would produce a Northern successor. What was important was to wrest power from the strongman.
Nuhu Ribadu’s EFCC splashed the first dung. Yar’Adua was initially proclaimed a thief, but the EFCC pulled his file when Baba expressed interest in him as a successor. He must have known that the file could miraculously appear and be celebrated both by the media and the National Assembly any time he carried out executive action that angers the kingmakers.
The possibility of this embarrassment becoming real was very high – as long as Ribadu remained chairman of a post-Obasanjo EFCC.
The final straw came when he was allegedly wedded to a governor who was alleged to be the biggest thief of all. This governor allegedly bankrolled his campaign, to dump the biggest political muck on the incoming presidency.
It did not matter if 1000 Bode Georges were jailed during his presidency, or whether one million ministers, federal directors and daughters of ex-presidents were caught in the act of corruption and arraigned, nothing impressed Nigerian media unless this governor was prosecuted and jailed.
Not doing so would do irreparable damage to his reputation as a man of integrity, and ginger up the governor’s numerous media foes to attack his commitment to the anti-corruption war. Attorney General Aandoaka’s bid to handle the matter as a legal brief was his undoing, and it was an albatross that hung on the president’s neck in death.
Yar’Adua apparently did not want this baggage and was determined to break free. He served notice of his intention shortly before his inauguration as President, when a Time magazine reporter suggested that he would surely become a puppet.
The president-elect laughed out loud: “Puppet? You obviously don’t know me,” he said.
Groomed by an aristocratic family that has been at ease with power through the generations, Yar’Adua knew how to break away from the iron-grip of any godfather and create a powerful counterforce, from where he would seek to recreate Nigeria in his own image. It was a long shot but, in my view, he did give it a good try.
He began his attack by acknowledging the shortcomings of the political process that brought him to power and promised to tinker with the Obasanjo electoral law that the whole world held to blame. The subsequent Uwais Report on electoral reforms has been hailed as a charter to get Nigeria out of its many election false-starts.
He then went on to depersonalize the many federal institutions where the Obasanjo tigers roamed freely in the wild, and completed the rout through the policy that pegged the tenure of directors in the federal civil service, which weeded out most of the permanent secretaries that supported the tigers. These policies received general acclamation because they assured the survival of these institutions.
He thereafter turned to security, another area where inherent lapses harmed the electoral process and depressed Nigeria’s earnings from its mono-crop economy. He initiated the reform of the Nigeria Police and was pursuing this with vigour.
The MD Yussuf report on reform of the Nigeria Police was also hailed as the document that could get Nigeria out of the security mess that she finds herself in. The deft appointment of Ogbonna Onovo, a seasoned but frequently by-passed officer, ensured unexpected outcomes in subsequent elections.
In addition, Yar’Adua began the process of bringing peace to the Niger Delta, initiating an amnesty programme that brought a ceasefire to the creeks, spared foreigners from incessant kidnappings and its damaging impact on the country’s image, and most importantly, ensured that crude oil began to once again flow uninterrupted.
It was on the political front that Mr. Yar’Adua was warming up for the final onslaught, when illness interrupted him in November 2009, and death finally halted him on May 5, 2010. He was attacking from many fronts:
One of his first actions, even before he was sworn in, was to quickly make friends with the Lagos governor and Bola Tinubu, perhaps to get the critical media leverage, even as he aligned with known Obasanjo political foes. He was committed to the restoration of Lagos, the entity that his father once presided over as a federal minister.
He then went about quietly and methodically sidelining the strongman, thereby stoking a revolution that swept like wildfire through most states of the South (he did not have to worry about the Northern states).
The reliable godfather strongholds of Enugu, Ebonyi, Uyo, and Abeokuta collapsed, as their governors emphatically rejected local godfathers aligned to Ota and quickly settled down to work for their people, in order to consolidate their political bases for future elections. Yar’Adua looked the other way as the remaining strongholds were dismantled by the judiciary at Awka, Port Harcourt, Benin, and Akure.
Through these maneuvers, Yar’Adua was able to build a strong political base with the “independent” Nigerian governors, which was fully expressed by the creation of the powerful Governors Forum. It is clear to perceptive observers that the Forum silently functions as a counterforce to the strongman’s political machine.
The “untimely” death of Mr. Yar’Adua has put a spanner in the works. The sloppy attempts to “manage” his health status were merely efforts to buy time, consolidate Yar’Adua ascendency and deal a final blow to the looming image of a strongman whose evil grin echoed distinctly in the background. It may in fact, have had nothing to do with Turai, a woman who, in my view, saw widowhood staring her in the face and sought to make the most of it to ensure that she and her children never lacked, again.
Yar’Adua’s “untimely death” gives the strongman another opportunity to quickly rally and reclaim his waned power and influence. There are two forces standing between the strongman and this ambition for power: the governors and Goodluck Jonathan, the new President.
The governors wield enormous powers to alter the results of any upcoming PDP presidential primary, and thereby complete the Yar’Adua initiative to lay the ghost of godfatherism to rest in Nigerian politics.
At the same time, Dr. Jonathan is now the top dog. He has the power (even beyond EFCC) to call out the troops, whip the governors back in line, and return the country to what she has been programmed to be for the next 50 years.
What will Mr. President do? This would depend on the briefing he received and what he agreed to do at the time he was handpicked for the VP job, and how he wants history to remember him. Will he continue the Battle of Liberation from where his departed “brother and friend” left off, by siding with the governors? Will he reach out for the big stick and create an elbow room for the strongman take charge, again? Or will he strike out on his own, in order to carry out a political surgery that could put our ailing country on the path of recovery, and give us respect in the world? Or will he play everything to his chest, waiting for the opportunity to do what he must do for history?
His decision will be known by whoever he chooses as his vice president.
Guns Against the Journalist
Vanguard, May 5, 2010
IT was as if someone poured cold water over me the other day when I read from a friend’s posting on Facebook that Tayo Lukula, a journalist, was murdered, somewhere in Ogun State.
I do not recall ever meeting Tayo face-to-face, but I remember him with pleasure as one of the most reliable reporters during my tenure as News Editor of The Guardian.
Tayo was then a correspondent based in Port Harcourt, Rivers State. Like all versatile reporters, he did his best to satisfy desk editors in the newspaper group, contributing general and specialist news and features, something that is still alien to most state correspondents.
It never occurred to me that he was not from that area because, in a typical newsroom, what matters to the professional editor is the fat, juicy, distinctive copy and not the ethnic background of the by-liner. In retrospect, we did record excellent results from some of the reporters operating outside their ethnic origins – Tayo Lukula in Port Harcourt, Ransome Emenari in Kano, Saxhone Akhaine in Kaduna, and Bayo Ohu in Katsina.
Now in quick succession, two of these very good reporters that I knew and was fond of – Bayo Ohu and Tayo Lukula– have been gunned down by yet-to-be-identified assassins. I mourn with families that have been deprived of their breadwinners in such a violent, brutal, and senseless manner.
I grieve over the fact that certain of our country’s young men and women (Bayo was allegedly shot dead by a woman), are now accepting that becoming hired guns is a possible answer to the question of growing unemployment in our country.
I marvel that our country’s young men and women would accept money, for whatever reason, to train their guns on those who struggle every day, through their pens and microphones, to right the oppressive system that created the unemployment situation in the first place.
Journalism in Nigeria is currently challenged by two realities – the desire to hire those with excellent writing skills, regardless of their professional preparation, and the desire to use willing, unprepared recruits to wage the war against impunity and arbitrariness ravaging our political system. The result is that efforts to tame the monster of arbitrariness and impunity have produced excellent results, and horrible unintended consequences for the profession.
The excellent results are the many occasions when fearless practitioners, some operating underground in guerrilla-like fashion, were able to bring down cabals and powerful individuals that intermittently rise to seize and hold Nigeria hostage, bringing her to the edge of the cliff at certain points in our history.
The horrible unintended consequences are the many assault, jailing, and murder that journalists have had to suffer in the course of challenging the monster.
It is largely through the efforts of journalists that the military’s 28 years of power stranglehold over our country was broken.
The media war waged by radical journalists from the early 1980s provided the impetus and support for civil society organisations to come into being and join in this fight. The haste with which Generals Obasanjo (1979), Babangida (1993), and Abdulsalam Abubakar (1999) either stepped aside or handed over power to civilians is partly credited to the dogged efforts of the radical media, aided by the civil society groups that they encouraged and empowered.
This may in turn explain why journalists, more than the civil society groups, bore the most brutal brunt of the counter-assault from the monster. Too many journalists were creatively or crudely murdered for daring to challenge the oppressive status-quo, beginning with the letter-bombing of Dele Giwa in October 1986.
In the year 2010, the monster appears to be returning to Nigeria. It is manifested in two realities. The first is the return of the “expelled” actors into powerful political reckoning. The second is the return of the murder of journalists as a pastime in political or business gamesmanship.
I do not imply that there is a link between the two, but I believe we could use our memories of the recent past to advise ourselves, as journalists, on how to approach or challenge the new, unwelcome order. If it requires us to return to the trenches, we should approach the matter like professional editors and go beyond ethnic bylines to objectively identify, challenge, frustrate, and contain the monster (or monsters) that harm our profession and retard our nation.
I say this because certain actors in our better-forgotten era of impunity and arbitrariness appear to have made full recovery and transformation, as they now control the political establishment in agbada. Whether in the leadership of the National Assembly, the Board of Trustees of the most powerful parties, the advisory committees of an acting presidency, or jockeying for prime spot on the 2011 presidential platform of both the ruling and “mega” parties, the actors appear to be back in “respectable” mode. Still a leopard never changes its spots: only in a few instances did their ascendency conform to democratic standards.
Nigerian journalism may need to transform and renew, once again, to keep pace with the new ways of power. I do not pretend to know how this can be done, but we could start from basic, time-tested tenets of our profession. How many of our current practitioners are prepared for this job?
To be prepared means undergoing a basic training in journalism and ethics that equip them with the professional skill to handle written or spoken words with care and caution, approach every story as an independent investigator not beholden to an interested party, hold the country’s interests (especially her national security and economic stability) as sacrosanct, challenge new attempts to mount the throne of arbitrariness and impunity, and for the sake of our profession, carry out the necessary spadework to find out why our colleagues are being killed, rather than leave the job to the police alone.
All too often, we are obsessed with the “who?” whenever a colleague is murdered, even though in journalism, the meat of the story is in the “why”. I have since found out that as it is in journalism, so it is in police investigation: Any investigation that fails to solve the “why?” (motive) never progresses to the point of revealing the “who?”.
In our environment, an investigative journalist is probably more equipped with the skills and goodwill to identify the “why” faster than the police. Therefore, part of the proposed transformation could be to use our investigative skills to assist and empower the police, especially when our colleagues become victims of political, business, or other interests.
This could be one way to unravel the identity of journalist killers and bring them to justice. At any rate, such findings would certainly educate us on what we need to do to clean house, should this be what is called for.
IT was as if someone poured cold water over me the other day when I read from a friend’s posting on Facebook that Tayo Lukula, a journalist, was murdered, somewhere in Ogun State.
I do not recall ever meeting Tayo face-to-face, but I remember him with pleasure as one of the most reliable reporters during my tenure as News Editor of The Guardian.
Tayo was then a correspondent based in Port Harcourt, Rivers State. Like all versatile reporters, he did his best to satisfy desk editors in the newspaper group, contributing general and specialist news and features, something that is still alien to most state correspondents.
It never occurred to me that he was not from that area because, in a typical newsroom, what matters to the professional editor is the fat, juicy, distinctive copy and not the ethnic background of the by-liner. In retrospect, we did record excellent results from some of the reporters operating outside their ethnic origins – Tayo Lukula in Port Harcourt, Ransome Emenari in Kano, Saxhone Akhaine in Kaduna, and Bayo Ohu in Katsina.
Now in quick succession, two of these very good reporters that I knew and was fond of – Bayo Ohu and Tayo Lukula– have been gunned down by yet-to-be-identified assassins. I mourn with families that have been deprived of their breadwinners in such a violent, brutal, and senseless manner.
I grieve over the fact that certain of our country’s young men and women (Bayo was allegedly shot dead by a woman), are now accepting that becoming hired guns is a possible answer to the question of growing unemployment in our country.
I marvel that our country’s young men and women would accept money, for whatever reason, to train their guns on those who struggle every day, through their pens and microphones, to right the oppressive system that created the unemployment situation in the first place.
Journalism in Nigeria is currently challenged by two realities – the desire to hire those with excellent writing skills, regardless of their professional preparation, and the desire to use willing, unprepared recruits to wage the war against impunity and arbitrariness ravaging our political system. The result is that efforts to tame the monster of arbitrariness and impunity have produced excellent results, and horrible unintended consequences for the profession.
The excellent results are the many occasions when fearless practitioners, some operating underground in guerrilla-like fashion, were able to bring down cabals and powerful individuals that intermittently rise to seize and hold Nigeria hostage, bringing her to the edge of the cliff at certain points in our history.
The horrible unintended consequences are the many assault, jailing, and murder that journalists have had to suffer in the course of challenging the monster.
It is largely through the efforts of journalists that the military’s 28 years of power stranglehold over our country was broken.
The media war waged by radical journalists from the early 1980s provided the impetus and support for civil society organisations to come into being and join in this fight. The haste with which Generals Obasanjo (1979), Babangida (1993), and Abdulsalam Abubakar (1999) either stepped aside or handed over power to civilians is partly credited to the dogged efforts of the radical media, aided by the civil society groups that they encouraged and empowered.
This may in turn explain why journalists, more than the civil society groups, bore the most brutal brunt of the counter-assault from the monster. Too many journalists were creatively or crudely murdered for daring to challenge the oppressive status-quo, beginning with the letter-bombing of Dele Giwa in October 1986.
In the year 2010, the monster appears to be returning to Nigeria. It is manifested in two realities. The first is the return of the “expelled” actors into powerful political reckoning. The second is the return of the murder of journalists as a pastime in political or business gamesmanship.
I do not imply that there is a link between the two, but I believe we could use our memories of the recent past to advise ourselves, as journalists, on how to approach or challenge the new, unwelcome order. If it requires us to return to the trenches, we should approach the matter like professional editors and go beyond ethnic bylines to objectively identify, challenge, frustrate, and contain the monster (or monsters) that harm our profession and retard our nation.
I say this because certain actors in our better-forgotten era of impunity and arbitrariness appear to have made full recovery and transformation, as they now control the political establishment in agbada. Whether in the leadership of the National Assembly, the Board of Trustees of the most powerful parties, the advisory committees of an acting presidency, or jockeying for prime spot on the 2011 presidential platform of both the ruling and “mega” parties, the actors appear to be back in “respectable” mode. Still a leopard never changes its spots: only in a few instances did their ascendency conform to democratic standards.
Nigerian journalism may need to transform and renew, once again, to keep pace with the new ways of power. I do not pretend to know how this can be done, but we could start from basic, time-tested tenets of our profession. How many of our current practitioners are prepared for this job?
To be prepared means undergoing a basic training in journalism and ethics that equip them with the professional skill to handle written or spoken words with care and caution, approach every story as an independent investigator not beholden to an interested party, hold the country’s interests (especially her national security and economic stability) as sacrosanct, challenge new attempts to mount the throne of arbitrariness and impunity, and for the sake of our profession, carry out the necessary spadework to find out why our colleagues are being killed, rather than leave the job to the police alone.
All too often, we are obsessed with the “who?” whenever a colleague is murdered, even though in journalism, the meat of the story is in the “why”. I have since found out that as it is in journalism, so it is in police investigation: Any investigation that fails to solve the “why?” (motive) never progresses to the point of revealing the “who?”.
In our environment, an investigative journalist is probably more equipped with the skills and goodwill to identify the “why” faster than the police. Therefore, part of the proposed transformation could be to use our investigative skills to assist and empower the police, especially when our colleagues become victims of political, business, or other interests.
This could be one way to unravel the identity of journalist killers and bring them to justice. At any rate, such findings would certainly educate us on what we need to do to clean house, should this be what is called for.
Friday, April 30, 2010
The Abuja Way
I sat in a popular fast-food joint the other day and listened to two friends argue over "office" matters. It was obvious that the two were close friends, and from the nicknames they shared, it was also apparent that they knew each other well, long before they came to settle in Abuja and work in the same office. Those of us seated near their table listened to the conversation, because one of the parties wanted everyone to hear and presumably drink from his book of Abuja wisdom.
The man, whom I shall call Mr. Ojionu, looked dashing, well groomed, and prosperous. His friend, whom I shall call Mr. Oyibo (because he had the affectations of an Oyinbo gentleman) looked lean and gaunt, evidence of a constant struggle to come to terms with the high cost of living in the capital city. Oyibo was also beginning to sprout grey hairs.
Everyone in our corner of the restaurant took notice of this odd couple when Ojionu hit his fist on restaurant table and shouted at his friend in exasperation:
“How many times have I told you that you don’t speak truth to power in Abuja?” he shouted.
“Many times, but this won’t stop me. You have forgotten what they say? The man dies who keeps silent in the face of tyranny? I don’t like the man’s attitude and you know it. How could I be the one to tell him who his enemies are? Do I look like someone who loves gossiping or backbiting people?”
“Na you sabi,” Ojionu shot back. “The man is looking for his enemies. Why don’t you help him find them? You’ve missed a golden opportunity; the man wants you to be his confidant…”
“…His spy, damnit! Why do you change the meaning of words? This is wicked and amoral.”
“Me, wicked and amorous? And I am paying for your food and beer?”
“Not amorous; amoral – unethical, dishonourable, unscrupulous. And I don’t mean you. I mean the way you dress bad things with noble words.”
“Now you are the one using big words to confuse; not me but my way – what’s the difference? Anyway, you need to learn a few things about how to get along in this town.”
“Ok, teacher, fire on. I’m all ears.”
“I can reel out ten things that make people successful in Abuja. Never speak truth to power; help powerful people find or confirm their “enemies”; everybody is stealing from Nigeria, so always ask for something before doing anyone a favour. If you wait until after you have rendered excellent service, you will be the mumu because they will dash you peanuts. You are going around looking like Mr. Suffering himself. Put on a bold, prosperous front – drive the best car in town, leave that hamlet from where you suffer everyday to come to work; come and live in the city; put your children in elite schools here in Abuja; register with a big club…”
“All that on my salary?”
“You are thinking like a poor man, and don’t interrupt me please. Poor people like you always put the money first, rather than the dream and a plan. When you dream big, you’ll be presented with the motivation to go beyond this “holy” attitude that is keeping you in agony.”
“There’s something wrong with trying to be holy?”
“No, nothing wrong; I’m sure you’ll make it to heaven, I’m sure of that. The way things look, you might even make it sooner than you wish, because the journey has started in your body.”
“Now, you’re beginning to insult me.”
“I haven’t started yet. I may not speak truth to power, but I do to my friends. So, I’m telling you: leave your morality and fine principles at home. They will not train your children. They will not give you a life here. I am tired of listening to you moan about those who cheat you. Cheating is an Abuja way. How many have you cheated? You are a brilliant man, always full of ideas. Don’t you know that your ideas have made millionaires in this town? The people you leave documents with use the same documents to get ahead, while telling you that they were not approved, not so? Remember the day you came out of our meeting crying that the ideas you discussed with (name withheld) was what he came to present as his own? I sometimes feel guilty because I also make use of your ideas. But, in my own case, I make sure I pay you back with my friendship…
“So that’s why you buy me lunch and beer? You feel better for stealing my ideas after you make me eat your food?”
“Forget about that. You are my friend. I’m telling you that you need to learn how to get ahead. You come to work every day and dive straight to your task – you don’t remember to go greet our oga, ask how his family is doing, smile to make his day…”
“How does that fit into my job description?”
“Hahaha! I get the joke. But seriously, my friend, you need to be at the beck and call of your oga. That is why he is the oga. He expects absolute loyalty from you; you must be able to satisfy him in all respects with your committed service …”
“...speaking of which I must tell you this – since we are speaking the truth to frienship. Do you know what the latest office gossip is? It’s about you and the man. They say that he “services” you and this is why you are getting accelerated promotions and all the other perks that are making you live like a prince.”
“Be careful now. You may be my friend but in this Abuja, mugu dey go far, and you don’t cross a mugu.”
“Mugu? You mean you act a fool to get what you want?”
“You are not versed in Hausa. Mugu does not mean a fool. It means something else and the nearest I can explain it to you is that a mugu is an extremely wicked and dangerous person. You may be my friend but be careful what you go about telling those who are successful in this town. I’ve paid for your food and beer; let’s go.”
“I don’t understand. You mean you could actually harm me? Is this a threat?”
“You are my friend; at least for now. Let’s leave here.”
The man, whom I shall call Mr. Ojionu, looked dashing, well groomed, and prosperous. His friend, whom I shall call Mr. Oyibo (because he had the affectations of an Oyinbo gentleman) looked lean and gaunt, evidence of a constant struggle to come to terms with the high cost of living in the capital city. Oyibo was also beginning to sprout grey hairs.
Everyone in our corner of the restaurant took notice of this odd couple when Ojionu hit his fist on restaurant table and shouted at his friend in exasperation:
“How many times have I told you that you don’t speak truth to power in Abuja?” he shouted.
“Many times, but this won’t stop me. You have forgotten what they say? The man dies who keeps silent in the face of tyranny? I don’t like the man’s attitude and you know it. How could I be the one to tell him who his enemies are? Do I look like someone who loves gossiping or backbiting people?”
“Na you sabi,” Ojionu shot back. “The man is looking for his enemies. Why don’t you help him find them? You’ve missed a golden opportunity; the man wants you to be his confidant…”
“…His spy, damnit! Why do you change the meaning of words? This is wicked and amoral.”
“Me, wicked and amorous? And I am paying for your food and beer?”
“Not amorous; amoral – unethical, dishonourable, unscrupulous. And I don’t mean you. I mean the way you dress bad things with noble words.”
“Now you are the one using big words to confuse; not me but my way – what’s the difference? Anyway, you need to learn a few things about how to get along in this town.”
“Ok, teacher, fire on. I’m all ears.”
“I can reel out ten things that make people successful in Abuja. Never speak truth to power; help powerful people find or confirm their “enemies”; everybody is stealing from Nigeria, so always ask for something before doing anyone a favour. If you wait until after you have rendered excellent service, you will be the mumu because they will dash you peanuts. You are going around looking like Mr. Suffering himself. Put on a bold, prosperous front – drive the best car in town, leave that hamlet from where you suffer everyday to come to work; come and live in the city; put your children in elite schools here in Abuja; register with a big club…”
“All that on my salary?”
“You are thinking like a poor man, and don’t interrupt me please. Poor people like you always put the money first, rather than the dream and a plan. When you dream big, you’ll be presented with the motivation to go beyond this “holy” attitude that is keeping you in agony.”
“There’s something wrong with trying to be holy?”
“No, nothing wrong; I’m sure you’ll make it to heaven, I’m sure of that. The way things look, you might even make it sooner than you wish, because the journey has started in your body.”
“Now, you’re beginning to insult me.”
“I haven’t started yet. I may not speak truth to power, but I do to my friends. So, I’m telling you: leave your morality and fine principles at home. They will not train your children. They will not give you a life here. I am tired of listening to you moan about those who cheat you. Cheating is an Abuja way. How many have you cheated? You are a brilliant man, always full of ideas. Don’t you know that your ideas have made millionaires in this town? The people you leave documents with use the same documents to get ahead, while telling you that they were not approved, not so? Remember the day you came out of our meeting crying that the ideas you discussed with (name withheld) was what he came to present as his own? I sometimes feel guilty because I also make use of your ideas. But, in my own case, I make sure I pay you back with my friendship…
“So that’s why you buy me lunch and beer? You feel better for stealing my ideas after you make me eat your food?”
“Forget about that. You are my friend. I’m telling you that you need to learn how to get ahead. You come to work every day and dive straight to your task – you don’t remember to go greet our oga, ask how his family is doing, smile to make his day…”
“How does that fit into my job description?”
“Hahaha! I get the joke. But seriously, my friend, you need to be at the beck and call of your oga. That is why he is the oga. He expects absolute loyalty from you; you must be able to satisfy him in all respects with your committed service …”
“...speaking of which I must tell you this – since we are speaking the truth to frienship. Do you know what the latest office gossip is? It’s about you and the man. They say that he “services” you and this is why you are getting accelerated promotions and all the other perks that are making you live like a prince.”
“Be careful now. You may be my friend but in this Abuja, mugu dey go far, and you don’t cross a mugu.”
“Mugu? You mean you act a fool to get what you want?”
“You are not versed in Hausa. Mugu does not mean a fool. It means something else and the nearest I can explain it to you is that a mugu is an extremely wicked and dangerous person. You may be my friend but be careful what you go about telling those who are successful in this town. I’ve paid for your food and beer; let’s go.”
“I don’t understand. You mean you could actually harm me? Is this a threat?”
“You are my friend; at least for now. Let’s leave here.”
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Memo to Bala Mohammed Kaura
I feel a sense of urgency in writing this letter to you, Alhaji Bala, regarding your recent appointment and confirmation as Minister of Nigeria’s Federal Capital Territory.
I wish to draw your attention to the fact that the FCT Administration supervises a territory that is oppressive and wicked to the poor. It is a matter of regret that, although FCT is positioned as Nigeria’s centre of unity, many of your predecessors carried on as if it is only the rich that are being united and welcomed, forgetting that they would still need the same poor people to minister to their domestic needs. They also forgot that hundreds of thousands of workers living in the most dehumanizing settlements outside the city, who commute to and from the city centre each day, enduring traffic snarls, are human beings whose sweat and blood developed Abuja to what it is today.
For eight years now, since I came to Abuja, I have reflected on this sad trend, manifested in the Big-Man Approach to Abuja development, and have come up with two possible explanations for this continuing unfortunate state of affairs.
First of all, although it was originally designated a federal territory, FCT’s status has since been seriously tampered with. This enabled your predecessors embark on arbitrary governance, fashioning the Territory in their own image while swearing by a secret, sacred book called “Abuja Master plan.”
The truth is that many of us residents suspect that this “Master plan” may not be an FCT Development Project Plan but merely an architectural drawing or map, which an incoming administrator such as your good self could interpret in one way, and your successor in 2011 is sure to interpret in another way.
FCT was originally designed as a Federal Territory with a Federal Capital Development Authority (FCDA)) charged with responsibility for its development and control. The original master plan divided the territory into districts; consequently, development of the territory began from a set of districts that were grouped together into what was then known as Phase I.
The 1979 constitution further fuddled the issue by creating area councils and positioning Abuja as if it is a state. President Shehu Shagari, through a gazette, jumped in with a gazette which effectively converted the territory into a Ministry, complete with Minister, Permanent Secretary and directors, and consigned the professional developer (FCDA) into a parastatal of the Ministry. With the FCDA downgraded and powerless, politicians took over the development of Abuja – from the Ministry whose Minister was given the status of a state governor, and from the area councils whose chairmen are accorded the status of local government chair – by both the 1979 and 1999 constitutions.
Secondly, and as a consequence, we no longer hear about the phased development of Abuja, which was the key part of the secret master plan. We have, instead, concentrated on the Abuja Municipal/Abuja City and developed it for the rich, while banishing the poor to hamlets inside the Territory.
Although this banishment could be directly traced to the administration of Malam Nasiru el-Rufai, it has also been said that the minister made attempts to ameliorate the suffering of the Abuja masses. I have heard Abuja property and real estate professionals swear that el Rufai knew what he was about. They tell me that even though he banished the poor people from the city centre, the man had the good sense to create satellite towns where these could settle, and that he gave the land to some of the people who were displaced at give-away rates. I visited one of those settlements (at Orozo) and saw that many buildings have sprouted there, but the area was not inhabited because the houses were being built inside a thick forest. There were no infrastructures – roads, water, and electricity.
Many property developers I met there told me that they were confident that Malam el Rufai would have completed the five Satellite villages and made life easy for the Abuja poor who are today being forced to commute to work in the city centre from their hamlets. They continue to endure the most agonizing traffic snarls, because I am also told that feeder roads from those satellite towns to Abuja have been budgeted for but no one knows what has happened to the disbursements.
The way that I see it, honourable Minister, there is a practical and policy-making approach that you might wish to consider.
It is possible to make a mark in one year by taking a second look at those satellite towns, complete the infrastructure works on them, and link one of them up with a superb road networks to the city centre. Even if it is only one that you are able to finish, you would have the sort of positive Abuja legacy that the late Gen. Sani Abacha currently has over his development of the Gwarimpa Estate.
A second way is to reflect deeply on the following three realities that made it difficult for your predecessors to leave enduring legacy in the FCT:
One: Shouldn’t the FCT return to its original conception as a federal territory, and relinquish the heavy apparatuses of LG/state/federal ministry which it is finding economically difficult to shoulder at the moment?
Two: How long should we continue to have a Minister-Governor in the FCT? In order to give the FCT a chance to survive as a federal territory, we may not need a Minister for the FCT because it is a political position that is at once corruption-prone; we do not need swaths of land designated as area councils because they are attracting rabid politicians and obnoxious politics, including from those who currently position themselves as “indigenes,” and violently confront “outsiders” who wish to contest elections in this centre of unity.
Three: Is it possible for the FEC to vote to spread federal ministries and parastatals in far-flung districts (perhaps among the current area councils), in order to immediately decongest Abuja City, make for even development, bring down the scandalous cost of living in the city-centre, and give workers an opportunity to find decent accommodation close to their places of work?
I wish to draw your attention to the fact that the FCT Administration supervises a territory that is oppressive and wicked to the poor. It is a matter of regret that, although FCT is positioned as Nigeria’s centre of unity, many of your predecessors carried on as if it is only the rich that are being united and welcomed, forgetting that they would still need the same poor people to minister to their domestic needs. They also forgot that hundreds of thousands of workers living in the most dehumanizing settlements outside the city, who commute to and from the city centre each day, enduring traffic snarls, are human beings whose sweat and blood developed Abuja to what it is today.
For eight years now, since I came to Abuja, I have reflected on this sad trend, manifested in the Big-Man Approach to Abuja development, and have come up with two possible explanations for this continuing unfortunate state of affairs.
First of all, although it was originally designated a federal territory, FCT’s status has since been seriously tampered with. This enabled your predecessors embark on arbitrary governance, fashioning the Territory in their own image while swearing by a secret, sacred book called “Abuja Master plan.”
The truth is that many of us residents suspect that this “Master plan” may not be an FCT Development Project Plan but merely an architectural drawing or map, which an incoming administrator such as your good self could interpret in one way, and your successor in 2011 is sure to interpret in another way.
FCT was originally designed as a Federal Territory with a Federal Capital Development Authority (FCDA)) charged with responsibility for its development and control. The original master plan divided the territory into districts; consequently, development of the territory began from a set of districts that were grouped together into what was then known as Phase I.
The 1979 constitution further fuddled the issue by creating area councils and positioning Abuja as if it is a state. President Shehu Shagari, through a gazette, jumped in with a gazette which effectively converted the territory into a Ministry, complete with Minister, Permanent Secretary and directors, and consigned the professional developer (FCDA) into a parastatal of the Ministry. With the FCDA downgraded and powerless, politicians took over the development of Abuja – from the Ministry whose Minister was given the status of a state governor, and from the area councils whose chairmen are accorded the status of local government chair – by both the 1979 and 1999 constitutions.
Secondly, and as a consequence, we no longer hear about the phased development of Abuja, which was the key part of the secret master plan. We have, instead, concentrated on the Abuja Municipal/Abuja City and developed it for the rich, while banishing the poor to hamlets inside the Territory.
Although this banishment could be directly traced to the administration of Malam Nasiru el-Rufai, it has also been said that the minister made attempts to ameliorate the suffering of the Abuja masses. I have heard Abuja property and real estate professionals swear that el Rufai knew what he was about. They tell me that even though he banished the poor people from the city centre, the man had the good sense to create satellite towns where these could settle, and that he gave the land to some of the people who were displaced at give-away rates. I visited one of those settlements (at Orozo) and saw that many buildings have sprouted there, but the area was not inhabited because the houses were being built inside a thick forest. There were no infrastructures – roads, water, and electricity.
Many property developers I met there told me that they were confident that Malam el Rufai would have completed the five Satellite villages and made life easy for the Abuja poor who are today being forced to commute to work in the city centre from their hamlets. They continue to endure the most agonizing traffic snarls, because I am also told that feeder roads from those satellite towns to Abuja have been budgeted for but no one knows what has happened to the disbursements.
The way that I see it, honourable Minister, there is a practical and policy-making approach that you might wish to consider.
It is possible to make a mark in one year by taking a second look at those satellite towns, complete the infrastructure works on them, and link one of them up with a superb road networks to the city centre. Even if it is only one that you are able to finish, you would have the sort of positive Abuja legacy that the late Gen. Sani Abacha currently has over his development of the Gwarimpa Estate.
A second way is to reflect deeply on the following three realities that made it difficult for your predecessors to leave enduring legacy in the FCT:
One: Shouldn’t the FCT return to its original conception as a federal territory, and relinquish the heavy apparatuses of LG/state/federal ministry which it is finding economically difficult to shoulder at the moment?
Two: How long should we continue to have a Minister-Governor in the FCT? In order to give the FCT a chance to survive as a federal territory, we may not need a Minister for the FCT because it is a political position that is at once corruption-prone; we do not need swaths of land designated as area councils because they are attracting rabid politicians and obnoxious politics, including from those who currently position themselves as “indigenes,” and violently confront “outsiders” who wish to contest elections in this centre of unity.
Three: Is it possible for the FEC to vote to spread federal ministries and parastatals in far-flung districts (perhaps among the current area councils), in order to immediately decongest Abuja City, make for even development, bring down the scandalous cost of living in the city-centre, and give workers an opportunity to find decent accommodation close to their places of work?
Thursday, April 1, 2010
The Coming Acid Rain
LAST week, my wife and I received text messages warning us of the possibility of acid rain in Abuja, Nigeria. The message was said to have originated from NASA in the United States, thus lending it the required weight and authority.
My wife was afraid but I dismissed the message instantly. With the authority of my high school geography, I claimed that acid rain happens only in the Amazon jungles of South America! An official of the Meteorological Department lent weight to my claim, when he said on NTA that there is no cause for alarm. Then, all of a sudden, Abuja FCT became enveloped in a thick harmattan fog in March 2010, when the country was expecting the rainy season, and another Met officer alluded in The Guardian that the possibility of acid rain should not be ruled out.
Acid rain is a possibility in Nigeria, and the sign is here, in the thick smog that poses a challenge to air travel and to health. When I was told that a major cause of acid rain is burning of fossil fuels, which contributes to global warming, as well as air, water and land pollution, I did a double take.
Nigeria is a major burner of fossil fuel. The country flares an estimated 75 percent of its proven natural gas reserves (estimated at 124 trillion cubic feet) due to inadequate gas utilization infrastructure.
We face three dangers.
When we burn fossil fuels, we release large amounts of carbon into the air. The carbon contributes to the greenhouse effect, which causes the heat of the sun to be trapped in the atmosphere, leading to a sharp rise in global temperatures. This rise in temperature melts polar ice caps, thereby producing more water which causes ocean levels to rise. The rise in ocean levels threatens cities and settlements located close to sea levels. Proof? Lagos experiences intermittent sea surges that eat away its Atlantic shores and, since 1980, we have lived with the fear that Victoria Island will one day disappear under the sea.
A rise in global temperatures and the consequent melting of polar ice caps drastically reduces the level of salt in the ocean. This reduction in salinity of the ocean poses a danger to certain kinds of aquatic life, especially those that require average sea salt to thrive. Thus, it is possible that the devastation of aquatic life in the Niger Delta may not only have arisen from oil spills but also from the burning of fossil fuels by oil companies.
Burning fossil fuels releases sulfur dioxide and nitrogen oxides into the atmosphere. These gases react with water and other chemicals in the air to form sulfuric acid, nitric acid, and other pollutants, which travel with the wind for hundreds of miles and eventually return to the earth as acid rain, snow, or fog. As of this month of March 2010, we have experienced unusual fog tending towards smog in the atmosphere, and smog in the atmosphere is a sign that “acid rain” may be on its way. And, by the way, I was wrong on my recollection of my high school geography. Acid rain is indeed a current feature of US and Canadian cities, Europe cities, as well as Japan, China and countries in South East Asia. Scientists say that in combination with other chemicals which result in urban smog, acid rain attacks the lungs, causing illness and premature deaths.
These dangers should be a source of worry, especially for those of us living outside of the Niger Delta who do not fully appreciate what burning of fossil fuel and poor management of drilling operations do to the environment and to the future health of our population.
The world has been crying out over global warming arising from carbon emissions, and we were made to believe that this was a distant problem of those manufacturing refrigerators and air-conditioners, even as oil companies burnt fossil fuels and released carbons in our backyard. The Kyoto Protocol, which requires Western countries to cut their greenhouse emissions by five percent between 2008 and 2010, will eventually catch us unawares. It has led to a strenuous search for safe and cleaner energy sources which, when fully implemented, will lead to drastic fall in oil demand, the lifeblood of our economy. Nigeria and most major OPEC production countries were not required to sign this Protocol, meaning that we were not gingered up to look for ways of diversifying our income sources. Thus, our economy will be devastated when the West finds alternative energy sources.
The world makes strenuous efforts to ensure that crude oil gases are not wasted into the atmosphere, and our leaders find it convenient to connive with the oil companies which waste the scarce resource and pollute our environment. The Niger Delta struggle, a worthy effort to safeguard the environment and protect our economic future, was hijacked by political and criminal forces and turned into a charade that celebrated extortions, kidnappings, and political vendetta.
This is why we must entertain hope at the coming of Goodluck Jonathan as head of government. As a Niger Deltan, will he be the leader that moves us towards energy reforms, stops the burning of fossil fuel in his ancestral home, and joins international efforts to look for safer and cheaper energy alternatives?
Or will he concern himself ONLY with how to use the proceeds of the current production methods to ameliorate the sufferings of the Niger Delta, while the country faces the possibility of an acid rain, the continued destruction of aquatic life in his backyard, the possibility of disappearance of our shoreline cities, health challenges of pollution and urban smog, and future economic collapse when oil income no longer fetches billions of dollars that currently propel our politicians to selfish power struggles?
My wife was afraid but I dismissed the message instantly. With the authority of my high school geography, I claimed that acid rain happens only in the Amazon jungles of South America! An official of the Meteorological Department lent weight to my claim, when he said on NTA that there is no cause for alarm. Then, all of a sudden, Abuja FCT became enveloped in a thick harmattan fog in March 2010, when the country was expecting the rainy season, and another Met officer alluded in The Guardian that the possibility of acid rain should not be ruled out.
Acid rain is a possibility in Nigeria, and the sign is here, in the thick smog that poses a challenge to air travel and to health. When I was told that a major cause of acid rain is burning of fossil fuels, which contributes to global warming, as well as air, water and land pollution, I did a double take.
Nigeria is a major burner of fossil fuel. The country flares an estimated 75 percent of its proven natural gas reserves (estimated at 124 trillion cubic feet) due to inadequate gas utilization infrastructure.
We face three dangers.
When we burn fossil fuels, we release large amounts of carbon into the air. The carbon contributes to the greenhouse effect, which causes the heat of the sun to be trapped in the atmosphere, leading to a sharp rise in global temperatures. This rise in temperature melts polar ice caps, thereby producing more water which causes ocean levels to rise. The rise in ocean levels threatens cities and settlements located close to sea levels. Proof? Lagos experiences intermittent sea surges that eat away its Atlantic shores and, since 1980, we have lived with the fear that Victoria Island will one day disappear under the sea.
A rise in global temperatures and the consequent melting of polar ice caps drastically reduces the level of salt in the ocean. This reduction in salinity of the ocean poses a danger to certain kinds of aquatic life, especially those that require average sea salt to thrive. Thus, it is possible that the devastation of aquatic life in the Niger Delta may not only have arisen from oil spills but also from the burning of fossil fuels by oil companies.
Burning fossil fuels releases sulfur dioxide and nitrogen oxides into the atmosphere. These gases react with water and other chemicals in the air to form sulfuric acid, nitric acid, and other pollutants, which travel with the wind for hundreds of miles and eventually return to the earth as acid rain, snow, or fog. As of this month of March 2010, we have experienced unusual fog tending towards smog in the atmosphere, and smog in the atmosphere is a sign that “acid rain” may be on its way. And, by the way, I was wrong on my recollection of my high school geography. Acid rain is indeed a current feature of US and Canadian cities, Europe cities, as well as Japan, China and countries in South East Asia. Scientists say that in combination with other chemicals which result in urban smog, acid rain attacks the lungs, causing illness and premature deaths.
These dangers should be a source of worry, especially for those of us living outside of the Niger Delta who do not fully appreciate what burning of fossil fuel and poor management of drilling operations do to the environment and to the future health of our population.
The world has been crying out over global warming arising from carbon emissions, and we were made to believe that this was a distant problem of those manufacturing refrigerators and air-conditioners, even as oil companies burnt fossil fuels and released carbons in our backyard. The Kyoto Protocol, which requires Western countries to cut their greenhouse emissions by five percent between 2008 and 2010, will eventually catch us unawares. It has led to a strenuous search for safe and cleaner energy sources which, when fully implemented, will lead to drastic fall in oil demand, the lifeblood of our economy. Nigeria and most major OPEC production countries were not required to sign this Protocol, meaning that we were not gingered up to look for ways of diversifying our income sources. Thus, our economy will be devastated when the West finds alternative energy sources.
The world makes strenuous efforts to ensure that crude oil gases are not wasted into the atmosphere, and our leaders find it convenient to connive with the oil companies which waste the scarce resource and pollute our environment. The Niger Delta struggle, a worthy effort to safeguard the environment and protect our economic future, was hijacked by political and criminal forces and turned into a charade that celebrated extortions, kidnappings, and political vendetta.
This is why we must entertain hope at the coming of Goodluck Jonathan as head of government. As a Niger Deltan, will he be the leader that moves us towards energy reforms, stops the burning of fossil fuel in his ancestral home, and joins international efforts to look for safer and cheaper energy alternatives?
Or will he concern himself ONLY with how to use the proceeds of the current production methods to ameliorate the sufferings of the Niger Delta, while the country faces the possibility of an acid rain, the continued destruction of aquatic life in his backyard, the possibility of disappearance of our shoreline cities, health challenges of pollution and urban smog, and future economic collapse when oil income no longer fetches billions of dollars that currently propel our politicians to selfish power struggles?
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Macebuh was not a Nigerian
THE recent passage of Dr. Stanley N. Macebuh closes a chapter in Nigeria’s golden age of journalism, inspired by two New York imports. Macebuh was one, Dele Giwa the other.
Macebuh and Giwa were both hired from New York to work in Daily Times.
In his tribute to Giwa, who was assassinated in 1986, Macebuh revealed how Dr. Patrick Dele Cole employed him, how he was subsequently sent to New York to recruit Giwa, and the difficulties he had convincing Giwa to return and take up the job.
Macebuh and Giwa were soul mates.
Macebuh was the intellectual. He loved life, was kind to people, and stood behind journalists whenever their works ruffled the feathers of the powerful and mighty. Giwa, was the professional, with his prior experience in the New York Times. He also loved life, action, and the pursuit of journalism excellence. Their newsroom panache inspired a new generation of media freedom fighters when they created two of the best known and most powerful media institutions in Nigerian – The Guardian and Newswatch.
Those who learned at the foot of these masters have since fanned out and planted their editorial footprints in the sands: Almost 80 percent of the great media institutions that came after Guardian and Newswatch were either founded or editorially directed by their protégés.
Through their tutelage and the force of their ideas, the Nigerian media came to the battle, armed with lucid and powerful editorial arguments and investigative reports that exposed inept and corrupt leadership, as they fought to wrest Nigeria from the iron grip of military rule.
Their efforts stung the military which lashed out viciously, beginning with the jailing of Messrs Nduka Irabor and Tunde Thompson when Macebuh was at the helm in The Guardian, the assassination of Dele Giwa himself, the CEO of Newswatch, and following with a spate of detentions, closures, jail terms, and other physical abuses of journalists and their media.
Macebuh was in this warfront. It was barely a year after he assembled his Guardian team that the military began its onslaught on the newspaper. Dele Giwa was a warrior, and eventually paid with his life for his editorial daring.
The panache and fact-based methods that were used to press the case for democracy won them many admirers. Both Macebuh and Giwa were to end up earning the admiration and friendship of military top brass, although they never allowed such friendships to intrude on the editorial independence of the newspaper and magazine that they managed.
Macebuh counted among his friends the late Gen. Shehu Musa Yar’Adua, Gen. Ibrahim Babangida and Gen. Olusegun Obasanjo. All three offered to assist him stand on his feet when he left The Guardian. Through late Gen. Yar’Adua, he briefly relocated to Kaduna to found a weekly magazine, Sentinel; the venture lost steam through a combination of poor funding and internal management wrangles.
Through Gen. Babangida, he briefly tried his hands at sugar importation, but this business also did not fly due to what was described as deadly local competition. Through Gen. Obasanjo, he became a public servant, serving at the highest levels of government. This was after his innovative Rapid Response (Media) Team packaged the General, just released from prison, and successfully sold him to Nigerians as “the leader we can trust” in 1999. Unfortunately, his puritanical beliefs and spartan disposition at Aso Rock pitched him against the power mongers, and he recorded the distinction of being the only one that was appointed and sacked twice by his friend, ex-President Obasanjo.
It was after his second sack from the Aso Villa, that Dr. Macebuh became disillusioned and dropped out completely from the social circuits. Aided by an illness that took him to a major surgery at the National Hospital in Abuja, his life experienced a radical transformation.
Although he was my boss at The Guardian, I never met Dr. Macebuh face-to-face until I came to work in the State House Abuja in 2003. He was then Deputy Chief of Staff to the President and I was a consultant in Mr. Ad’Obe’s State House Public Communications Unit. I requested to see him when I learnt that he held a grudge against me for “refusing” to take up the editor position in the Post Express.
When I told him my side of the story, he was shocked and saddened. It became clear to him that his friend, who was asked to, did not reach out to me. As it turned out, this friend wanted someone else, and so went back after a few days to lie to Dr. Macebuh that I was not interested in the position.
I got to know and appreciate him a lot better after that, and I can say that Macebuh lived and died with two “weaknesses”.
He remained till the end the ethical professional, in a country where the worth of a man is sometimes measured by the millions that one is able to shave off from the company till, combined with what one begs, blackmails, or coerces from those stealing public funds.
He trusted everybody, most of all his friends. This gave some of them room to stab him in the back, or to snatch his ideas and appropriate them as their own. He did not get used to the “Nigerian way”, where those with less abilities tag along with the man of ideas, and, at the critical moment, snatch the ideas, proffer it to those that need them, and thereafter insist to the world that this was their “baby”.
In that sense, Dr. Stanley Macebuh was not a “Nigerian”, thank God. Men of goodwill in the profession must pray that the ideas that he and Dele Giwa introduced to Nigerian journalism will not die with them.
Macebuh and Giwa were both hired from New York to work in Daily Times.
In his tribute to Giwa, who was assassinated in 1986, Macebuh revealed how Dr. Patrick Dele Cole employed him, how he was subsequently sent to New York to recruit Giwa, and the difficulties he had convincing Giwa to return and take up the job.
Macebuh and Giwa were soul mates.
Macebuh was the intellectual. He loved life, was kind to people, and stood behind journalists whenever their works ruffled the feathers of the powerful and mighty. Giwa, was the professional, with his prior experience in the New York Times. He also loved life, action, and the pursuit of journalism excellence. Their newsroom panache inspired a new generation of media freedom fighters when they created two of the best known and most powerful media institutions in Nigerian – The Guardian and Newswatch.
Those who learned at the foot of these masters have since fanned out and planted their editorial footprints in the sands: Almost 80 percent of the great media institutions that came after Guardian and Newswatch were either founded or editorially directed by their protégés.
Through their tutelage and the force of their ideas, the Nigerian media came to the battle, armed with lucid and powerful editorial arguments and investigative reports that exposed inept and corrupt leadership, as they fought to wrest Nigeria from the iron grip of military rule.
Their efforts stung the military which lashed out viciously, beginning with the jailing of Messrs Nduka Irabor and Tunde Thompson when Macebuh was at the helm in The Guardian, the assassination of Dele Giwa himself, the CEO of Newswatch, and following with a spate of detentions, closures, jail terms, and other physical abuses of journalists and their media.
Macebuh was in this warfront. It was barely a year after he assembled his Guardian team that the military began its onslaught on the newspaper. Dele Giwa was a warrior, and eventually paid with his life for his editorial daring.
The panache and fact-based methods that were used to press the case for democracy won them many admirers. Both Macebuh and Giwa were to end up earning the admiration and friendship of military top brass, although they never allowed such friendships to intrude on the editorial independence of the newspaper and magazine that they managed.
Macebuh counted among his friends the late Gen. Shehu Musa Yar’Adua, Gen. Ibrahim Babangida and Gen. Olusegun Obasanjo. All three offered to assist him stand on his feet when he left The Guardian. Through late Gen. Yar’Adua, he briefly relocated to Kaduna to found a weekly magazine, Sentinel; the venture lost steam through a combination of poor funding and internal management wrangles.
Through Gen. Babangida, he briefly tried his hands at sugar importation, but this business also did not fly due to what was described as deadly local competition. Through Gen. Obasanjo, he became a public servant, serving at the highest levels of government. This was after his innovative Rapid Response (Media) Team packaged the General, just released from prison, and successfully sold him to Nigerians as “the leader we can trust” in 1999. Unfortunately, his puritanical beliefs and spartan disposition at Aso Rock pitched him against the power mongers, and he recorded the distinction of being the only one that was appointed and sacked twice by his friend, ex-President Obasanjo.
It was after his second sack from the Aso Villa, that Dr. Macebuh became disillusioned and dropped out completely from the social circuits. Aided by an illness that took him to a major surgery at the National Hospital in Abuja, his life experienced a radical transformation.
Although he was my boss at The Guardian, I never met Dr. Macebuh face-to-face until I came to work in the State House Abuja in 2003. He was then Deputy Chief of Staff to the President and I was a consultant in Mr. Ad’Obe’s State House Public Communications Unit. I requested to see him when I learnt that he held a grudge against me for “refusing” to take up the editor position in the Post Express.
When I told him my side of the story, he was shocked and saddened. It became clear to him that his friend, who was asked to, did not reach out to me. As it turned out, this friend wanted someone else, and so went back after a few days to lie to Dr. Macebuh that I was not interested in the position.
I got to know and appreciate him a lot better after that, and I can say that Macebuh lived and died with two “weaknesses”.
He remained till the end the ethical professional, in a country where the worth of a man is sometimes measured by the millions that one is able to shave off from the company till, combined with what one begs, blackmails, or coerces from those stealing public funds.
He trusted everybody, most of all his friends. This gave some of them room to stab him in the back, or to snatch his ideas and appropriate them as their own. He did not get used to the “Nigerian way”, where those with less abilities tag along with the man of ideas, and, at the critical moment, snatch the ideas, proffer it to those that need them, and thereafter insist to the world that this was their “baby”.
In that sense, Dr. Stanley Macebuh was not a “Nigerian”, thank God. Men of goodwill in the profession must pray that the ideas that he and Dele Giwa introduced to Nigerian journalism will not die with them.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
The British Virgin
RICH and powerful Abuja businessmen are in love with the British Virgin.
There are 60 such “virgins” but the affluent in Abuja are attracted to only four of them. These four do not bear British-sounding names: Tortola, Virgin Gorda, Anegada, and Jost Van Dyke.
Of the original 60 virgins, 44 can still claim to be “virgins” in the real sense of the word – no man has touched them or lived in them up till this day. The remaining 16 are not virgins in any sense – they make their services freely available to local and international businessmen, including the well-heeled from Abuja, FCT.
We are introduced to the British Virgin each time a big international financial transaction takes place here in Abuja. At such events, including the BPE privatisation and the oil blocs licensing rounds, we invariably find one or two rich and powerful Nigerians submitting a résumé that shows, among other things, that they visited and made use of the services of Tortola, Virgin Goda, Anegada or Jost Van Dyke.
Oftentimes, this may turn out to be an omen. For example, one of the consortia that bid for the recent final(?) sale of ailing NITEL is Omen. Ordinarily, an omen can be a sign, a portent, a prophecy, a warning, a forecast, or a premonition. In this case, however, Omen International Limited (BVI) powered through when it was announced as reserve winner with a bid of $956.98 million, beaten to second place by New Generation with its generous $2.5 billion bid.
Tongues have been set wagging ever since, particularly on the antecedents of the winner, New Generation, and its subsequent denials and truth somersaults. But I was not concerned about New Generation. However, the company that interested me was Omen, not because of the name, but because of its appellation, BVI – which announced to the world that some rich and powerful Nigerians went to make use of the services offered by the “virgin”, before they came for the bid.
In case you are wandering, British Virgin is not a woman. If she is, she would have been the worst kind of whore alive. The British Virgin is rather a collection of 60 islands, annexed and colonised by Britain, which has thrown her arms open to responsible and shady world businessmen (and women) who want a haven to protect their wealth. The British Virgin Island is located in the Caribbean Sea, 90 miles east of Puerto Rico.
There are two things that make her very attractive to rich business people from around the world – she can help you salt away wealth for your children, and she can help you register and run a company that no one would ever find out who the real owners are, and you can run without paying any form of tax.
There are over 500,000 IBCs registered in the British Virgin Islands, the bulk of which come from drug-riddled Latin America, and from Hong Kong, another British entity that operated as if it was a no man’s land, before China took it over.
For the Abuja rich and powerful, avoiding taxes is not the only thing that makes the British Virgin Islands attractive - rich and powerful Nigerians have always avoided or evaded most taxes in Nigeria, before the coming of Ifueko Omoigui-Okauru to the Federal Inland Revenue Service. The BVI offers rich Nigerians an opportunity to establish trusts for their children, and ensure that they do not pay taxes on them. Above all, the identity of the persons establishing the trust is never revealed. Except for legislation designed to avoid money laundering and other criminal activity, the laws are crafted to conceal and protect the real owners.
The BVI law requires those who come to register to name at least one director and one shareholder (who may be of any nationality), there is no minimum capital requirement, one does not need to open bank accounts, and if one does, no one requires one to carry out an audit. The law does not require the filing of annual returns, and the owner(s) can hold directors’ meetings anywhere in the world, including by telephone. Only the company’s memo and articles of association is kept as a public record – and even then, their confidentiality is guaranteed!
In the beginning, the rich and powerful used the BVI Trust system to save money for their children, but today, they have found it convenient as a general asset protection strategy. There are neither requirements nor restrictions to the registration of trusts, information about trusts and trustees are not disclosed to the public, and those who register trusts are not required to file annual returns or engage in any other reporting requirements.
International business companies (IBCs) set up in the British Virgin Islands are both exempt from local taxes and stamp duties, after paying registration and annual license fees. Trusts, like IBCs, are also exempt from all forms of tax: capital gains, capital transfer, inheritance, sales tax, VAT, income tax or stamp duty.
The question that must be asked is: If Nigerians appear as fronts to consortia whose ownership and the nationality of the owners, are not disclosed, why is it difficult for our laws to frown at it? What type of due diligence could possibly be carried out on those organisations before they are prequalified for bidding?
By the Way: Tortola, Virgin Gorda, Anegada, and Jost Van Dyke are the most popular of the 16 islands that are inhabited in the British Virgin Islands.
There are 60 such “virgins” but the affluent in Abuja are attracted to only four of them. These four do not bear British-sounding names: Tortola, Virgin Gorda, Anegada, and Jost Van Dyke.
Of the original 60 virgins, 44 can still claim to be “virgins” in the real sense of the word – no man has touched them or lived in them up till this day. The remaining 16 are not virgins in any sense – they make their services freely available to local and international businessmen, including the well-heeled from Abuja, FCT.
We are introduced to the British Virgin each time a big international financial transaction takes place here in Abuja. At such events, including the BPE privatisation and the oil blocs licensing rounds, we invariably find one or two rich and powerful Nigerians submitting a résumé that shows, among other things, that they visited and made use of the services of Tortola, Virgin Goda, Anegada or Jost Van Dyke.
Oftentimes, this may turn out to be an omen. For example, one of the consortia that bid for the recent final(?) sale of ailing NITEL is Omen. Ordinarily, an omen can be a sign, a portent, a prophecy, a warning, a forecast, or a premonition. In this case, however, Omen International Limited (BVI) powered through when it was announced as reserve winner with a bid of $956.98 million, beaten to second place by New Generation with its generous $2.5 billion bid.
Tongues have been set wagging ever since, particularly on the antecedents of the winner, New Generation, and its subsequent denials and truth somersaults. But I was not concerned about New Generation. However, the company that interested me was Omen, not because of the name, but because of its appellation, BVI – which announced to the world that some rich and powerful Nigerians went to make use of the services offered by the “virgin”, before they came for the bid.
In case you are wandering, British Virgin is not a woman. If she is, she would have been the worst kind of whore alive. The British Virgin is rather a collection of 60 islands, annexed and colonised by Britain, which has thrown her arms open to responsible and shady world businessmen (and women) who want a haven to protect their wealth. The British Virgin Island is located in the Caribbean Sea, 90 miles east of Puerto Rico.
There are two things that make her very attractive to rich business people from around the world – she can help you salt away wealth for your children, and she can help you register and run a company that no one would ever find out who the real owners are, and you can run without paying any form of tax.
There are over 500,000 IBCs registered in the British Virgin Islands, the bulk of which come from drug-riddled Latin America, and from Hong Kong, another British entity that operated as if it was a no man’s land, before China took it over.
For the Abuja rich and powerful, avoiding taxes is not the only thing that makes the British Virgin Islands attractive - rich and powerful Nigerians have always avoided or evaded most taxes in Nigeria, before the coming of Ifueko Omoigui-Okauru to the Federal Inland Revenue Service. The BVI offers rich Nigerians an opportunity to establish trusts for their children, and ensure that they do not pay taxes on them. Above all, the identity of the persons establishing the trust is never revealed. Except for legislation designed to avoid money laundering and other criminal activity, the laws are crafted to conceal and protect the real owners.
The BVI law requires those who come to register to name at least one director and one shareholder (who may be of any nationality), there is no minimum capital requirement, one does not need to open bank accounts, and if one does, no one requires one to carry out an audit. The law does not require the filing of annual returns, and the owner(s) can hold directors’ meetings anywhere in the world, including by telephone. Only the company’s memo and articles of association is kept as a public record – and even then, their confidentiality is guaranteed!
In the beginning, the rich and powerful used the BVI Trust system to save money for their children, but today, they have found it convenient as a general asset protection strategy. There are neither requirements nor restrictions to the registration of trusts, information about trusts and trustees are not disclosed to the public, and those who register trusts are not required to file annual returns or engage in any other reporting requirements.
International business companies (IBCs) set up in the British Virgin Islands are both exempt from local taxes and stamp duties, after paying registration and annual license fees. Trusts, like IBCs, are also exempt from all forms of tax: capital gains, capital transfer, inheritance, sales tax, VAT, income tax or stamp duty.
The question that must be asked is: If Nigerians appear as fronts to consortia whose ownership and the nationality of the owners, are not disclosed, why is it difficult for our laws to frown at it? What type of due diligence could possibly be carried out on those organisations before they are prequalified for bidding?
By the Way: Tortola, Virgin Gorda, Anegada, and Jost Van Dyke are the most popular of the 16 islands that are inhabited in the British Virgin Islands.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
The Resolution that Became Law
Abuja is a city divided since penultimate Monday when the National Assembly made its famous resolution, urging Vice President Goodluck Jonathan to seize power, as acting president.
There is palpable excitement in many offices and ominous disquiet in many others.
You get into some offices and immediately feel the excitement in the air, a feeling of satisfaction and expectation about good things to come. People in those offices commend the National Assembly for installing an acting president through a resolution, expect government to roar back to life once again, and congratulate each other for escaping an untoward happenstance.
“The army would have taken over if the National Assembly did not act fast,” one top government official told me. How did he know? “I heard; it was all over the place,” he said.
You get into some other offices, and there is disquiet; the sort you could slice with a knife.
I went to see another top government official who has for some time now been accusing me of “abandoning” him. Abandon is a word frequently bandied about here, especially when the user wants to target and blackmail an important person. “You’ve abandoned me o,” you accuse, and stay back to watch the poor fellow squirm and deny it vigorously. As he is defending himself, you quickly chip in something that he will agree to do, in order to prove that he is still a good friend!
But abandon was far from my friend’s mind Friday last week, when I visited his office.
“I was about to perform my ablution and go to the Mosque,” he apologized, as he stood up, removed his babanriga, and brought his hands out in supplication. I quickly moved to the door, but not before asking when I could see him next week.
His hands in prayer mode, he apologized that next week is filled up in his calendar. “Perhaps, sometimes in March?” he asked.
I got the message. These are not the best of times for chit chat, in some Abuja offices.
The excitement building up in some offices in the Federal Capital over the temporary change of guards was somewhat overshadowed by the reported visit of an Otta General to the man of good luck. What could be the subject of their three-hour nocturnal chat?
“What is he coming to do here again?” I heard someone complain at a business centre in the Sky Memorial, Wuse Zone 5. “He will come and pollute this one again!”
By the time someone finishes making the rounds of government offices in Abuja, one goes away with the feeling that the last may not have been heard of this National Assembly Resolution that became law in Aso Rock.
There is palpable excitement in many offices and ominous disquiet in many others.
You get into some offices and immediately feel the excitement in the air, a feeling of satisfaction and expectation about good things to come. People in those offices commend the National Assembly for installing an acting president through a resolution, expect government to roar back to life once again, and congratulate each other for escaping an untoward happenstance.
“The army would have taken over if the National Assembly did not act fast,” one top government official told me. How did he know? “I heard; it was all over the place,” he said.
You get into some other offices, and there is disquiet; the sort you could slice with a knife.
I went to see another top government official who has for some time now been accusing me of “abandoning” him. Abandon is a word frequently bandied about here, especially when the user wants to target and blackmail an important person. “You’ve abandoned me o,” you accuse, and stay back to watch the poor fellow squirm and deny it vigorously. As he is defending himself, you quickly chip in something that he will agree to do, in order to prove that he is still a good friend!
But abandon was far from my friend’s mind Friday last week, when I visited his office.
“I was about to perform my ablution and go to the Mosque,” he apologized, as he stood up, removed his babanriga, and brought his hands out in supplication. I quickly moved to the door, but not before asking when I could see him next week.
His hands in prayer mode, he apologized that next week is filled up in his calendar. “Perhaps, sometimes in March?” he asked.
I got the message. These are not the best of times for chit chat, in some Abuja offices.
The excitement building up in some offices in the Federal Capital over the temporary change of guards was somewhat overshadowed by the reported visit of an Otta General to the man of good luck. What could be the subject of their three-hour nocturnal chat?
“What is he coming to do here again?” I heard someone complain at a business centre in the Sky Memorial, Wuse Zone 5. “He will come and pollute this one again!”
By the time someone finishes making the rounds of government offices in Abuja, one goes away with the feeling that the last may not have been heard of this National Assembly Resolution that became law in Aso Rock.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The Politics of Health
Senate plans impeachment. Senate asks Nigerians to pray. Senate orders Yar’Adua to do this. Senate...
I went to my bank the other day and met a lady teller complaining about “too much talk” over the President’s ill-health while “people who should know are not hitting the nail on the head.” I was intrigued by this remark. Who are the people that should know, and how do they go about hitting the nail on the head in this matter?
“The issue is quite simple,” she said. “The president is incapacitated, and someone needs to exercise power and get the country moving. Why can’t the National Assembly understand this simple fact and do something about it, instead of talking, talking, and talking?” she asked.
She was right about the talking, talking, talking bit. I started to say something and stopped because she was not interested. She merely hissed and went back to counting money. Perhaps she sensed that I was about to convert her banking hall into another National Assembly of talk.
What I wanted to say to the lady was that the politics of Mr. President’s health is propelled by fear, bordering on paranoia. A few weeks back, there was fear that the country was moving to a point where the unthinkable could happen – such as a military takeover. It was in the air of Abuja, thick, heavy, and pregnant. State governors were flitting in and out of the capital. Added to renewed rumblings in the Niger Delta, and yet another round of bloodletting in Jos, the country appeared primed for violent change. But the military, keeping its ears to the ground, picked up the rumour, and quickly went public to dismiss it.
It was at this point that the politicos came up with a tried and tested strategy to dash hot water on our fearful bodies, and get us jumping up and down in righteous indignation. Now everyone is talking, and skirting the issue that since 23 November 2009, our president took his symbol of office to a hospital bed, and asked the country to wait for him to get well before any further key executive actions and decisions are taken!
If you needed proof of how effective the diversionary national talkshop has become, take a gallery seat at the Senate Chamber where this current national jaw-jaw was launched. Discerning Abuja residents are looking on in amusement as the group of establishment and conservative Senators have suddenly found a “radical” voice, while the traditional hotbed of radicalism – the lower House – looks on askance.
The talkshop has become a calming balm to the fearful souls of government appointees in Abuja, although they are still assailed by two monsters – the kingibe factor and the good luck factor.
The first level fear of political appointees in the Federal Executive Council is the Kingibe factor – a real fear that if one does not show absolute loyalty in words and deeds, one may be shown the door when the big masquerade makes another magical return. As a result, Nigerians who wanted to bellyache over the President’s absence were quickly shushed, and asked to instead pray and sympathise with a sick man. Although Ministers and other appointees – including the elected Vice President – prefaced their public speeches with prayers for the President’s quick recovery, no one could stop the army of political cats from mousing. Public officials continued their prayers during the day while, at night, the politicos congregated to plot power succession scenarios.
The second fear is about Yar’Adua’s deputy, the man of good luck. With wild stories circulating about how the President’s health condition was deteriorating, the prospect of Goodluck Jonathan assuming power appeared very bright. To be sure, this fear that Goodluck Jonathan could succeed Yar’Adua, was fuelled by what began as a joke in bars and other watering holes of Abuja. All through his life, so the story went, Vice President Goodluck Jonathan always succeeded his bosses. Apparently, Abuja powerbrokers picked up the rumour and did not find it funny.
The fear of Jonathan succeeding his boss became palpable when the President failed to return after a month, leaving important affairs of state unattended to. Among these were the swearing in of the nation’s new chief justice (eventually done by his predecessor on 30 December, an unprecedented move), quick response to emergency situations, such as the Jos uprising (the army was eventually deployed by the VP, another worrisome precedent); swearing in of permanent secretaries (also done by Jonathan); high-level intervention when Nigeria was branded a terrorist state to watch by the United States, and the controversial signing into law of the 2009 Supplementary Appropriation Bill (whodunit?).
Since no one knew when to expect the President’s return, it slowly dawned on the powerbrokers that they could not sustain the equivocation and continue to dismiss suggestions that the VP exercises temporary power.
Why do the powerbrokers find it difficult to entrust the Vice President with temporary power? At the core of the current political jockeying are three things – the PDP power rotation principle as it benefits the North at this time, the fear of Vice President Jonathan as an ambitious man with a running streak of good luck, and a real worry that Mr. President may not return to Nigeria in one piece. The calculation appears to be that if Mr. Yar’Adua returns to Nigeria in a state in which he is unable to exercise his executive functions, this would leave a powerful and ambitious Jonathan to run wild and free for two years at the helm. Should this happen, so the argument goes, the north may not be guaranteed another slot at the Presidency after the Yar’Adua-Jonathan mandate expires in 2011, with an ambitious and powerful VP in the saddle.
There were suggestions that the wily General of Otta planned the whole thing from the beginning. It is instructive that General Obasanjo did not find this rumour funny, and he quickly went public to try to quench it, swearing that he did not know the true medical condition of his successor at the time he was hand-picked for the job. Also, and perhaps to curb Jonathan’s enthusiasm, the ruling party crafted a subtle letter to tell the VP that “power belongs to God” (read ‘take it easy’) while simultaneously praising him for being “loyal” to the President.
These manoeuvres have, unfortunately failed to stem persistent unease over the prospect of a southerner becoming president, should Mr. Yar’Adua abdicate.
The fact that we are currently debating whether Yar’Adua should temporarily entrust his deputy with executive powers has proved that the PDP constitution is more important than the Nigerian constitution. Although they publicly quote the 1999 constitution to back up their understanding of the word, handover, the party people privately rely on their understanding of the dictionary meaning, and the party constitution to support or oppose it.
In the context in which it is being applied by progressive acolytes of the President, handover means to temporarily “entrust” power to Jonathan, which will enable the country move forward with critical and pending executive decisions and actions. They say that it is in the President’s interest that the Vice President assumes temporary power, so that the country could move on with governance. The common dictionary supports this interpretation, which runs through all of Prof. Dora Akunyili’s logic on the issue when she faced her colleagues at the Federal Executive Council.
In the context in which it is applied by conservative acolytes of the President, handover could very well translate to “giving up”, “surrendering”, “relinquishing”, or “renouncing” power. The dictionary also supports this interpretation, which runs through the sentiments expressed by the likes of the founder of Arewa Consultative Forum, Alhaji Tanko Yakassai. “It is unheard of for any elected leader to hand over his mandate to any other person,” he said.
The job of the National Assembly appears to leave the constitution and instead ignite a debate over the true meaning of handover, stoke it as we shout and protest in our various trademark fashions, and maintain the tempo for as long as it takes the President to return to his seat.
The success or failure of this talkshop strategy depends on how long the President continues his stay on in Saudi Arabia without the ability exercise executive power.
I went to my bank the other day and met a lady teller complaining about “too much talk” over the President’s ill-health while “people who should know are not hitting the nail on the head.” I was intrigued by this remark. Who are the people that should know, and how do they go about hitting the nail on the head in this matter?
“The issue is quite simple,” she said. “The president is incapacitated, and someone needs to exercise power and get the country moving. Why can’t the National Assembly understand this simple fact and do something about it, instead of talking, talking, and talking?” she asked.
She was right about the talking, talking, talking bit. I started to say something and stopped because she was not interested. She merely hissed and went back to counting money. Perhaps she sensed that I was about to convert her banking hall into another National Assembly of talk.
What I wanted to say to the lady was that the politics of Mr. President’s health is propelled by fear, bordering on paranoia. A few weeks back, there was fear that the country was moving to a point where the unthinkable could happen – such as a military takeover. It was in the air of Abuja, thick, heavy, and pregnant. State governors were flitting in and out of the capital. Added to renewed rumblings in the Niger Delta, and yet another round of bloodletting in Jos, the country appeared primed for violent change. But the military, keeping its ears to the ground, picked up the rumour, and quickly went public to dismiss it.
It was at this point that the politicos came up with a tried and tested strategy to dash hot water on our fearful bodies, and get us jumping up and down in righteous indignation. Now everyone is talking, and skirting the issue that since 23 November 2009, our president took his symbol of office to a hospital bed, and asked the country to wait for him to get well before any further key executive actions and decisions are taken!
If you needed proof of how effective the diversionary national talkshop has become, take a gallery seat at the Senate Chamber where this current national jaw-jaw was launched. Discerning Abuja residents are looking on in amusement as the group of establishment and conservative Senators have suddenly found a “radical” voice, while the traditional hotbed of radicalism – the lower House – looks on askance.
The talkshop has become a calming balm to the fearful souls of government appointees in Abuja, although they are still assailed by two monsters – the kingibe factor and the good luck factor.
The first level fear of political appointees in the Federal Executive Council is the Kingibe factor – a real fear that if one does not show absolute loyalty in words and deeds, one may be shown the door when the big masquerade makes another magical return. As a result, Nigerians who wanted to bellyache over the President’s absence were quickly shushed, and asked to instead pray and sympathise with a sick man. Although Ministers and other appointees – including the elected Vice President – prefaced their public speeches with prayers for the President’s quick recovery, no one could stop the army of political cats from mousing. Public officials continued their prayers during the day while, at night, the politicos congregated to plot power succession scenarios.
The second fear is about Yar’Adua’s deputy, the man of good luck. With wild stories circulating about how the President’s health condition was deteriorating, the prospect of Goodluck Jonathan assuming power appeared very bright. To be sure, this fear that Goodluck Jonathan could succeed Yar’Adua, was fuelled by what began as a joke in bars and other watering holes of Abuja. All through his life, so the story went, Vice President Goodluck Jonathan always succeeded his bosses. Apparently, Abuja powerbrokers picked up the rumour and did not find it funny.
The fear of Jonathan succeeding his boss became palpable when the President failed to return after a month, leaving important affairs of state unattended to. Among these were the swearing in of the nation’s new chief justice (eventually done by his predecessor on 30 December, an unprecedented move), quick response to emergency situations, such as the Jos uprising (the army was eventually deployed by the VP, another worrisome precedent); swearing in of permanent secretaries (also done by Jonathan); high-level intervention when Nigeria was branded a terrorist state to watch by the United States, and the controversial signing into law of the 2009 Supplementary Appropriation Bill (whodunit?).
Since no one knew when to expect the President’s return, it slowly dawned on the powerbrokers that they could not sustain the equivocation and continue to dismiss suggestions that the VP exercises temporary power.
Why do the powerbrokers find it difficult to entrust the Vice President with temporary power? At the core of the current political jockeying are three things – the PDP power rotation principle as it benefits the North at this time, the fear of Vice President Jonathan as an ambitious man with a running streak of good luck, and a real worry that Mr. President may not return to Nigeria in one piece. The calculation appears to be that if Mr. Yar’Adua returns to Nigeria in a state in which he is unable to exercise his executive functions, this would leave a powerful and ambitious Jonathan to run wild and free for two years at the helm. Should this happen, so the argument goes, the north may not be guaranteed another slot at the Presidency after the Yar’Adua-Jonathan mandate expires in 2011, with an ambitious and powerful VP in the saddle.
There were suggestions that the wily General of Otta planned the whole thing from the beginning. It is instructive that General Obasanjo did not find this rumour funny, and he quickly went public to try to quench it, swearing that he did not know the true medical condition of his successor at the time he was hand-picked for the job. Also, and perhaps to curb Jonathan’s enthusiasm, the ruling party crafted a subtle letter to tell the VP that “power belongs to God” (read ‘take it easy’) while simultaneously praising him for being “loyal” to the President.
These manoeuvres have, unfortunately failed to stem persistent unease over the prospect of a southerner becoming president, should Mr. Yar’Adua abdicate.
The fact that we are currently debating whether Yar’Adua should temporarily entrust his deputy with executive powers has proved that the PDP constitution is more important than the Nigerian constitution. Although they publicly quote the 1999 constitution to back up their understanding of the word, handover, the party people privately rely on their understanding of the dictionary meaning, and the party constitution to support or oppose it.
In the context in which it is being applied by progressive acolytes of the President, handover means to temporarily “entrust” power to Jonathan, which will enable the country move forward with critical and pending executive decisions and actions. They say that it is in the President’s interest that the Vice President assumes temporary power, so that the country could move on with governance. The common dictionary supports this interpretation, which runs through all of Prof. Dora Akunyili’s logic on the issue when she faced her colleagues at the Federal Executive Council.
In the context in which it is applied by conservative acolytes of the President, handover could very well translate to “giving up”, “surrendering”, “relinquishing”, or “renouncing” power. The dictionary also supports this interpretation, which runs through the sentiments expressed by the likes of the founder of Arewa Consultative Forum, Alhaji Tanko Yakassai. “It is unheard of for any elected leader to hand over his mandate to any other person,” he said.
The job of the National Assembly appears to leave the constitution and instead ignite a debate over the true meaning of handover, stoke it as we shout and protest in our various trademark fashions, and maintain the tempo for as long as it takes the President to return to his seat.
The success or failure of this talkshop strategy depends on how long the President continues his stay on in Saudi Arabia without the ability exercise executive power.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Tigers in Our Neck of the Woods
I am going to attempt to shoot 18 holes with this week’s letter, so I will number them accordingly.
1. Tiger Woods is a lucky man – handsome, rich, with a wonderful wife and two beautiful children. And he is a phenomenal champion golfer, who has made more money than any golfer alive (he was set to break into the billionaire earnings rank this year). You have heard the not-so-impressive story of Mr. Woods; how he was exposed as a wife cheater, with newspapers counting 13 women (all blondes) that he allegedly bedded, before or since taking his Swedish blonde wife. Tiger is so ashamed of the disclosures that he has decided to hole up in his exclusive neighbourhood, shunning press and police officers who came to ask about his late night car accident in front of his own home.
2. Reading the Tiger stories, I was persuaded to compare this other thing that Woods has done with the way that the adultery game is played in Abuja FCT. To tee off (and for the benefit of those who don’t know how the game is played), here are three things you need to know about golf, the game that Mr. Woods made famous.
3. The first is that a golf course is divided into 18 sections, also called holes. Players go through the 18 sections in the course of a tournament, from the tee (the starting point) to the end hole usually marked by a flag, a cup or cylindrical container. In between the tee and the end hole is the fairway. Players gradually propel the ball to the end cup to complete a hole before moving to the next section, on and on, until a player covers the entire 18 holes. A player wins, among other things, by his ability to use a minimum number of strokes to reach each end hole.
4. The second is the beautiful fairway, the field of play, which is a carefully tended strip of land on which the grass has been cut low to provide a good playing surface for the ball. Players must use additional skills and judgment in playing their shots to keep their balls in the fairway.
5. The third is that players who make a mistake will drive their balls flying into the rough. The rough straddle both sides of a fairway, and are covered with long grass, bushes, or trees, containing sandy, rough, or marshy sections. Where there are no such natural obstacles, artificial hazards such as bunkers (also known as traps) are constructed, filled with loose sand, mounds and other earthen embankments, or even artificial ditches, creeks, ponds, or lakes.
6. When we compare the game of adultery to a round of golf, we see immediately that Mr. Woods is not smart, after all. In spite of all that his father taught him about how to concentrate on his game and ignore side distractions, he willfully ignored the fairway and drove his ball into the rough, where blondes were lurking, willing and ready to fornicate with him.
7. Why did he choose to hunker down with the fair-haired ones in the several artificial bunkers (aka hotels) that he found on the circuit? There are two possible explanations. One can be found in the actor Paul Newman’s famous retort; “Why have hamburger out when you’ve got steak at home? That doesn’t mean it’s always tender.” Tiger has not shown his pretty face in public for over two months now – because it may no longer look pretty. Of course, no one expects that the steak at home would be showing much tenderness at this moment, what with all the tabloid stories. In fact, the picture that has stayed in my mind is of a Tiger that became unconscious after ramming his expensive SUV into a fire hydrant and a tree as he fled from unseen demons in the middle of the night, the smashed back window of his car, and a blonde bending over him with a golf club. I may be running away with my imagination but this is the powerful imagery that I took away from all the tabloid exposures.
8. A second explanation is that, on this other game of adultery, Woods was playing in unfamiliar territory. Think about it, if you have the imagination: Despite his ball driving skills, Tiger was unable to run the full 18-hole course; Over his 5-year blitz, he could not go beyond 13, and thirteen has always been a lucky number for the oyinbos.
9. I wish Tiger had visited the FCT to play in the Abuja Masters before all this happened. He would have learnt a few lessons on how to handle such a small matter. For the avoidance of doubt, the Abuja Masters is played outside the IBB Golf Course in Maitama. Those who play in the Abuja Masters are experts in the sport where Tiger has fumbled. In my interaction with those of them that I know, as I was preparing to compose this letter, I realized that Tiger made six tactical errors.
10. The first tactical mistake was to pretend to have a happy home, and to make a show of returning there from each tournament, to dutifully play another game of dotting husband and father. Players in the Abuja masters say that, since his “work” took him to all parts of the globe, he should have installed his family in Sweden where he will only visit occasionally. If the wife says that she is on her way to any of his “bachelor” locations, the distance she would cover to get there would provide ample time for him to do “sanitation” duty before she arrived. In Abuja, there are two variants of this strategy. One is to install a favorite in a plush apartment, to be visited whenever he is in heat. The other is to take them in as “spare wives”, and they would become part of the sanitation duties that must be performed before the real wife arrives. This is what has been known since 1992 as the Abuja Marriage.
11. The second mistake Tiger made was stooping to heap shame on himself, rather than stand up and act bold-faced, defiant. Remember late Princess Diana and her husband, Charles, the Prince of Wales? Prince Charles, like Tiger, initially made a show of a happy home, even as he went out intermittently to hump Lady Camilla. “There were three of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded,” Diana whined. To a Daily Mail reporter who dared to question him about it, the Prince showed that he was the real Tiger: “Do you seriously expect me to be the first Prince of Wales in history not to have a mistress?” he roared. Prince Charles evidently learnt from the Abuja Masters.
12. Tiger could also have protected himself with an office alibi, but he didn’t have one. I was once accused of also being an Abuja adulterer. “Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t you have a girlfriend?” the accuser shot at me. My jaw dropped, but he proceeded to produce his proof: “What of that lady who has been coming to see you in your office? The one I met and you introduced as your former colleague in the Vanguard?” I shook my head in disbelief at the man, but I understood something else about the masters. In Abuja, seeing a girl may begin and end in one’s office, all possible transactions concluded right there. This was Tiger’s third mistake: he had no office outside the golf course where he could receive white-haired visitors, or use as an excuse to return late to the waiting wife.
13. Tiger is not a sportsman. Good sportsmen are noted for graciously accepting defeat when they are licked in a tournament. Knowing this, Americans begged Tiger to show up at the Oprah Winfrey show, confess his infidelity, cry a little, and he would be forgiven. This is also the Nigerian way. In Abuja, the cheater’s wife is his Oprah, and the cry we often hear could be either the roar of a brand new car in the wife’s garage, or an airplane zooming off to an exotic destination where they will kiss and make up. But I guess Swedish blondes are made of sterner stuff.
14. The fifth mistake is that Woods has no sense of humour. Imagine how his fellow American, Chico Marx, a comedian reacted when his wife caught him kissing a chorus girl, and protested. “But I wasn’t kissing her,” Chico said, “I was whispering in her mouth.” Or imagine a powerful Abuja grandmaster that liked to proclaim to the rooftops that he is “born-again” when everyone knew that women were his weakness - old, young, pretty and ugly. Once, after the usual night of Fela's bend-bend sleep, he was challenged to reconcile his claims of faith with his previous night’s escapades. He replied with a straight face: “From here to here (pointing between stomach and forehead) is born again; from here to here (his waist down to the foot), not born again.” Everyone roared with laughter and left him alone. But Tiger? He has locked the world out, occasionally posting wooly messages on his website, hoping everything would blow away and he would somehow become famous and loved, once again. He has, instead, become infamous and despised. He needs an Abuja teacher.
15. The final mistake is that Tiger forgot that once you have a drop of black blood in your veins, you are African. African men are polygamous by nature. The likes of Fela, Abiola, and Jacob Zuma openly demonstrated it to the world. Most powerful Abuja politicians and bureaucrats marry more than one, but keep the other(s) in hiding, until they die and the “strangers” show up to collect their lawful inheritance. If we knew of Tiger’s tendencies, we could have advised him to return to the motherland; after all, we have white-haired mullatos who would be glad to play housewife while giving him elbow room to fully express his libido.
16. On a serious note, Tiger’s situation is pitiful because he failed to understand that adultery is like any other habit – easy to get into, but difficult to get out of. He also failed to realise that the world is like his golf course. One day, you are playing on the fairways where everything is green and spectators are applauding your character and skills. You may forget that on those same fields, you could be made to pay the price of success by white haired fairies that will distract you and lead you to drive your ball into the rough. Even champions who persevere to the end are not spared the indignity for they become adulterers in a biblical sense. Former President Jimmy Carter recognized this in his famous interview with Playboy magazine when he said: “I have looked on a lot of women with lust. I have committed adultery in my heart many times.” So which man has never committed adultery in the heart?
17. So, Mr. Tiger, you did cross the line but this is no reason to kill yourself. Learn the proper lessons (er.. not the Abuja lessons!) from this episode, be honest about your ball driving errors, apologize to those you have wronged, mix in some humour, and continue with your fairy tale on the fairways. Your father taught you how to push away distractions on the fairway, and you are no longer a poor man. You want to become the greatest golfer in the world by the number of wins you post, and if your sponsors leave you, you can live well on your match winnings alone, to achieve your goal of meeting and surpassing the record set by Sam Snead to become the greatest golfer ever. Luckily, it seems your wife has forgiven you, so what else do you need, Tiger, to roar and bound out from the posh cave where you are currently cowering in fear and shame, and take over the fairways once more?
18. Stop being such a wimp!
1. Tiger Woods is a lucky man – handsome, rich, with a wonderful wife and two beautiful children. And he is a phenomenal champion golfer, who has made more money than any golfer alive (he was set to break into the billionaire earnings rank this year). You have heard the not-so-impressive story of Mr. Woods; how he was exposed as a wife cheater, with newspapers counting 13 women (all blondes) that he allegedly bedded, before or since taking his Swedish blonde wife. Tiger is so ashamed of the disclosures that he has decided to hole up in his exclusive neighbourhood, shunning press and police officers who came to ask about his late night car accident in front of his own home.
2. Reading the Tiger stories, I was persuaded to compare this other thing that Woods has done with the way that the adultery game is played in Abuja FCT. To tee off (and for the benefit of those who don’t know how the game is played), here are three things you need to know about golf, the game that Mr. Woods made famous.
3. The first is that a golf course is divided into 18 sections, also called holes. Players go through the 18 sections in the course of a tournament, from the tee (the starting point) to the end hole usually marked by a flag, a cup or cylindrical container. In between the tee and the end hole is the fairway. Players gradually propel the ball to the end cup to complete a hole before moving to the next section, on and on, until a player covers the entire 18 holes. A player wins, among other things, by his ability to use a minimum number of strokes to reach each end hole.
4. The second is the beautiful fairway, the field of play, which is a carefully tended strip of land on which the grass has been cut low to provide a good playing surface for the ball. Players must use additional skills and judgment in playing their shots to keep their balls in the fairway.
5. The third is that players who make a mistake will drive their balls flying into the rough. The rough straddle both sides of a fairway, and are covered with long grass, bushes, or trees, containing sandy, rough, or marshy sections. Where there are no such natural obstacles, artificial hazards such as bunkers (also known as traps) are constructed, filled with loose sand, mounds and other earthen embankments, or even artificial ditches, creeks, ponds, or lakes.
6. When we compare the game of adultery to a round of golf, we see immediately that Mr. Woods is not smart, after all. In spite of all that his father taught him about how to concentrate on his game and ignore side distractions, he willfully ignored the fairway and drove his ball into the rough, where blondes were lurking, willing and ready to fornicate with him.
7. Why did he choose to hunker down with the fair-haired ones in the several artificial bunkers (aka hotels) that he found on the circuit? There are two possible explanations. One can be found in the actor Paul Newman’s famous retort; “Why have hamburger out when you’ve got steak at home? That doesn’t mean it’s always tender.” Tiger has not shown his pretty face in public for over two months now – because it may no longer look pretty. Of course, no one expects that the steak at home would be showing much tenderness at this moment, what with all the tabloid stories. In fact, the picture that has stayed in my mind is of a Tiger that became unconscious after ramming his expensive SUV into a fire hydrant and a tree as he fled from unseen demons in the middle of the night, the smashed back window of his car, and a blonde bending over him with a golf club. I may be running away with my imagination but this is the powerful imagery that I took away from all the tabloid exposures.
8. A second explanation is that, on this other game of adultery, Woods was playing in unfamiliar territory. Think about it, if you have the imagination: Despite his ball driving skills, Tiger was unable to run the full 18-hole course; Over his 5-year blitz, he could not go beyond 13, and thirteen has always been a lucky number for the oyinbos.
9. I wish Tiger had visited the FCT to play in the Abuja Masters before all this happened. He would have learnt a few lessons on how to handle such a small matter. For the avoidance of doubt, the Abuja Masters is played outside the IBB Golf Course in Maitama. Those who play in the Abuja Masters are experts in the sport where Tiger has fumbled. In my interaction with those of them that I know, as I was preparing to compose this letter, I realized that Tiger made six tactical errors.
10. The first tactical mistake was to pretend to have a happy home, and to make a show of returning there from each tournament, to dutifully play another game of dotting husband and father. Players in the Abuja masters say that, since his “work” took him to all parts of the globe, he should have installed his family in Sweden where he will only visit occasionally. If the wife says that she is on her way to any of his “bachelor” locations, the distance she would cover to get there would provide ample time for him to do “sanitation” duty before she arrived. In Abuja, there are two variants of this strategy. One is to install a favorite in a plush apartment, to be visited whenever he is in heat. The other is to take them in as “spare wives”, and they would become part of the sanitation duties that must be performed before the real wife arrives. This is what has been known since 1992 as the Abuja Marriage.
11. The second mistake Tiger made was stooping to heap shame on himself, rather than stand up and act bold-faced, defiant. Remember late Princess Diana and her husband, Charles, the Prince of Wales? Prince Charles, like Tiger, initially made a show of a happy home, even as he went out intermittently to hump Lady Camilla. “There were three of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded,” Diana whined. To a Daily Mail reporter who dared to question him about it, the Prince showed that he was the real Tiger: “Do you seriously expect me to be the first Prince of Wales in history not to have a mistress?” he roared. Prince Charles evidently learnt from the Abuja Masters.
12. Tiger could also have protected himself with an office alibi, but he didn’t have one. I was once accused of also being an Abuja adulterer. “Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t you have a girlfriend?” the accuser shot at me. My jaw dropped, but he proceeded to produce his proof: “What of that lady who has been coming to see you in your office? The one I met and you introduced as your former colleague in the Vanguard?” I shook my head in disbelief at the man, but I understood something else about the masters. In Abuja, seeing a girl may begin and end in one’s office, all possible transactions concluded right there. This was Tiger’s third mistake: he had no office outside the golf course where he could receive white-haired visitors, or use as an excuse to return late to the waiting wife.
13. Tiger is not a sportsman. Good sportsmen are noted for graciously accepting defeat when they are licked in a tournament. Knowing this, Americans begged Tiger to show up at the Oprah Winfrey show, confess his infidelity, cry a little, and he would be forgiven. This is also the Nigerian way. In Abuja, the cheater’s wife is his Oprah, and the cry we often hear could be either the roar of a brand new car in the wife’s garage, or an airplane zooming off to an exotic destination where they will kiss and make up. But I guess Swedish blondes are made of sterner stuff.
14. The fifth mistake is that Woods has no sense of humour. Imagine how his fellow American, Chico Marx, a comedian reacted when his wife caught him kissing a chorus girl, and protested. “But I wasn’t kissing her,” Chico said, “I was whispering in her mouth.” Or imagine a powerful Abuja grandmaster that liked to proclaim to the rooftops that he is “born-again” when everyone knew that women were his weakness - old, young, pretty and ugly. Once, after the usual night of Fela's bend-bend sleep, he was challenged to reconcile his claims of faith with his previous night’s escapades. He replied with a straight face: “From here to here (pointing between stomach and forehead) is born again; from here to here (his waist down to the foot), not born again.” Everyone roared with laughter and left him alone. But Tiger? He has locked the world out, occasionally posting wooly messages on his website, hoping everything would blow away and he would somehow become famous and loved, once again. He has, instead, become infamous and despised. He needs an Abuja teacher.
15. The final mistake is that Tiger forgot that once you have a drop of black blood in your veins, you are African. African men are polygamous by nature. The likes of Fela, Abiola, and Jacob Zuma openly demonstrated it to the world. Most powerful Abuja politicians and bureaucrats marry more than one, but keep the other(s) in hiding, until they die and the “strangers” show up to collect their lawful inheritance. If we knew of Tiger’s tendencies, we could have advised him to return to the motherland; after all, we have white-haired mullatos who would be glad to play housewife while giving him elbow room to fully express his libido.
16. On a serious note, Tiger’s situation is pitiful because he failed to understand that adultery is like any other habit – easy to get into, but difficult to get out of. He also failed to realise that the world is like his golf course. One day, you are playing on the fairways where everything is green and spectators are applauding your character and skills. You may forget that on those same fields, you could be made to pay the price of success by white haired fairies that will distract you and lead you to drive your ball into the rough. Even champions who persevere to the end are not spared the indignity for they become adulterers in a biblical sense. Former President Jimmy Carter recognized this in his famous interview with Playboy magazine when he said: “I have looked on a lot of women with lust. I have committed adultery in my heart many times.” So which man has never committed adultery in the heart?
17. So, Mr. Tiger, you did cross the line but this is no reason to kill yourself. Learn the proper lessons (er.. not the Abuja lessons!) from this episode, be honest about your ball driving errors, apologize to those you have wronged, mix in some humour, and continue with your fairy tale on the fairways. Your father taught you how to push away distractions on the fairway, and you are no longer a poor man. You want to become the greatest golfer in the world by the number of wins you post, and if your sponsors leave you, you can live well on your match winnings alone, to achieve your goal of meeting and surpassing the record set by Sam Snead to become the greatest golfer ever. Luckily, it seems your wife has forgiven you, so what else do you need, Tiger, to roar and bound out from the posh cave where you are currently cowering in fear and shame, and take over the fairways once more?
18. Stop being such a wimp!
Monday, February 1, 2010
The Anambra Solution
It is breathtaking to watch the politics of Anambra, the shining star of the East. The other day, IGP Onovo invited the army of governorship aspirants and made them sign an undertaking to be of good behaviour in the election that will take place this weekend, 6 February 2009.
Of all Igbo states, Anambra has the greatest number of world-class intellectuals, produces a disproportionate number of Igbo professionals and senior federal civil servants, and boasts the greatest number of Igbo millionaires per square meter of land. Consequently the citizens of Anambra – academics, moneyed class, and commoners alike – are exceedingly proud of the fact that they are the cultural, political, and economic bastion of Igboland.
But Anambra is, alas, a state at war with itself. It is a land where money is lionized, far and above other virtues. Because it has abundance of intellectual and material juggernauts in almost equal measure, a war of supremacy has arisen between the two. This contest, between intellectualism and materialism, is largely fought on the political plane and is intense, fierce, and unending.
In the beginning, Anambrarians who elected to pursue money and wealth at the expense of education – mainly boys – ended up being the laughing stock of those who went to school, because their grammar and diction made them misfits in the larger Nigerian setting, and because they could be impoverished with a stroke of government policy. The situation of the unlettered class changed somewhat during the long years of military rule, when succeeding generals pitched camp with the Anambra moneyed class, and bred a group of powerful but unlettered billionaires who turned up their noses at the school types. Their reign was, however, severely threatened during the Shagari Administration, partly because an intellectual from Anambra became the Vice President, partly because inflation and world-wide economic recession entered the survival dictionary of nations and individuals, and partly because of politics. At any rate, it was during this time that the political trouble besetting Anambra today was reared.
The intellectual and material class staged a final battle over the soul of Anambra when President Ibrahim Babangida blew the whistle for party politics in 1987. In 1989 the moneyed class, as expected, pitched their tents with the National Republican Convention (NRC), while the intellectual class moved to the rival Social Democratic Party (SDP). Anambra would always vote the intellectual class, and knowing this, a subtle maneuver was launched by the moneyed class to also snatch the governorship ticket of the SDP.
One of the frontline contenders for the SDP governorship ticket was an interesting gentleman called Chief (Dr.) Okey Odunze. The intellectuals of Anambra were, however, not impressed with the lofty achievements of this candidate, who paraded a combination of formidable traditional and academic titles. It was sold to the public that Odunze was either a 419er himself or is being promoted as the front for the 419ers and drug barons, in line with their desire to take the state. To back up their claims, these disgruntled party members alleged, among other bizarre revelations, that Chief Odunze bagged his Ph.D long before he earned a primary school certificate!
Okey Odunze was not intimidated by the insinuations and blackmail of the little minds in his party. Neither were majority of his party members persuaded by the 419 and other allegations that were placed on the primaries voting table, to try to halt the hurricane of victory provoked by the Chief and his group. The first of the primaries was conducted and Chief Odunze, the barely literate moneybag, won handily.
There was consternation. Anambra being what it is, this primary was voided and a return match called. He won that too, with a wider margin. Anambra academics and federal civil servants were incensed and moved decisively to checkmate the series of embarrassing outcomes. But the Chief and his group were ready, and shut them up when he posted a most resounding victory at the third and final primaries.
There was agony and gnashing of teeth at the intellectuals camp. Money was apparently talking and its voice was heard clearly in the Anambra State branch of the Social Democratic Party (SDP). What made the situation so unacceptable to the intellectuals was that another Anambrarian, Prof. Humphrey Nwosu, chair of the National Electoral Commission, had earlier told Nigerians that SDP, a government creation, would be “a little to the left,” meaning that it was the party of the intellectuals and their bedfellows, the labour movement. How could a moneybag highjack it in the state?
Chief Odunze’s run of political luck ended when the late, world-renowned economist, Dr. Pius Okigbo, allegedly rallied the Anambra intellectual class and retired policy makers to prevail on President Babangida to cancel the Anambra primaries “fraud”, and ban Chief (Dr.) Odunze. As soon as IBB allegedly gave the nod, Prof. Nwosu immediately added Chief Odunze to the list of old politicians that government removed from the contest, and gleefully announced his immediate ban on national television. It was a spectacle to behold. The SDP primaries introduced Nigerians to a formidable Anambra State political juggernaut called Chief (Dr.) Okey Odunze. But from the lips of Prof. Nwosu on NTA (when he announced the ban), we heard that his full names were Mister Raymond Okechukwu Odunze.
Chief Odunze, a dogged fighter, moved on. We heard that, after this political setback, prompted by his lack of sufficient education, he learnt what every Anambra trader now knows – that for one to really arrive, one is required to parade an authentic academic certificate, in addition to one’s impressive certificates of bank deposit. We hear that he subsequently went to London to obtain a bachelor degree, and later crowned it with an authentic master degree in political science from the University of Lagos! But by then it was too late – his rising political star was irredeemably dimmed by the intellectuals. An authentic academic, Dr. Chukwuemeka Ezeife, Harvard-trained and retired federal permanent secretary, became the beneficiary of his misfortune and ruled Anambra for a short while, before June 12 befell us and destroyed the fledgling democracy.
Since the Odunze debacle of 1989, the political war between the intellectuals and the moneybags has continued to rage in Anambra.
Another governorship contest is in the offing and many political pundits are claiming that it would be a straight fight between three intellectuals: incumbent Anambra Governor Peter Obi, his predecessor, Chris Ngige, and another former “Governor” Charles Chukwuma Soludo. Among the pundits is former Governor Chukwuemeka Ezeife, the man who benefited from Odunze’s political waterloo. Okwadike (that’s Ezeife’s title) says that no matter what happens, Anambra State would have an intellectual servant-ruler come February 2010. What he is saying in essence is that the intellectual camp, once again, has the upper hand, and that the moneybags would have to wait for another day?
Dr. Andy Uba, the Labour Party candidate, and Chief (Dr.) Okey Odunze have something in common. Uba, the former senior special assistant on Presidential Household Matters to ex-President Obasanjo, has powerful backing. Despite the hues and cries of Anambra intellectuals in 2006, he was able to bulldoze through the PDP primaries, sweep the governorship contest organized by INEC, and was sworn in as Governor of Anambra State in May 2007.
But Anambra being what it is, it was no surprise that the intellectual camp, once again, rallied public opinion against Uba, and made a compelling case for his ouster by the Supreme Court. Like Odunze before him, Chief (Dr.) Andy Uba, you will recall, was also accused of being a fraud. Among the many bizarre allegations against him was that he got a Ph.D long before he got a secondary school certificate! Like Odunze before him, he was not intimidated by the antics of the little minds, and has continued to roll over everyone like the political bulldozer that he is.
Dr. Pius Okigbo is now late, and that leaves former Vice President Alex Ekwume to lead the charge and apply the Anambra Solution in order to oust Uba permanently from the PDP, and from the leadership of Anambra. Ekwueme has apparently made his choice, in the person of Prof. Soludo, and appears to have thrown a spanner in works for Ngige, the popular candidate who belongs to a “wrong” party, as well as the struggling but able incumbent.
Are we back to 1988, when a formidable intellectual and technocrat benefitted from the Odunze misfortune through the application of the Anambra Solution? In the February 2010 contest, Andy Uba has refused to be intimidated out, but has rather resurfaced in another party, where he is, once again, staking a claim to leadership of the state. Will an intellectual and policy wonk give him a solid and final defeat, or will Chief (Dr.) Andy Uba be the one that gives the intellectual camp reason to rethink their Anambra Solution, which they have hitherto successfully applied whenever anyone they consider an unlettered moneybag stakes a claim to the leadership?
It is breathtaking to watch the politics of Anambra, the shining star of the East.
Of all Igbo states, Anambra has the greatest number of world-class intellectuals, produces a disproportionate number of Igbo professionals and senior federal civil servants, and boasts the greatest number of Igbo millionaires per square meter of land. Consequently the citizens of Anambra – academics, moneyed class, and commoners alike – are exceedingly proud of the fact that they are the cultural, political, and economic bastion of Igboland.
But Anambra is, alas, a state at war with itself. It is a land where money is lionized, far and above other virtues. Because it has abundance of intellectual and material juggernauts in almost equal measure, a war of supremacy has arisen between the two. This contest, between intellectualism and materialism, is largely fought on the political plane and is intense, fierce, and unending.
In the beginning, Anambrarians who elected to pursue money and wealth at the expense of education – mainly boys – ended up being the laughing stock of those who went to school, because their grammar and diction made them misfits in the larger Nigerian setting, and because they could be impoverished with a stroke of government policy. The situation of the unlettered class changed somewhat during the long years of military rule, when succeeding generals pitched camp with the Anambra moneyed class, and bred a group of powerful but unlettered billionaires who turned up their noses at the school types. Their reign was, however, severely threatened during the Shagari Administration, partly because an intellectual from Anambra became the Vice President, partly because inflation and world-wide economic recession entered the survival dictionary of nations and individuals, and partly because of politics. At any rate, it was during this time that the political trouble besetting Anambra today was reared.
The intellectual and material class staged a final battle over the soul of Anambra when President Ibrahim Babangida blew the whistle for party politics in 1987. In 1989 the moneyed class, as expected, pitched their tents with the National Republican Convention (NRC), while the intellectual class moved to the rival Social Democratic Party (SDP). Anambra would always vote the intellectual class, and knowing this, a subtle maneuver was launched by the moneyed class to also snatch the governorship ticket of the SDP.
One of the frontline contenders for the SDP governorship ticket was an interesting gentleman called Chief (Dr.) Okey Odunze. The intellectuals of Anambra were, however, not impressed with the lofty achievements of this candidate, who paraded a combination of formidable traditional and academic titles. It was sold to the public that Odunze was either a 419er himself or is being promoted as the front for the 419ers and drug barons, in line with their desire to take the state. To back up their claims, these disgruntled party members alleged, among other bizarre revelations, that Chief Odunze bagged his Ph.D long before he earned a primary school certificate!
Okey Odunze was not intimidated by the insinuations and blackmail of the little minds in his party. Neither were majority of his party members persuaded by the 419 and other allegations that were placed on the primaries voting table, to try to halt the hurricane of victory provoked by the Chief and his group. The first of the primaries was conducted and Chief Odunze, the barely literate moneybag, won handily.
There was consternation. Anambra being what it is, this primary was voided and a return match called. He won that too, with a wider margin. Anambra academics and federal civil servants were incensed and moved decisively to checkmate the series of embarrassing outcomes. But the Chief and his group were ready, and shut them up when he posted a most resounding victory at the third and final primaries.
There was agony and gnashing of teeth at the intellectuals camp. Money was apparently talking and its voice was heard clearly in the Anambra State branch of the Social Democratic Party (SDP). What made the situation so unacceptable to the intellectuals was that another Anambrarian, Prof. Humphrey Nwosu, chair of the National Electoral Commission, had earlier told Nigerians that SDP, a government creation, would be “a little to the left,” meaning that it was the party of the intellectuals and their bedfellows, the labour movement. How could a moneybag highjack it in the state?
Chief Odunze’s run of political luck ended when the late, world-renowned economist, Dr. Pius Okigbo, allegedly rallied the Anambra intellectual class and retired policy makers to prevail on President Babangida to cancel the Anambra primaries “fraud”, and ban Chief (Dr.) Odunze. As soon as IBB allegedly gave the nod, Prof. Nwosu immediately added Chief Odunze to the list of old politicians that government removed from the contest, and gleefully announced his immediate ban on national television. It was a spectacle to behold. The SDP primaries introduced Nigerians to a formidable Anambra State political juggernaut called Chief (Dr.) Okey Odunze. But from the lips of Prof. Nwosu on NTA (when he announced the ban), we heard that his full names were Mister Raymond Okechukwu Odunze.
Chief Odunze, a dogged fighter, moved on. We heard that, after this political setback, prompted by his lack of sufficient education, he learnt what every Anambra trader now knows – that for one to really arrive, one is required to parade an authentic academic certificate, in addition to one’s impressive certificates of bank deposit. We hear that he subsequently went to London to obtain a bachelor degree, and later crowned it with an authentic master degree in political science from the University of Lagos! But by then it was too late – his rising political star was irredeemably dimmed by the intellectuals. An authentic academic, Dr. Chukwuemeka Ezeife, Harvard-trained and retired federal permanent secretary, became the beneficiary of his misfortune and ruled Anambra for a short while, before June 12 befell us and destroyed the fledgling democracy.
Since the Odunze debacle of 1989, the political war between the intellectuals and the moneybags has continued to rage in Anambra.
Another governorship contest is in the offing and many political pundits are claiming that it would be a straight fight between three intellectuals: incumbent Anambra Governor Peter Obi, his predecessor, Chris Ngige, and another former “Governor” Charles Chukwuma Soludo. Among the pundits is former Governor Chukwuemeka Ezeife, the man who benefited from Odunze’s political waterloo. Okwadike (that’s Ezeife’s title) says that no matter what happens, Anambra State would have an intellectual servant-ruler come February 2010. What he is saying in essence is that the intellectual camp, once again, has the upper hand, and that the moneybags would have to wait for another day?
Dr. Andy Uba, the Labour Party candidate, and Chief (Dr.) Okey Odunze have something in common. Uba, the former senior special assistant on Presidential Household Matters to ex-President Obasanjo, has powerful backing. Despite the hues and cries of Anambra intellectuals in 2006, he was able to bulldoze through the PDP primaries, sweep the governorship contest organized by INEC, and was sworn in as Governor of Anambra State in May 2007.
But Anambra being what it is, it was no surprise that the intellectual camp, once again, rallied public opinion against Uba, and made a compelling case for his ouster by the Supreme Court. Like Odunze before him, Chief (Dr.) Andy Uba, you will recall, was also accused of being a fraud. Among the many bizarre allegations against him was that he got a Ph.D long before he got a secondary school certificate! Like Odunze before him, he was not intimidated by the antics of the little minds, and has continued to roll over everyone like the political bulldozer that he is.
Dr. Pius Okigbo is now late, and that leaves former Vice President Alex Ekwume to lead the charge and apply the Anambra Solution in order to oust Uba permanently from the PDP, and from the leadership of Anambra. Ekwueme has apparently made his choice, in the person of Prof. Soludo, and appears to have thrown a spanner in works for Ngige, the popular candidate who belongs to a “wrong” party, as well as the struggling but able incumbent.
Are we back to 1988, when a formidable intellectual and technocrat benefitted from the Odunze misfortune through the application of the Anambra Solution? In the February 2010 contest, Andy Uba has refused to be intimidated out, but has rather resurfaced in another party, where he is, once again, staking a claim to leadership of the state. Will an intellectual and policy wonk give him a solid and final defeat, or will Chief (Dr.) Andy Uba be the one that gives the intellectual camp reason to rethink their Anambra Solution, which they have hitherto successfully applied whenever anyone they consider an unlettered moneybag stakes a claim to the leadership?
It is breathtaking to watch the politics of Anambra, the shining star of the East.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)