Sunday, June 27, 1999

Open Apology To President Obasanjo

Ganja Ekeh
[email protected]

How do I begin? How shall I start? Well, let me start by saying that this is the one you�ve been waiting for. All my previous articles have led to this point. And this is where it will end. A GUARANTEE If you have time, please read. This might be the most important piece I will ever write. It just might be.

My first memories in life are of Zaria. I was born at the Ahmadu Bello University hospital in Zaria. My mother, a Holy Ghost filled, born-again spiritualist, the most effective deliverer I�ve ever met, is the reason I am alive today. So I kiss her feet. God wanted me to be born in Nigeria, it would seem. My parents traveled from San Francisco, first to Effurun, then to Zaria. But it was at Effurun, in the heart of Deep Delta, that I died the first time. There were complications and there was no sign of life. Dr. Goodman, a most excellent physician at Effurun hospital, tried to save my mother�s life. They wanted to abort me before I caused my mother�s death. But they did not know my mother. She said no. My mother is very stubborn. Those who know will tell you. This is why Chief Akarue sent her to Lagos from Sapele. He said �you this my child that I love so much, why are you so stubborn?!!� By nighttime they just knew that both my mother and I would be dead. Finally, after they had convinced my mother, through her tears, they decided to test, but once more, for life. I kicked, �Gbosa!!!!�. Dr. Goodman stepped back. Her exact words �My, what a lively baby!!!� This is a true story. I was delivered weeks later, premature by C-Section, in Zaria.

In Zaria all the kids used to come to our house to play my brother�s black and white �jita��the popular term for guitars in those days. Those were the days of �goodie-goodie� that pliable chocolate. Those were the days when Bazooka Joe was 1 kobo. The days when people pledged to Nigeria our country, to be faithful, loyal and honest, to serve Nigeria with all our strength, to defend her Unity, and uphold her honor and glory, so help us God. Those were the days.

Eventually the family moved to Ibadan. Ibadan is a very ancient city. There is something about ancient cities that breeds wisdom, and it was at Ibadan I began seeing men of timber and caliber. Of every nation in our nation. Wisdom unparalleled. The University of Ibadan is what Timbuktu was. Or, at least, it was in its day. My first great impression in Ibadan was the visit of the Pope. It was around this time that the people of Bendel, back in the 70�s, were fighting for the creation of Delta State. This was my first introduction to Urhobo culture as a young Nigerian. You see, like everyone else, my father came from nothing. From dirt poor in Orogun. In the HEART of the Delta. Kokori. Agalope. Okpe. Okpara inland. Okpara waterside. And father, if there is a definition of Urhobo, he is it. He would ensure that we traveled, as much as possible, back to the village so that we would never lose our culture. It was here that my artistic side began to develop, for how else can a young child view the world after living in Ibadan, and then going deep into the Delta and seeing such an anciently magnificent way of life�as it was then. The sand near the water was so white and fine. The river Ethiope was so menacing and dark. The mammy water stories that Oghenemega would tell�of how, when he was taking his morning swim in the river a fish tried to pull him under. Whenever I came back to Ibadan, my friends would crowd round my house because they knew I had STORIES to tell. They loved the stories from Deep Delta. There was this one bridge, in particular, that I remember. It was a wooden bridge over which one vehicle at a time MIGHT pass without falling into the menacing hole below. It was the bridge which, once you crossed it, would take you into the HINTERLAND. The bridge which, once you crossed it, you would flee at 70 KPH on that terribly bumpy road, regardless, because this was when you started seeing the JAZZ that the Delta is known for. I remember this one evening, as we scrambled to get our turn on the bridge, there was commotion. One truck seemed like it was NOT going to make it. This had grave consequences for everyone. It had rained heavily, previously, and some of the underlying �support� from the hole had eroded further�leaving a scary-looking puddle in the deep hole. To a little child, this puddle looked like the Red Sea. �Daddy� I said alarmed, �what will happen if that truck falls in! Will they drown?� Everyone in the car laughed. �No� my father replied matter-of-factly, �But they�ll get wet.� Everyone laughed even more. I don�t know why that was funny. It didn�t seem funny to me then. But this is just the way I am. People laugh, and I wonder why. Humor is not of itself, it is part of a story. Humor is never the point of a story, but a way to tell it.

Yes, once we�d passed this bridge, every few kilometers would be the house of a priestess or hunter, and protected by all sorts of fetishes and charms. Whether or not you believed in Juju was not the point. This subject was not for debate. What was the point was that the faster you moved towards the village, especially before darkness came, the higher your chances of survival. I don�t know why exactly, but this was just the law around these parts. And if you are thinking of some dense jungle, think again. In some parts of the Delta, there are mazes of swamps where people swim like fish�LIKE FISH! I�m telling you, some Nigerians swim like fish. I am an intelligent, educated man, so let me say it again. There are some Nigerians who swim just like fish! And then in other parts, there is, or used to be, this marvelously lush Savannah�a shade of green so bright that the myth around those parts is that it used to be a river, a submerged city. Oh, how they loved my stories from Sapele and Warri and Ekpoma and Kokori. Kokori where my father dreamed of building a home�a place where he could retire and read and write and read and write and read and write. Yes, we even did the standard Naija thing. Bought the land. But we didn�t have the customary party. And in the typical Nigerian fashion, we let it ferment for several years, protected by a solitary wire and a menacing stick with a bottle of ink tied to it.

Next was to put the blocks on the land. Again, no party. I was mad! After some years, when those set of blocks had crumbled, and the customary farmer had begun feeding his family off our land, we put new blocks. I don�t know at what stage the process is in now. But I get the sense this project might have been discontinued� temporarily.

My father is a man of timber and caliber. A man behind men of timber and caliber. It was he who wrote intricately worded speeches for some officials of timber and caliber. I would sit, as a child, in amazement as I watched them construct a speech. I thought we were supposed to be African! How could non-English people use the language better than the best British wordsmiths?! Sometimes, the words were used to �political� ends. In the struggle for the creation of Delta State, for instance, the documents they came up with should be a pride to any nations struggling for autonomy. Alas, even their words and the Pope�s visit did them no good at the time, though progress was made in general. And the Pope�s visit, I just didn�t get it. Aghogo she woke me up--out of a delicious dream at 3. a.m. so that I could go and boil water to baff. I was angry! Angry! In my dream, I had been eating seven of those wild boars I used to see at the end of that comic-like book, Asterix and Obelix. I tried to go back to sleep and continue, but we all know it�s never the same. You go back and you�re in another dream. An old man is chasing you with a goat. Anyway, by 5 a.m. we�d made it the University of Ibadan sports field, crowded like sheep, only to wait for several several hours doing nothing. Then one helicopter came. It was so far off I could hardly see it. Then one white man disembarked. Then he said many things and made many motions in the air, speaking a strange language that I KNEW nobody understood. Didn�t we all grow up together? Then he made some more motions, gave some people some food. It reminded me of my seven wild boars. The bitterness still exists today brethren. And then he was gone. Back in his helicopter. Leaving me to stroke it back home, Having accomplished nothing! I was mad at Aghogo. I was mad at Nigerians. I was mad at Catholics. And I still am today.

In the evening, at Uncle Tobi�s house, the big big men sat down, the ambassador to Ivory Coast, Jomo�s popsie; Uncle Abviorokhoma, Mr. Intellect; Prof David West, Tiria�s popsie; I think even Boma�s popsie, Tamuno, was there. As was Prof Lucas, and perhaps Banjo. All of them, drinking Dubonet and Campari, eating Jollow, Yam and palm oil, stockfish (or �stokfis�) Starch, Ukodo and Banga, and discussing politics. Intellect unparalleled! But it was the Urhobo and Ijaw sub-component of this August gathering that gave me the jitters. I don�t know why, but the Urhobos and Ijaws have had a long-standing relationship. As have the Urhobos and Itsekiris. Many people I consider family, people whom I�d die and kill for, are Urhobo, Itsekiri and Ijaw. One of them committed suicide recently. A beautiful daughter of Ijaw land. A metaphor for the devastation of a land and the creation of a wasteland. I am a man. I wept. That my cousin would do such a thing because there was no other option and she would rather not yield her integrity? Ah, you don�t know. I am a man. I wept.

Yes, the Urhobo-Ijaw sub-component had me slightly worried. For if you ever hear these men discuss, you will find that, putting it mildly, there is little room for subtlety. If you don�t have thick skin, please do not discuss with these men. First, they yell. And it is not that they yell because they are happy, or they yell because they are free, their eyes on the sparrow watching over me; no, no, they yell because this is their nature. It was not until I became a teenager that I realized that father didn�t hate me. He only yelled because this is the way Urhobo men speak. It is un- Urhobo to say something and not have the person you are saying it to hear you. This is unacceptable, you see. And that humid evening in Ibadabn, they yelled into the distant night, the Nigerian stars listening in amusement over a cloudless sky as these giants discussed Delta State; giving �grandiloquent� speeches and theories, which seemed to become more complex as the Campari bottles emptied. Intellect unparalleled!

My first interaction with the military was during the Ali- Must-Go riots. My paddy, Dayo Ogunyemi, and I, where in Miss Oluwatope�s class, I believe, when pandemonium broke out. The university students were charging everywhere, having manhandled the aluminum U.I police station, and were on their way to the �Second Gate.� This was unusual. During riots they normally only barricaded the �Main Gate.� In any case, knowing that teargas and blood would soon follow, before Miss Oluwatope could say �Ho Kay shidren, les resite di local govamets of hoyo state hagain� we had missed. Missed. Gone, I say. What are you talking? Bullet no get address! It was my introduction to our current president General Obasanjo (rtd).

Over the past few months, I have criticized several people publicly. I have criticized Umaru Dikko because I have never appreciated his impact on our country. I understand that he is a respected Northern opinion leader, so if I have offended some of my Northern brothers and sisters, to THEM I heart-feltly apologize. You must understand that I have been taught that to whom much is given, much is required. I have criticized General Danjuma because I believe he is one of the finest soldiers Africa ever produced�a man whom doesn�t even know how historians view him. To whom much is given, much is required. I have criticized my good friend, General Babangida, a man for whom (believe it or not) I have a certain fondness for. I�ve always felt that if Nigerian society wasn�t rooted in mistrust and competition, General Babangida in his earlier years had the opportunity to take Nigeria places. I know I will hear it later for saying he was a �listening president� but Nigeria is complex. Those who want to discuss Nigeria with me cannot do so. Believe me. I know what I am saying. But General Babangida�s hands, as those of any other Nigerian leader, were tied by unwritten rules. When you rule Nigeria, under the current disposition, you have to be the best ruler you can be under a specific set of unwritten guidelines. Who sabi knows. As things got murkier and more intense, so did General Babangida. And so did Nigerians. And I believe that General Babangida understands that he had a golden opportunity, and the ability to do, but compromised or lost it somehow. Which is why he might still be concerned about being relevant�he has unfinished business. This is just an honest opinion.

I have criticized General Abacha. But I do not criticize his next-of-kin. Though Zainab�s arguments made me smile sometimes, no Nigerian should point a finger at Mariam or Zainab. It was US who produced the despot as well as them. WE PRODUCED ALL OUR LEADERS. Look, remove the wool from your eyes, it is time to talk the truth. Yes, General Abacha was ruthless. We need not go into details. He wanted to do a Rawlings. You all know the deal. But Abacha was a FULL-BLOODED NIGERIAN; not a Chadian or Nigerien. And we produced him. For if we had morals before, none of these so-called despots would exist. The French didn�t allow it happen. But Nigerians? Give me a break! We allow anything, as long as there�s money tied to it!

My father tells a story of colonialism; of a friend of his in the village who got a �big job� as a clerk in the colonial courts. What?!!! This was a big man! What are you talking about! He used to wear those knickers, the colonial type, and the helmet. He would walk, everyday, barefoot through the forest and and the high, itchy, elephant grass of the Savannah to the central court to diligently serve his master. And he was a brilliant one�a brilliant servant. And his salary was well appreciated by our village. Oh, have no doubt, he was DA MAN! But there was not enough for everyone, and fishing had become competitive. You really had to be one with that water in order to catch food. You don�t know how many wars have been started between communities because of access to fishing rights and wherewithal.

One day, this my father�s friend discovered an error in the taxes. A sharp-eyed fellow, while snuffing his snuff, drinking his freshly tapped palmwine from Erhiga the palmwine tapper, he was just perusing the documentation when he discovered the error. Kia-kia, he abandoned his vocation and made it back to town to inform his master that there was an error which would have resulted in whitey missing some pounds and shillings, or kpons and shilins as we know it. When he returned home the whole village was looking for him. He explained what happened. �And what did you do!� they asked. �Oh, I showed him the error!� It was my father who saved that man from �justice.� The irate villagers could not believe such a thing.

Do you now understand? It is not that we are intrinsically corrupt, it is just that our understanding of the role of government in the life of civilians is rooted in a warped ideology based on colonialism. Today, we fight back.

I criticized General Abubakar only because I admire and respect him. Those who know know. He is a fine soldier, but his hands were also bound by the unwritten rules. I GUARANTEE you, Abdulsalam almost had a heart-attack when he heard Abiola died. Nigerians, remove the wool from your eyes. Let�s talk. So I applaud the man, for few could have held Nigeria from disintegration at that time. THIS, in my humble opinion, is Abubakar�s true legacy. So I am not too hard on him. After that �incident�, I�m sure he just wanted to get it over with and go and farm in Minna. Those who know Nigeria know Nigeria. Those who don�t don�t. What can I say.

But, were I the man, and I thank God that I have never had to deal with such a situation, I would have analyzed the future. I would have sat down with everyone and said, OK, it�s time to change things. Because, he must have known the fires that were brewing. Not so? Nigerians, let�s talk. But in times of fast action, danger, competition and high-emotion, these musings are now only Monday Morning Quarterbacking. And I understand this. So, it is with this background in mind that I apologize to General Obasanjo (rtd). I am of the Fela generation. And we feel that the masses have suffered enough. Yes, I believed that General Babangida was behind General Obasanjo�s election, but this is irrelevant now. God is giving us a unique opportunity to turn this nation around�and I hope we take it. Recently, I have been disrespectful to the elders of Nigeria. And while I am a product of Nigerian soil, having learned of evil by my Nigerian elders, I cannot sit before God and say because my elders trained me wrong I should behave wrong. So I apologize for the disrespect. Uncle Shege, you are right, respect is African. Disrespect is not.

But today is the turning point in my life. The day for Nigeria to decide my future. I am a talented youth. And we are many. Oh, how I wish you knew what we are doing. Look, if there was a united Nigeria, ah� Look, they would try to assassinate everybody. There is nothing like the Nigerian. NOTHING. There is no good or no evil that is as good or as evil as Nigeria�s good or evil. Just last night I was hanging out with another son of the soil, one Mr. Omo- Agege, who invented a brilliant game called �Life�s Obstacles�� roundly praised in the Diaspora. We went to three Owambes in the same night. At the first, ehn, if you see how the Mercedes Benzes and Ochuzos were fighting, I come ask Chris: �You sure say na di right place be dis?� And it was. Naija fighting! FIGHTING! Agbada! Suit! Tie! Shokoto! Singlet! Hilfiger! Polo! Calvin Klein! Men, Nigerians have such a vibrant culture. So I begun doing my rounds. I would chat with people to see what they were into. It is easy to know a person�s frequency and initiate conversation on their vibration. Easy peasy. What did I find out? Either they bought their Benz due to their brilliance in their legitimate field, or they bought their BENZES with illegal proceeds from the �plastic industry� and other such export agencies that have given Nigeria the reputation of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Uncle Shege, they don�t like us anwhere. I go to many places and I try, in own way, to rectify people's view. But now, even women at my workplace cover their foreheads when I walk by. THEY DON'T WANT ME TO BLOW ON THEIR FOREHEADS! They have heard stories about Lagos. Yes, it's a joke to them, but how do you explain such news reports to "foreigners?" Let me tell you, if it is to build Nigeria, consider it DONE. When I said you do NOT know me, I meant it. Even my family, my immediate family that raised me, has no inkling! When I say there are others like me, I mean it. If you want Nigeria to be the BLACK POWER, consider it done. But today is the turning point for me personally. I have said it in various permutations, but today I take of the gloves, and write with my fingers. Today is the day of my decision. I understand the complexity of Nigeria. But complex or not, today is the day of decision for me. I consider myself one of Nigeria�s precious ones who managed to escape by God�s Grace and establish the basis for a future for countless generations of Nigerians to come. This is a gift given to me by the ALMIGHTY. So, here�s, as we the youth say, the deally, sir.

I will turn my back on Nigeria as long as there is injustice. I run an organization, a foundation called the TWPF, and we were initially going to start our pilot project with Nigeria. Believe me, there was much that was going to be done. But today I put it all on hold. Sir, all my friends think I am mad. But they do NOT know me. They do NOT know that I have a hand in changing civilization. It�s the truth. Sir, I am a servant of the 34th degree. I know you understand. I was raised by wolves. I do not know the levels of the elders of your generation, Zik, Awo, the great men of timber and caliber. But I am the most honest man in the world and I am telling you I am a servant of the 34th degree. Those who understand understand, and to understand it, well.. But, as you know, I can only serve in honesty�for love is my only power. Sir, we have great men who can build an unparalleled civilization. Ah, look at Obi Taiwan. The Cyber guru. The CYBERLORD! E get one day wey we dey jist for im condo, na im im discuss one of im inventions with me. I bow! I say, I bow! Sir, look at Philip Emeagwili. Should I start crying? Sir, look at Profesor Soyinka. Sir, look at Chinua Achebe. A man whom we should have the Nigerian army protecting, day and night, to ensure that he stays alive long enough to impart his knowledge! But these are just the elders. Sir, look at Simi Sani, left a lucrative mouth-watering Wall Street job to try to help Nigerian Junior Achievers. Yet, apathy is still a way of life for us? Sir, look at Dayo Ogunyemi, a lawyer, musician, producer, manager of unparalleled intellect, using his awesome skills elsewhere. Look at Obi Anusiem, entrepreneur unparalleled, the leader of a new brand of Nigerian leaders. Look at Chuck Odili, web maestro. How many web pages in the world have you seen of such quality?

Look, there are those who wish us to bicker and fight. There are those in other African countries who wish nothing more than the destabilization of Nigeria. And, from their point of view, this is understandable. We are viewed as an occupying force anywhere we go. Sir, we will come back home and make you weep. Weep. Rivers of tears. We will make them weep. But only if there is justice. Yes, many of these types, as we speak, are watching us closely via their propaganda groups on the web and on the ground. But don�t worry. They don�t know me. I have fed them the wrong bones. I am a servant of the 34th degreee. But today. Today is my day of decision. It is a promise. And there is nothing anyone will say to me that will change my mind. A GUARANTEE. Today, as a son of the soil, in as much as I have been given gifts for good, I can ONLY use them in a situation of justice and equity. There is no email I will receive from anyone that will change my mind. I will not even reply. Today, as a son of the soil, I put everything on hold. The TWPF is on hold. Operation NaijaSiege is on hold. Today, I turn my back on Nigeria, and I will only turn forward when there is justice. In the name of the omnipotent.

Goodbye.