| Urhobo Historical Society |
In
spite of desperate attempts to mop up copies in the market as fast as
possible, Epistle To Maduabebe is the book in the news. In this
sixth
chapter, Nengi Josef Ilagha,
militant poet, journalist and broadcaster, gives an account of a rare
encounter
with mindless authority, and comes to grips with what may well be the
problem at
the heart of the Bayelsa State Government
under Chief
Timipre Sylva-Sam. Narrated from a
first-hand
viewpoint to former Minister for Petroleum, Dr Edmund Maduabebe
Daukoru, whose tenure as paramount ruler of
Nembe has come under justifiable threat,
this chapter offers an exceptional insight into the mind of government
in one
of the oil-rich states of Nigeria�s beleaguered Niger Delta.
The Problem With
Sylva
A bad habit never goes away by
itself.
It is always an
undo-it-yourself
project.
� Abigail Van Buren
By His Majesty Nengi
Josef Ilagha
Mingi XII, Amanyanabo
of Nembe
Bayelsa State, Nigeria
|
M |
AY
I BRING to your notice that your nephew, our governor, hosted me to a
private
chat on the evening of Monday May 4, 2009, in his exquisite official
residence
inside Creek Haven. It was the second time he was meeting face to face
with
this particular executive in charge of the print arm of the state
media, our
first meeting being on January 1, 2009. Earlier in the day, the
governor had
sent his elder brother, Mister Johnbull Anagha, to fish me out from the oxbow lake. As
may be
expected, management and staff of the state newspaper corporation were
excited
that the governor had deigned to invite their General Manager, after
all, and I
could not help but share their optimism that something good was coming,
at long
last, to those who wait.
After
three hours of waiting to see him, the governor finally emerged from
his
bedroom, and I was happy to behold my gangling friend from long ago. I
was in
an expectant mood alright, but I couldn�t miss the curious mixture of
spite, indifference
and anger on his face when he walked into the waiting room where
visitors other
than my humble self were seated. He avoided me completely. I mean, he
shook
hands all around the room, and pretended that I didn�t exist. I
wondered if Johnbull had made a mistake,
inviting me here.
But
it soon became clear that the governor wanted to get rid of me quickly
and ease
his mind as best he could. So he called for me to enter a sacred
chamber where
I sat with him and Johnbull around a
table, all three
of us forming a tense triangle. A bottle of red wine and three glasses
were
brought in on a tray, and the governor made a gesture for me to join
him as he
poured out the wine and gulped quick draughts of it. It was clear to me
that he
didn�t really mean to offer me a sip, and I did well to control my
thirst.
It
didn�t take long for him to come out in the open. He was cross with the
last
epistle I had directed at his Commissioner for Finance, who happens to
be his
junior namesake. The governor accused me pointedly of lampooning him in
an
underhand way, and did his best to make me feel bad. On my part, I did
my
utmost to make him understand that I had no business being his enemy. I
let him
know that I was in the bad books of his predecessor who had taken the
position
that I did not follow him to the Presidency because I cared more for
the
political fortunes of a man who, in times past, qualified to be called
my best
friend.
Governor
Timipre Sylva was so impatient with me that
he didn�t
quite know when he came close to emptying the bottle of wine. In the
end, after
a great deal of self control, he put his cards on the table. He told me
bluntly
how much he loved his uncle, namely you. He said I was making a public
caricature
out of a man whom he had come to consider as his mentor in all things.
But how
could I let him know that I was merely responding to political
developments in Nembe Kingdom in my
rightful capacity as a blue-blooded
prince from the Amain-Kien-Alagoa-Koki group of war-canoe houses?
How
could I let Sylva know that, in matters of kingship at Okpoama,
his birth place, I had never ventured so far but that I remain a
principal
stakeholder in the way and manner the Mingi
stool is
taken? How do I let him understand that it is my duty to question what
credentials the incumbent parades, and what agenda he brings to the
ancient
office? As far as the governor was concerned, however, I should have
kept
silent like every other Nembe man, even in
the face
of tyranny, simply because his uncle was the tyrant in question.
I
still beg to disagree.
We
live in a democratic world. Sylva himself came into office through an
electoral
process that boasts of being democratic, even as I write this, in spite
of all
its hiccups. Like every self-respecting son of the Kingdom, I was
overjoyed to
witness the day my fellow Nembe man was
sworn-in to
be at the helm of affairs in Bayelsa. The
noble
antecedents of Alfred Diete-Spiff and Melford Obiene Okilo in the old Rivers State, to say nothing of
Walter Aye
Feghabo in Ebonyi
and Delta
States, were abiding reminders that any governor of Nembe
stock would live up to his billing and present nothing short of a
sterling
performance in office, especially given the very virgin opportunities
at the disposal
of the young state.
Alas,
Sylva�s government cultivated a ready habit of attracting unnecessary
opprobrium in the mind of the average critic on Bayelsa
affairs. This is what injures my pride as a Nembe
man. I will not stand back and watch my fellow fisherman muddy the
waters for
his peers, and it remains immaterial whether or not that fisherman is
my best
friend. On the contrary, the least I can do is to prod my friend to see
reason
from a viewpoint wider than his lenses may allow. To cut a long story
short, I
left the governor that night with a limp in my right leg, taking with
me a few
critical remarks he allowed to sink into my consciousness.
In
the first place, he let me know that I may be good at expressing myself
but that
he was better, and that he was merely constrained by his exalted office
from
giving a blow by blow reply to the points I had raised in my epistles
so far. What
purpose would that serve, he wondered. Why
should he
bandy words with me in public? He was governor of a key oil-producing
state in
Africa�s most populous nation, and I was a mere journalist who was yet
to win
any worldwide attention with my headlines, so whose reputation would be
at
stake? I couldn�t be more scandalized at the drift of his thinking.
Yet
he went on to emphasize that he had some very private scoops on me that
would
cause an audience to shiver if he were to make them public. I couldn�t
help but
wonder what could be more private and explicit than my revolutionary
theory
that Adam�s semen is what Jesus Christ actually meant by the �water of
life,�
because every one of us gains life through the injection of that drop
of water
into the ovaries of Eve? Is it possible, therefore, that the Son of God
left
mankind with a veiled command to drink of this selfsame water of life
in the
face of the most daring diseases that have faced humanity since
creation, especially
HIV-AIDS?
Is
life sustainable upon the face of the earth beyond the present span, if
Adam
and Eve were to summon the courage to partake of the seeds of
Pentecost? What
could be the deepest significance of The Last Supper? What did Jesus
really
mean by offering bread and wine, representing flesh and blood, and
calling upon
mankind to remember him by taking both in? Did God mean this secret to
remain
hidden until the Messiah himself returned to interprete
the significance of the temple veil that was torn in two at his death
upon the
cross, and to give the last revelation as an indisputable indicator
that the
final solution to the menace of the world�s most enigmatic and
worrisome
diseases reside with the emissary of the Creator? It is written, isn�t
it, that
Jehovah will never share his glory with anyone?
How
provocative can a governor get? How blind can a friend be who cannot
read
between the lines offered by a drop of Pentecost upon the same spot in
the
instep of Adonai where a six-inch nail was
driven in
by vicious Roman soldiers? How much more intimate can a friend be who
reveals
of himself so openly to his best friend first, that the larger world
may behold
and see that Jesus Christ has come after all, like a tell-tale thief in
the
night? Why is it that Judas Iscariot, in spite of the many inches he
had gained
on his height on account of his dangling suicide on the branch of a fig
tree,
why is it that this fellow has not changed? How many more pieces of
silver does
Sylva require to betray his Master with a fresh kiss?
But
Chief Timipre Marlin Sylva-Sam was not
done yet. Anagha was still hard of
hearing. He looked at me pointedly
over the rims of his glasses and referred me to the National Geographic
Channel
on the satellite clouds of space. He takes great delight, he said, in
watching
the lifestyle of lower animals. According to him, of all creatures
great and
small, he remains fascinated by the habits of the serpent. And so
saying, Sylva
sat forward on his chair, hung his right hand in the air, straightened
all five
fingers into a focused bunch, and waved them in my face the way a cobra
would
sway its head before lunging forward for the killing strike. He remains
taken
by the hunting tactics of the vilest of creatures, that creepy thing
flicking a
double tongue, about which the Son of Man himself expressly
demonstrated that
every discerning piece of Adam should bring underfoot.
In
short, that night, Sylva claimed his place as the best student
understudying Maduabebe. Our governor
revealed that he takes his lessons
from the primordial reptile, and does not feel the faintest squirm of
conscience about his tutelage, about his serpentine apprenticeship,
does not
feel obliged to apologize to God who created him with limbs solid
enough to
stand upright. And that gives me good cause to recall the story making
the
rounds in beer parlours and bus stop
stands and
salons and the market place that the governor and his acolytes have
since
fortified their hold on power by a demonic submission to what is known
in Nembe as Adagba Kumu,
literally meaning �the python talisman,� with the
full endorsement of Maduabebe. It is a
story worth
investigating.
Frankly,
I could have opened up to him at that point and told him a few more
home
truths. I was in a good frame of mind to tell him that a government
without
hecklers is a failed government. Allow me to be your official heckler,
your excellency.
I couldn�t help but
notice that everyone around you believes that you are always right in
every
decision you take. Allow me, sir, to disagree. I do accept that you are
intelligent, well-traveled, phonetically
correct and blessed
with a nice boyish smile. But governance is not all about pretty smiles
and
trips abroad and linguistic competence.
Governance is about sitting your butt upon the gubernatorial
seat, so to
speak, and conducting the affairs of state with a fatherly frown behind
which
lies great goodwill and generosity of heart for one and all. Governance
is not
about duplicity. Governance is not about flicking a forked, double
tongue at
yahoo dot com�
But
it was getting late, well past midnight, and I needed to work on the
next
epistle so I saved my words forthwith. Even so, it remains a great pity
that,
even as His Excellency gathers his followers, day after day, to conduct
Christian worship sessions in the deep hold of Creek Haven, his soul
remains
obliging to none other than Seiton. It is
a pity
that, even as his lips call upon the name of God in the hallowed
chambers of
the King of Glory Chapel, his heart bows in reverence to the so-called
gods of
the earth, sliding about in the undergrowth of life, without limb,
without
conscience.
I
rest my case in the fervent belief that Jehovah will not be mocked. In
the
fullness of time, God will show Himself
strong on
behalf of the chosen parcel of land. That time may well have come.
Judgment Day
may well have arrived our doorsteps. The
time for
reckoning may well be here and now. I have
a sneaky
feeling that Jesus Christ has jolly well caught the world napping.
It
is possible, your majesty, that after this painstaking account of my
last but
one encounter with Governor Sylva, you may be expecting another bout of
questions. I shall not disappoint you. But let me give you a short
respite. Let
me entertain you with a rhymeless limerick
that has
found its way to this page, held stiffly between God�s sacred thumb and
forefinger. It posits as follows:
THE LAST
thief of silences has come
Like a poem
standing on one leg
At the
critical passage into Okigbo�s labyrinth
Looking left,
looking right & looking left again
Before
trotting up to the last full-stop.
How
do you like that? Let us hurry on down to the last full stop. By and
by, the
metaphor of the serpent can never be
more befitting than for a man who goes by the name of Maduabebe.
It bears repeating that, by their nature, serpents have double tongues,
forked
at an open crossroad that leads into the crypt of duplicity. By their
fruits,
we shall know them. By their names, we shall know them. By their greed,
we
shall know them.
The
fruit of your labour, your majesty, is
greed. You sow
greed on a wild farm. You reap greed on a large scale. You sell greed
at a high
price. That is what you do. You are greedy to a fault. Like the royal
python
and his bad habits, you have a tendency to seize all and squat upon
your loot
so that no cat in the neighbourhood would
dare you.
Well,
well, well.
Cat-eye
Christ has come to shine a new torch into your soul. Jesus
Christ has come to crush the knuckle-head of greed underfoot.
The long sword has come to cut off all double tongues, and build a
single
narrow path that leads to righteousness and therefore to truth. How
righteous
are you? How pious can you get on Sundays? How much truth do you hold
in your
wicked heart? Please answer the following XII questions more truthfully
than
you attempted to do the last time.
I.
Why
did
Methuselah live up to 969 years upon the face of the earth, literally
one
generation short of ten centuries, while the rest of us living in
modern times
are grateful if we make the better half of one century?
II.
When do you hope to
clear the forest around the cemetery in Nembe,
cultivate fresh grass and erect tombstones to commemorate the noble
efforts of Pikiri Pussy and other Edenites
who died in the aftermath of the Nembe-British
War of
1895, even if as a counterpoint to the White Man�s Graveyard at Twon-Brass?
III.
When do you expect
to begin the construction of the first skyscraper in your domain, such
as you
have been privileged to climb abroad over the years?
IV.
What is your plan
to ban the construction of toilets at the waterfront in all fishing
ports,
villages and towns in Nembe Kingdom, and
to replace
them with a sophisticated conduit sewage system such as obtains
overseas?
V.
Has it ever crossed
your mind to build a Mingi Estate of low
cost houses
in Nembe, and give them out to citizens of
the small
brave city-state, while undertaking to reconstruct and refurbish all
damaged
buildings in the chosen kingdom?
VI.
What
exactly did
you say to a certain piece of Eve called Inifielate
Laderi, a new female songbird of Eden
stock? Did you or did
you not importune her with an inappropriate demand for sex, in spite of
her
being a friend to the queens, as a precondition for extending a helping
cheque, if not some hot cash, towards the
formal launch of
her first two musical albums?
VII.
What plans do you
have to build a standard shopping mall in Nembe
in
order to boost commercial activity amongst our people?
VIII.
When will the first
footbridge be constructed on Nembe
soil, to say nothing of the first dual carriage-way?
IX.
What do you make of
the reporter�s mockery in the recent report on CNN, featuring Chief Timipre Sylva-Sam speaking of breakfast with the
governor
and the Star of David?
X.
In your opinion,
why was it necessary for the Bayelsa State
government
to host President Umar Musa Yar�Adua
for 48 hours on a fabulous budget of N456 million? How much of the
money was
returned to the coffers of the state when the visit was cancelled?
XI.
What is your take
on George Fente�s overnight conversion
from Sylva�s
former Political Adviser to construction engineer and prospective
proprietor of
a private radio station in Glory Land? Could he be following in the
questionable footsteps of Dr Azibapu Eruani, Commissioner for Health?
XII.
How did Chief Asara A. Asara,
Information
Commissioner, develop Parkinson�s Syndrome, and why did he deserve
eight
million naira to enable him proceed to India for treatment when he has
been
sitting on funds for the state newspaper corporation since he came into
office?
Is it true that the said Asara Asara
cannot be removed from office for as long as Sylva remains governor of Bayelsa State?