On a good day, Abimbola Adelakun is a compelling read. But writers do have dry days, when the muse fails the quill abysmally. Such must have been the misfortune of the columnist in her April 23 outing.
The tragedy was however not her failure to deliver; the real catastrophe was actually the pedestrian intellection unwittingly exposed within a spell of creative drought.
In the said Punch column entitled “Why are Nigerians still so poor?”, Adelakun resumed her pillory of just any institution, idea – just anything Nigerian, other than her own fancy. The raging Coronavirus pandemic would seem to present yet another opportunity to mercilessly pound her favorite of all – the Buhari administration.
In the service of mischief, facts can, of course, either be creatively twisted or exaggerated mindlessly. The more outlandish the easier to hit a target. So, an official directive to the Central Bank that a category of importers be denied forex allocation for food staples on which local farmers were thought to have achieved market saturation was generalized audaciously by Adelakun to mean a national claim of total food security!
Well, such has to be established as the theoretical foundation, however ramshackle, for a premeditated bombardment.
Her entire fulmination can, in fact, be winnowed into two broad submissions. One, she pounced upon the latest reports of “hunger in the land” within three weeks of lockdown of a section of the country, to boldly underline the falsity of her earlier self-manufactured claim of “national food security“ in an orgy of brazen intellectual masturbation.
Hear our emergency economist playing to the gallery thereafter: “How did we go from a country that said it had achieved food security to one where thousands of Nigerians are now unabashedly slamming their bank account number on social media and begging for alms from strangers? We have always been a poor country, that much is certain, but how did things get this bad for us?”
Seriously?
By the referenced pedestrian claim, the columnist only succeeded in giving herself away as utterly bereft of the real issues. At a time when even kindergarten pupils are forced to stay at home on account of the rampaging Coronavirus that has disrupted the pre-existing social order, how amazing that a supposedly informed columnist fails to realize that what is at play is the telltale sign of economic shut-down.
The art of wealth-creation consists of the exertions of both skilled and non-skilled workers, all things being equal. Lockdown means demobilizing the engine that creates wealth. Even secondary-school Economics students know this.
So, if Adelakun truly hears and understands the mob she is so eager to incite in Nigeria, she would know that the cry is essentially about empty pockets, not scarcity of food. Which is not surprising for a national economy still operating at the subsistence level. Most folks live from hand to mouth. Added to this unfortunate population are the unemployed, the beggars and others. So, not having the chance to eke a living means they are no longer capable of the means to purchase goods and services available.
Against this backcloth, it therefore becomes easier to recognize the gravity of the danger posed to society by the propagation of falsehood or misinforming the multitude. The kind constituted by those willfully inflicting their point of view with the zealotry of the biblical Pharisees with virulence as deadly as the dark pathogens of Covid-19.
By the way, Adelakun is known to be ensconced in faraway United States, from where she regularly launches her missiles against moving and immobile targets in Nigeria.
In what looks more like act of commission than oversight, it is observed that, in this particular literary misadventure, the columnist uncharacteristically avoided drawing foreign parallels. (An obsession to often relativize Diaspora and homeland without regard for cultural contexts simply to validate pre-conceived notion of fatherland Nigeria as “hopelessly useless”; a fixation shared unfortunately by a countless others offshore who, in truth, are actually afflicted by a neurosis that can be diagnosed roughly as acute inferiority complex arising from sustained neo-colonial brainwashing.)
But one can, at least, assume that the columnist has access to television or internet to view the world from whichever part of America the ongoing lockdown caught her. One then wonders how she will classify the over 22 million Americans who had already filed for economic benefits (at this writing Thursday, April 23) within the three-week lockdown? Or the growing food queues all over the acclaimed “God’s own country” for that matter? Would Adelakun also interpret that to mean “hunger” or the end of “food security” in America?
At this writing, the Trump administration was proposing fresh $1 trillion for small businesses aside another $2.5 trillion already appropriated in a massive stimulus package to save businesses and jobs as a result of the unprecedented challenges brought about by Covid-19 pandemic.
The second leg of Adelakun’s diatribe was to discredit in its entirety the social investment programme (SIP) including the “conditional cash transfer” to the aged and poorest of the poor.
By her own warped notion of economic re-engineering, beneficiaries of Tradermoni and Marketmoni ought to be financially fortified by now to be counted among those beyond the “hunger” unleashed by Covid-19 lockdown.
Hear our economic guru again: “By that calculation, those that were given N10,000 loan in September 2018 should have had their lives significantly improved enough to be repaying a N30,000 loan by now. Their standard rate of living should have, statistically at least, gone up by 200 percent and that should have had an appreciable multiplier effect on the rest of the country. Yet, here we are, people are too poor to adhere to a pandemic-mandated lockdown for even a few days. How come our system cannot withstand even a month of disruption?”
(Again, it is unknown what Adelakun will tell us why America, where she is holed, often touted the biggest economy with understandably one of the highest incomes per capital in the world, therefore a giant compared to the ant misnamed Nigeria, too unraveled within the same time-frame such that over 22 millions had fallen on the dough.)
Of course, nothing can be more reflective of a poor understanding of the SIP idea and the succor intended to bring to the most vulnerable in the society. For clarity, what inspired Tradermoni and Marketmoni from outset was a thought to proliferate and drive entrepreneurship. While sums ranging from N10,000 to N100,000 may be peanuts to the likes of Adelakun, it is quite a big deal for lots of folks out there without property or asset to put down as collateral to loan sharks.
Ultimately, the objective of the programme is to spare the petty traders such ordeal. Note, contrary to the estimation of the likes of Adelakun, the process of lifting a vast number from crushing poverty is unlikely to be completed within one election cycle.
History teaches that such lofty aspiration can only be realized not just through the honesty of leadership but also policy consistency over a reasonable time-frame.
From Muhammad Yunus we learnt the power of micro-credit loans. The Bangladeshi banker began by offering as little as $20 (less than N8,000) loan to local people, mostly women, to begin a trade in the 80s, propelled by a vision to “create economic and social development from below”.
With consistency, the scheme succeeded in transforming vast number of hitherto excluded, if not complete destitute, into entrepreneurs, thereby helping to transform the communities and banish poverty. So transformative was Yunus’ effort in birthing a new generation of entrepreneurs that he was found worthy of the award of Nobel Peace Prize in 2006.
But in their desperation to throw the baby away with the bathwater, intemperate enemies of Tradermoni and Marketmoni like Adelakun fail to proffer a viable alternative given our very peculiar circumstances, as against the option of sustaining the old culture of pocketing the national budget by a few.
Of course, no sane mind would entirely dismiss Adelakun’s concern over the integrity of the list of beneficiaries. Let a national conversation continue with a view to formulating a mechanism for a more scrupulous oversight. But from the insights provided recently by Mrs. Maryam Uwais (Special Adviser to the President on SIP), we should, at least, recognize that among those bad-mouthing the SIP all along are those who had failed in their bid to parlay the power of the legislature to force its handlers to “carry them along” (euphemism to share the money or be allowed to selectively name those to benefit in their constituencies).
Indeed, these are extra-ordinary moments in human history when patriotism should compel national solidarity to proffer workable solutions against a common enemy. We have, so far, seen worthy examples of sacrificial contributions and public spiritedness from all walks of Nigerian life, both in the public and private sectors.
Contributions to this national effort should however not be material alone. Freelance mischief-makers peddling falsehood and career hate-entrepreneurs can also join the ongoing national effort by simply engaging in one civic rite: either resting their hyper-active dane guns in the rafter or quarantining their mouths from the public space.
* Louis Odion is the Senior Technical Assistant on Media to the President.
MY LAST CONTACT WITH ABBA KYARI
By FEMI ADESINA
He told us he would be back at his desk soon. I believed it. But now, it would never happen. Not tomorrow, not next week, not forever. Chief of Staff to the President, Mallam Abba Kyari, has gone the way of all flesh.
Our last contact was on Friday, March 20, 2020.President Muhammadu Buhari was scheduled to meet with the Chairman of ECOWAS Commission, Jean-Claude Kassi Brou, by 3 p.m. Such meetings hold in the diplomatic room of the presidential office complex.
The protocol is that aides invited to attend any meeting must be seated 15 clear minutes before the President walked in. I was in the diplomatic room at the required time. A seat had been designated for me, next to that of the Chief of Staff.
Few minutes later, Mallam Abba (as he was often called by us) walked in. I rose to greet him.
“Femi, how are you? They have said we should not shake hands again,” he responded. Rather jocularly, he extended his right foot. I touched his foot with my own, and we both laughed. Leg-shake, instead of handshake.
At the dot of 3 p.m (he does it like clockwork, the grand old soldier) the President walked in. We all rose to welcome him, as we would normally do.
The ECOWAS Commission boss had come to discuss the ensuing constitutional crisis in Guinea Conakry, which was to hold election that weekend. After 10 years in office, and at 82 years of age, President Alpha Conde, had insisted on running for another term in office, and he tinkered with the country’s Constitution to make himself eligible. The opposition was having none of it, and there was civil disobedience, in which some lives had been lost.
President Buhari is the immediate past Chairman of ECOWAS Authority of Heads of State and Government, and a highly respected figure in the sub-region. The ECOWAS Commission boss had come to consult him on the way forward for Guinea Conakry.
The meeting lasted for about 30 minutes, during which the situation in Guinea-Bissau had also come up briefly.
When we rose, I had my opinion on what to do about the matters discussed. I consulted with Mallam Abba, and he agreed completely with me. I took my leave, headed back to my office.
Walking right behind me was the Chief of Staff, flanked by Director General of the National Intelligence Agency, and my colleague in the media office, Mallam Garba Shehu. They were chatting.
After I passed through the security screening point that would see me turn off to my office, I looked back instinctively. Why did I do it? I didn’t know, still don’t know. But it turned out to be my last view of Kyari. He was laughing as he talked with the two people beside him.
That glance I took turned out to be the very final. About 72 hours later, Mallam Abba was diagnosed with the deadly Coronavirus, which sent him sadly on a journey of no return.
Catching COVID-19 (as the inelegant virus has been elegantly codenamed by World Health Organization) is not supposed to be a death sentence. I had no doubt that Mallam Abba would beat the infection, and be back at his desk soon, as he had promised. I prayed for him a number of times in the following three weeks.
On Tuesday, April 15, the President was billed to receive a delegation from the European Union by noon. As I walked into the Presidential Villa, I met a personal staff of the Chief of Staff.
“How’s Chief?” I asked.
He told me he was doing well. And that was what we believed.
I’m not much of a dreamer. At least, not dreams with significance. Dreams come from a multitude of business, as the Good Book says, so if a man drinks a bowl of garri before going to bed, and he dreams of swimming in a pond or river, he actually started swimming right from inside that bowl of garri.
On Thursday night inward Friday, I dreamt. The President and myself were in a corridor in the Presidential Villa, and he was talking with me. Suddenly, by my right, I saw a figure waiting for me to finish with the President. It was Mallam Abba, clad in his usual white native attire, with the trademark red cap. But this time, there was no flowing Agbada, which I found rather odd. He never (or rarely) appeared without the flowing robe. He was heavily bearded, another surprise, and the beard was all white. I rounded off discussion with the President, and yielded space for the Chief.
I made nothing of the dream, but after he died, I shared my experience with my friend, Mallam Garba Deen Mohammed.
“He came to say goodbye to you, and you didn’t know it,” my friend said. I didn’t know till then that Garba Deen had the uncommon gift of interpretation of dreams. Well, I now know where to go the next time I dream.
On Friday, April 17, I uncharacteristically went to bed after listening to the 8 p.m news. And off I went, for “He giveth his beloved sleep.” No dream, no kakiri kakiri (wandering) in my sleep. Till my phone fetched me from a far distance, out of that deep sleep. It was 12. 05 a.m.
At the other end of the line was a senior aide of the President. He told me he was there with two other very prominent personalities, whom he named. Then he dropped the bomb.
“Mallam Abba is dead, and we need you to issue a statement informing the public.”
I sprang from the bed, with my head almost touching the ceiling. Sleep fled completely from my eyes. Abba Kyari dead? How? When? Where? But he promised us he would soon be back at his desk. This was sad, sad, sad.
I put the statement together. And in the process, I had a feeling of deja vu. I remembered that day in September 2014, as I had typed the press statement announcing the death of Dimgba Igwe, my boss, my friend and brother, who had got knocked down by a hit and run driver, as he jogged on the road in Okota area of Lagos. I had worked under Igwe as a reporter for years, and as editor of The Sun Newspaper, while he was Deputy Managing Director/Deputy-Editor-in-Chief, before retirement.
As I typed the announcement of Kyari’s death, I remembered that day in August 2015, when I’d been directed to announce his appointment as Chief of Staff. Ironically, the lot to announce his death also fell on me. The job of a spokesman!
From the time I issued the statement about 12.30 a.m Friday, my phone never stopped ringing for hours. In this era of fake news, people want to reconfirm everything from source. Despite signing the statement, and putting it in different platforms of traditional and digital media, everybody who had access to me must call. My two phones rang simultaneously and ceaselessly, just as there was no let up on email, Facebook Messenger, Skype, and many other platforms. It was a burden I had to bear. Not a wink of sleep till the very next night.
I was home, planted in front of the television as Kyari was being buried at Gudu Cemetery. It all looked surreal. Yes, the man had a frail health at the best of times. But death? It didn’t sound probable, though nobody actually knows when the Grim Reaper could come calling.
As I watched Mallam Abba being consigned to Mother Earth, my childhood thoughts came roaring back. What if he had only lost consciousness, and he regained it after sand had been heaped on him? What if he felt so much heat, and he could not move or shout? Oh, the lot of mortal man. Doomed to die, whether he liked it or not.
I thought of Mr President. I knew his pain, his torture, but which he would bear stoically, with equanimity. I’d seen him respond to the news of death of his allies, one of the most recent being that of Professor Tam David-West last November. I saw the silent pain, the grief, the total submission to the perfect will of God. That of Mallam Abba was not different, if not more poignant. A friend of about 42 years, and Chief of Staff for about five years. Now gone!
Mallam Abba headed the bureaucracy of the Presidential Villa, and we constantly had things to do together. Almost daily. He had his strengths, and his weaknesses. We all do. But my greatest plus for him was his loyalty to our principal. It was never in doubt. And for me, if you love Buhari, all your sins are forgiven. If they are like scarlet, they become white as snow. If they are red like crimson, they become white as wool. That is me, no apologies.
I have read majority of the things written about Kyari. Positive and negative. I love the balanced one by Works and Housing Minister, Babatunde Raji Fashola: “I bear testimony to his dedicated execution of the Presidential Infrastructure Development Fund (PIDF) initiative, which guaranteed funds to cash-strapped projects like the Second Niger Bridge, the Abuja-Kano Highway, the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway, the Mambilla Hydro Project, and the East-West Road…
“Like all of us, Abba was flawed but he was not conceited. We disagreed but I never found Abba disagreeable.”
Infrastructure would be one of the strongest achievements of the Buhari government by the time it exits in 2023. There’s no way those great projects would be counted, without the name of Kyari being mentioned. Or the rice and fertilizer revolution, and agriculture generally. He was the moving force behind most of them, translating the vision of the President into action. The good he did will live after him. The weaknesses have been interred with his bones.
Some people, particularly on social media, have rejoiced about the passage of the Chief of Staff. They are of all men most miserable. Really to be pitied. I recommend to them the poem, The Glories of Our Blood and State, by James Shirley:
“There is no armor against Fate;
Death lays its icy hands on kings;
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.”
Those gloating are mere mortals. We all have our different appointments with death. May it only be in the fullness of time is our prayer. But nobody has control over it.
I also point those misguided minds to the Good Book, in Psalms 62:9: “Surely men of low degree are vanity, and men of high degree are a lie. In the balances they will go up; they are together lighter than vanity.”
Rejoice not at any man’s death, because all men, whether of low or high degree, are vanity and a lie.
Abba Kyari sleeps, till the great day of awakening, after what Shakespeare calls “life’s fitful fever.” He contracted the deadly virus on an official trip abroad. So, he died in the line of duty. He has done his own. You too, do your own. For God, for country, and for humanity.
.Adesina is Special Adviser on Media and Publicity to President Buhari
