I
’d had it. I walked over to a garden chair under the shade of a green-tree and stretched out. But soon, I looked up to find a lady standing near me with a question in her smiling eyes. I sat up to accommodate her.
“It’s stifling in there,” she said, waving at the convention hall.
“Ahh, but it’s air conditioned, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but there’s no room for thought.”
“That’s politics, isn’t it?”
My colleagues had trooped over and stood around listening. She looked them over with a knowing smile.
“The Media Mafia,” she said. “Like politics. Once you get in, you can’t get out.”
“Is politics so demoralizing as that?” asked a reporter. Everyone laughed.
“How long have you been in politics, Madam?” asked another reporter.
“Thirty years.”
“Plus or minus the Abacha military years?”
“Plus or minus nothing. You forget that the military used civilians in their cabinets and other appointments.”
“Oh but those were not always politicians.”
“Every appointee in government is a politician,” she said. “Power is a drug. Once you swallow it you become addicted. You can’t quit. You’re transfigured. Uglified.”
No one moved a muscle. We were on the verge of a revelation.
“I started innocently enough,” she went on. “Early 1980s. The Second Republic. State universities springing up. I was appointed to the Governing Council of the one in my state.”
“Who recommended you?”
“A friend of mine who had the Governor’s ear. I was to be the Chairman—something exciting and rare for a woman. But when the announcement came I was merely a member.”
“What happened?”
“Serves you right, said my friend. I told you to go and see the Governor immediately, but you said it was belittling. As always, he listened to the last adviser and chose someone else. That’s your first lesson in politics. You must be hungry, servile, ready to demean yourself. You must lick boots and eat shit to get what you want.”
“What did you want?”
“Everyone wanted money. Cold hard cash, which is everything. Contracts. Houses. Plots of land.”
She paused, and hearing no objection or dissent she continued.
“The Council consisted of twelve Sycophants and one Rebel.”
“How many women?”
“Three women. We learned fast; but this one man didn’t or wouldn’t. When everyone else marched left he marched right. Virtually every crucial vote was 12 Yeses and 1 No. But guess what, at the next meeting the Minutes would say the vote was Unanimous.”
“You mean the record was falsified?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t the members object?”
“No one objected except him. But the Chairman overruled him. The Governor, he said, would be displeased to see a dissenting vote.”
“My goodness! . . .”
“A kangaroo council? . . .”
“This is unreal . . .”
“What sort of issues are we talking of?”
“Here’s an example. This new state university operated from a secondary school campus for two years and only recently moved to a permanent site—so far with two buildings plus acres of mud. Money is needed for more buildings; but even more urgently, money is needed to pay staff salaries this month. The Vice-Chancellor pleads with Council members who have access to the Governor or the Commissioner of Education to approach them and beg for money to pay staff salaries. Noted.
“Next Agenda item: The elections are imminent. One particular community is crucial for the Governor’s re-election, so he has promised them that a campus of the university will be built in their town. The Governing Council must now vote to ratify that promise and make preparations for building the new campus.”
The reporters broke into laughter. “That’s absurd!”
“Absolutely,” said the lady. “Every member recognized it as absurd, but also recognized that we must vote for it . . .”
“And the dissenting member? . . .”
“He votes No—of course. But the Governor won’t accept No—so the vote is changed to Unanimous.”
“Fantastic!”
“So that’s what’s in the books?”
“That’s it. But that’s not all. At the same meeting—or was it another one?—the VC reports that he has been forced to purchase for his private, personal possession the hitherto official residence of the VC. Why? The Senior Civil Servants declared a policy requiring all government-owned houses to be sold to private owners, and the present occupants were given the right of first refusal. In fact, financing was already arranged for interested occupant-buyers, and they had to buy or evacuate with immediate effect. So, don’t you see, his hands were tied.”
Another avalanche of laughter descended on the convention plaza. So, where would the next VC reside? That was none of his concern, said the lady. Since the “government” that made this policy for massive disposal of government property is also the owner of the state university, doesn’t it stand to reason that the VC’s official residence would constitute an exception—that at the very least, the deadline must be extended to enable the Governing Council to meet in regular or emergency session to deal with the matter? That’s none of the VC’s business. The Chairman and members all agreed and supported the VC—with the usual single dissenting vote which the Minutes routinely nullified and recorded as Unanimous. . . .
To be continued
Onwuchekwa Jemie
