Tunde Odesola

To speak tongue-in-cheek is to say, “Na Baba kill Dele Giwa.” But to speak matter-of-factly is to say, “Dele Giwa was killed in his ‘gida’”. ‘Gida’ is a Hausa word for house. If you like, add ‘gida’ to Baba, na you sabi.

It was a Sunday morning, almost 38 years ago, when a faceless porter of death delivered a letter bomb at the Ikeja house of the Editor-in-Chief of Newswatch magazine, Dele Giwa.

The then-Director, National Intelligence Agency of Nigeria, Brigadier General Haliru Akilu, had reportedly called Giwa’s wife, Funmi, thrice on Saturday, and 45 minutes earlier before the delivered letter bomb went off on Sunday; Akilu, now 76, was asking for directions to Giwa’s house when he called Funmi.

Seated in his dining room on the fateful Sunday morning, Giwa, who was having breakfast with a junior colleague, Kayode Soyinka, received the letter from his son, Billy, and seeing Nigeria’s coat of arms on the letter, said, “This must be from the President,” tearing open the letter, which tore his life apart.

Giwa’s death was more excruciating than death by firing squad because death didn’t come quickly, it was in instalments; he fought death, watching his intestines, flesh and blood splatter across the walls of his dining room like an undead cockroach struggling to move with a squashed abdomen.

In the valley of the shadow of death, the brave Giwa looked down at his shattered bowels and groin and said, “They have got me.” The dripping remains of the model journalist were lifted like a disembowelled roadkill, packed into a vehicle, and rushed to the hospital, where he gave up the ghost. What a death! What a life

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On October 19, it would be exactly 38 years since Giwa was blown out of existence, leaving the nation reeling in horror, with Nigerians wondering what could the then-military President, General Ibrahim Babangida, Akilu and other top security chiefs, including the Deputy Director of SSS, retired Lt. Col. A.K. Togun, be hiding that made them repeatedly shun the Nigerian Human Rights Violations Investigations Commission headed by the late Justice Chukwudifu Oputa? May the killers of Dele Giwa forever be haunted.

Apart from pricking our national conscience and calling for the trial of Babangida, Akilu, Togun and co, my reference to Dele Giwa as a metaphor for dictatorship aims to illustrate the difference between speaking tongue-in-cheek and speaking matter-of-factly, though this column is not rivalling Akeem Lasisi’s PUNCH newspaper column, which teaches Use of English.

In this discourse, I elect to speak tongue-in-cheek because the topic is about a species of primates called the rhesus monkey. You know, monkeys don’t speak human language, though they are smart animals. However, monkeys read lips and understand human sounds, which they relate to. So, I’ll speak tongue-in-cheek, not matter-of-factly, and it will take only the deep to understand me.

Writing and painting are distinct forms of human expression. Since the advent of recorded history, the quill and the ink have explored human thought and distilled imagination in vivid portrayals. On the other hand, painting is the creative stroke of the brush dipped in colourful gloss and emulsion of communication, expressing plain and esoteric meanings.

Macaca Mulatta is the scientific name of the rhesus monkey. To get a striking picture of what the animal looks like, I beg you to google ‘rhesus monkey’ and see how closely it resembles Alexi, the new monkey in the state-of-the-art Abuja zoo commissioned a little over a year ago. Combining my written description and googling the picture of the rhesus monkey will clear all doubts about the looks and identity of Alexi.

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Alexi is the latest addition to the growing list of animals attacking humans in Nigeria’s seat of power, Abuja. Alexi is an animal among humans. In ‘Beasts of No Nation’, maverick Afrobeats superstar, Fela Anikulapo, describes some leaders as animals in human skin.

Mulatta is the female version of mulatto. Both names refer to a person of mixed white and black ancestry. That the rhesus monkey is scientifically named Macaca mulatta may mean that this caste of primates is matriarchal. While most human communities are patriarchal, some are matriarchal, a pointer to the evolutionary interrelatedness among species in the Animal Kingdom, ìse ènìyàn ni ìse eranko.

Research shows that the rhesus monkey can be considered mixed-breed because of hybridisation between its Chinese and Indian subspecies. Over the years, however, the rhesus monkey has been admixed with many other species, which ostensibly include the African caste.

Humans and monkeys indeed have an enduring relationship. In 1948, Man put the rhesus monkey in a one-passenger rocket but the monkey died during the space flight. Not to make the monkey family hard done by, on June 14, 1949, Man put another rhesus monkey named Albert II, on a one-passenger space flight, becoming the first primate and first mammal in space.

I do not know if Alexi, the latest tyrannic monkey in Abuja, is related to Albert II or not. But I know Alexi doesn’t have half the brain of Albert II. Unlike Alexi, Albert II was certainly not an idiot. To fly a space rocket, Albert II couldn’t have been a conceited bully and hateful megalomaniac. The space flight Albert II successfully executed in 1949 and the disgraceful behaviour displayed by one of his great-grandsons, Alexi, in Abuja, show that, for Alexi, sawdust lies in the place where Albert II had brains.

Since time immemorial, Man has found the monkey a good ally in security provision and groundbreaking medical research, thereby permitting monkeys to live among humans.

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One of the lucky monkeys privileged to live among humans is Alexi who operates in the Abuja zoo. Alexi, like humans, sleeps in bed, walks on two legs, drives cars and eats eggs. Because of the deeds of some of his forebears, including Albert II, Alexi was entrusted with a position in the Legislative Assembly.

One day, arrogance and ambition gripped Alexi as he looked in the mirror and noticed the striking resemblance he shared with Man. He smiled and said to himself, “Look at yourself, Alexi! Look at you! Who can ever know that you’re originally a monkey? Ol’ boy, it’s high time you transmuted fully into Man.”

He is so obsessed with vainglory and power that he thinks only about himself and feels he can get away with anything. One day, he conjured the spirit of Ìjímèrè, the forebear of all monkeys.

Ìjímèrè appeared in his hairy glory – an oblong head above a narrow chest, long slim hands, scratchy nails, slitty eyes, angular legs and a lipless mouth. Alexi told Ìjímèrè he wants to become human. Ìjímèrè rebuked Alexi for not being contented with his place in nature, warning that shame lay ahead of the journey the young monkey was about to embark on.

Alexi cried and begged Ìjímèrè to tell him the secret of how to turn into a human being. Ìjímèrè pleaded with his descendant but Alexi wouldn’t listen. So, Ìjímèrè told him what to do.

“Alexi, my descendant,” Ìjímèrè began, “I can see that self-conceit, overambition and power drunkenness are behind your wish to become human. You’re not doing it for the sake of the lineage. This is not the first time an enwe would attempt to become human. Each past attempt ended in disaster. Before I grant your wish, however, I will summon Lágídò, so that I can have a witness.”

Ìjímèrè recited some monkey chants and Lágídò appears. “You summon me, Great One,” said Lágídò, looking around and settling her eyes on Alexi.

“Yes, I did,” Ìjímèrè said, adding, “It’s one of our descendants,” pointing to Alexi, “Who wants to become human. I have tried to dissuade him from towing the path of destruction but he won’t listen. So, I want to grant him his wish by revealing to him the secret of how to become human. I only want you to be my witness.”

Ìjímèrè coughed deeply and continued, “Alexi, here are three taboos you must desist from – to become human. One, you must never touch snails. Two, you must never look down on Man. Three, you must be humble.”

“Is that all, Baba Ìjímèrè?” asked an anxious Alexi. “No, it remains one more thing,” Ìjímèrè said, “You must sit for three hours by your gate every night for seven days, wearing simple clothes, reciting the panegyrics of our lineage and doing deeds of kindness.”

“Yes, Baba,” Alexi scrambled to his feet from where he knelt and hurtled out without saying goodbye.

Lágídò said, “Doom looms ahead of the prideful and impatient fellow. The signs of ominous disaster are clear.”

On his seventh day at the gate, a short man bolted towards Alexi, holding a package in his hands, beckoning to Alexi. Alexi became livid with rage, “How dare you subhuman beckon to me? Can’t you come to me? Do you know who I am? Imagine this rat? I can make you disappear!”

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