By Suyi Ayodele

We were in Abuja on an official assignment; one of the entertainment engagements of Globacom then. The phone rang. The leader of the team, a Director in the Marketing Communications Department, looked at all of us sitting at the table, brainstorming on the evening’s assignment. We got the message. The Big Man was at the other end. Silence! We could hear the voice from the other end, though the phone was not on speaker. “Awe o, we need you to be in Johannesburg this evening or first flight tomorrow. Do you have a South African visa?” Our Director responded: “No sir.” “Ok”. The line went off and we resumed our talk.

A few minutes later, the phone rang again and the Director jumped up, picking the phone and moving away from us. We were by the pool side of the hotel. I prayed silently that our boss would not fall inside the pool. He was just nodding his head, with intermittent “Yes sir”; “Mo ngbo yin sir”- I can hear you sir. The call ended and the Director returned to our table. “I need to take my passport in the room. Suyi, tell Tosin (one of the drivers attached to the project) to get the Hilux. We are going to the South African Embassy”, he announced. Minutes later, we were on our way to the embassy. I asked our boss what was in the offing. He responded: “Baba said someone will be waiting at the embassy.”

To cut the long story short, we got to the embassy, and we met a woman waiting for us. We were ushered in and the Director was taken into an inner office. Half an hour later, he came to join me at the waiting room. I asked him again (curiosity won’t kill my cat sha): “Are you getting the visa, today?” He answered that he was asked to wait. We didn’t have to wait long. A young man stepped out of one of the offices and asked our Director to follow him. A few minutes later, the man came out of the office and beckoned on me. In the car, he showed me his passport with the visa approval. Wao! Then, the director sent a message to the Big Man thus: “Thank you sir. I got the visa. Agba yin a dale -may you live long- sir.” The simple response from the Big Man reads: “That is why I am the Chairman. My name opens the door for you.” God, I must be a big man!

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Age grades are in three categories in my native place. The first set is known as “Boranje”, which literally means those who don’t give a damn about the consequences of their actions. They have the energy and they represent the restive segment of the society. Those in this category are materials for recruitment into the community’s army. The middle class is the Elekurupa. They are the moderates. They fill the gap between the first and the last categories. They are the intermediate class. The last group are those we call Agba Ule – Council of Elders. This categorisation is at the family level. They are the elders. Their first selling point is their wisdom. Whatever the Elekurupa cannot resolve, the Agba Ule class handles. They only refer very knotty issues to the Agba Ulu- council of community elders. Agba Ulu is presided over by the oba of the town. Incidentally, most Agba Ule are also members of Agba Ulu. So, whatever decisions taken at the level of Agba Ule are mostly sustained by the rulings of Agba Ulu. To get to this last grade, age counts. Depending on the level of longevity in a family, there are cases where people in their early 60s are still in the Elekurupa age grade. Whereas, in some families where they are not blessed with long life, some people in their 50s are already Agba Ule. However, anybody who has crossed the age of 70 is an Agba Ule. One unique mystery about Agba Ule is their ability to stand where others fail and fall. How is it?

There is a saying that illustrates that. It goes thus: Nnkan ti agba fi nje eko ti o ra lowo wa labe ewe. I attempt a transliteration here: what the elder uses in eating eko (corn meal) without smearing his fingers is underneath the leaf. Dr. Mike Adenuga Jr, the Chairman of Globacom, turned 71 years old yesterday, Monday, April 29, 2024. At 71, the man known as Mr. Chairman, is a qualified member of Agba Ule and Agba Ulu. Many things qualify him for that position. I would not be dwelling on those ones here, but, as an eminent Agba Ule, Dr. Adenuga has demonstrated over and over again that the mystery of the successes of his business empire lies only with him. Nothing demonstrates this more than the recent breakdown of the underwater cable services across the West African sub-region a few weeks ago. Globacom, the telecommunication outfit of the Ijebu businessman, has one of the independent, and the only single underwater cable owned solely by an individual, the Glo 1 Submarine cable that runs from Lagos through 13 different countries to the United Kingdom with a point of reference in New York, United States of America.

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Whatever it was that happened to other international underwater cables, such as the West Africa Cable System (WACS), the Africa Coast to Europe (ACE) and MainOne, Glo 1 remained standing. The company, Globacom, came up with a statement to reaffirm that its facility was not in any way affected by the damage that caused a lot of disruptions in the telecommunications industry with companies having huge bandwidth suffering unmitigated losses. In a discussion with some people while the submarine cable crisis lasted, someone asked why Glo 1 was spared. My immediate response to that is that the fortune or misfortune of any business concerns depends largely on the mission and vision of the promoter(s) of the business. And this is true with Globacom. It is practically impossible to divorce the resilience of the owner, Dr. Mike Adenuga Jr. from the success of the company.

The underlying principles of “People, Power, Possibilities”, on which the business was established cannot but speak for it when things are tough. If you have ever passed through Globacom, you would realise that ‘impossibility’ means “I’m Possible” in the system. Theirs’ is a diehard, never-say-no spirit which empowers them to navigate through the cruellest terrains. An average mid-level manager in Globacom is a super CEO of any other company. Why? Because Dr. Mike Adenuga Jr. ‘roasts’, ‘cooks’, ‘fries’ and ‘fires’ every fibre of his employees till they become the best anyone can be. The working environment may not be the best; it is no doubt an institution that brings the best out of the individuals in its employ.

In the introductory story of this piece, the Big Man, Dr. Mike Adenuga Jr. was quoted to have said his name opens doors. I think it does more than that. Nigerians will never forget that it is the name, Adenuga, that bailed them out of the financial enslavement of the earlier entrants into the nation’s GSM business by introducing the Per Second Billing System (PSB), at a time they were told it was not technically possible. What about the BlackBerry revolution: didn’t Adenuga’s name open that door? Do we talk about the first deployment of 3G network, rural telephony and cheapest acquisition of telephone and people-friendly and affordable tariffs? Nigeria’s entertainment industry today is what it is because a Dr. Mike Adenuga opened the door of bountiful corporate endorsements for our artistes.

So, if you have ever wondered why Glo 1 stood gidigba while others fell yakata, know that the man behind the business, Dr. Mike Adenuga Jr. is a complete Agba Ule. And as such, know also that Nnkan ti agba fi nje eko ti o ra lowo wa labe ewe!

Here is my toast to the epitome of Nigeria’s resilience at 71! Here is wishing Mr. Chairman many more years in sound health. Happy birthday, the Great Guru himself! Agba yin a dale sir!

By Lasisi Olagunju

One day, I will have the courage to ask the immaculate Ooni of Ife, Oba Enitan Ogunwusi, how he feels each time he travels on the horrible Ibadan-Ife road. Ben Okri, ‘The Famished Road’ storyteller, finds his own ‘road’ a torment – he says it “leads home and then away from it, without end.” Okri thinks the road a torment because he meets it “with too many signs and no direction.” The Ife-Ibadan road has signs, it has directions – and I find them very treacherously significant because they interlock fingers while road users lose life and limbs. The road has signs and directions to the very bowel of hell.

Olojo, the guardian divinity of the House of Oduduwa, is the famed owner of two machetes: with one machete, he prepares the field for the plants of tomorrow; with the other, he clears the road for prosperity (Ó fì’kan sán’ko/ Ó fì kan yè’nà). Those weapons must either now be blunt or lost. An Odu Ifa tells us something about Ile Ife and roads. It affirms that well-paved open roads start from Ile Ife. That affirmation today can only be treated on the operating theatre of irony. Could it be that truth has an expiry date and Ogbe’s truth of good, open roads in Ile Ife has expired? What we see today from the capital of Yorubaland (Ibadan) to the historical source of Yoruba people is the torment of a closed road that mocks the pathfinder-spirit of Oduduwa. The road does worse with its gaping craters and their threats of morphing into greater gullies. And it is a federal road.

Has the Ooni ever told the president that the worst road in the universe leads to his kingdom? Has he told the president that the N79.8 billion contract for the reconstruction of Ibadan-Ife-Ilesa road awarded in September, 2019 by his friend and villa mate, Muhammadu Buhari, has remained a contract for ghosts? Has he invited the president’s attention to the truth that since last year when he took over, the road has sunk even deeper in the mire of decrepitude? And, that even FERMA, a perennially rich agency that pretends giving palliatives on federal roads, has since seen the futility of stitching this rag? Or could it be that Kabiyesi does what our presidents since 1999 do – escaping road users’ pains by flying over our heads?

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The reigning culture here is rooted in the ragged soils of our toil. I admit that badness is not peculiar to the Ife-Ibadan-Ilesa road. It is a national affliction that can’t be cured because of the greed of doctors who treat sick roads with fake and expired drugs.

We work hard to build roads that wear out before they are inaugurated. We have the interminable construction mess called Lagos-Ibadan Expressway. When did construction start there? When will it end – if it will ever end? How much have we sunk there? And, is it not a shame that the road is ready already for corrective surgery even before its makers are done making it? If you are a woman, and you are pregnant and your doctor tells you dancing is a ‘safe and fun way to exercise’, do not dance to the break beats of that road. It is made for abortion.

Ben Okri says “all roads lead to death” and “some roads lead to things which can never be finished.” Is that why our federal government’s roads are forever ongoing, none is ever finished or completed? Federal government’s statistics says out of Nigeria’s national road network of 200,000 kilometers, 36,289 km belong to it. Now, you ask Abuja which of its other roads, apart from the one from the Villa to Abuja airport, is good? Ask them why almost all roads that wear federal tags suffer neglect, abandonment or crass abuse.

My NYSC journey to the far north 34 years ago was on the Ibadan-Ilorin-Jebba-Mokwa-Yauri road. It was an experience in pleasantness. It is, today, a monument to frustration, a shrine to demons that feed on losses -human and material. The Ibadan-Oyo-Ogbomoso part of that road is one major reason why Nigeria should not have a federal government – or have roads managed by the Federal Government. There should be a coroner’s inquest on why that road was killed and who killed it. Without the states, the vehicle of Nigeria would have long lost its chassis. States keep doing what heart surgeons do when arteries are found blocked. They create bypasses, byways. A brand new 78-kilometre Iseyin-Ogbomosho road has just been built by Seyi Makinde’s Oyo State to escape the Federal Government’s death trap along that axis. A commenter online wrote: “The road has helped us to link northern Nigeria without using the dangerous Oyo-Ilorin road that has consumed so many lives…” The Oyo-Ilorin road of death spoken of here belongs to the government in Abuja.

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Potholes jolt us to appreciate what bad roads represent in our lives. They tell us why the tyres of our country never last and why our rides are forever bumpy. Asking questions on why our roads are perennially bad is living the times of Ayi Kwei Armah’s ‘Two Thousand Seasons’: “A thousand seasons wasted wandering amazed along alien roads, another thousand spent finding paths to the living way.” Like Ouroboros, the self-tail-devourer, Nigeria’s ‘alien roads’ cyclically keep consuming the ‘living way.’

It is time to pound yam for the household, the idler among us goes for the heaviest pestle. This is better said in Yoruba: Òle bàá tì, ó gb’ódó nlá. There are abandoned federal roads everywhere which directly affect millions of Nigerians, but the government has moved the money to a 700km super coastal highway that will cost N15.6 trillion. The first phase is 47 kilometres, starting somewhere and ending nowhere, at a cost of N1.06 trillion. Should I just say that that N1 trillion will start and complete the reconstruction of decrepit Ibadan-Ife-Ilesa Road (224km), Ilorin to Bida (244.9km) and Shagamu to Benin (492km) if wisdom wills? Even at an inflated cost of N1 billion per kilometre, our husbands will achieve these and will even ‘collect change’. And Tinubu would have become very popular with it. But he wants a white elephant and has moved our money to purchase it.

White elephants are always expensive! Poet and journalist, Mathew Wills, in his ‘The Original White Elephant’ defines ‘white elephant’ as “something excessive that turns out to be valueless.” James A. Robinson and Ragnar Torvik in 2005 published an interesting article about the third world and deliberate bad investments – they titled their article: ‘White Elephants’. In that piece, they hold that politicians around here would always go for “white elephants” as against “socially efficient projects” because “the political benefits are large compared to the surplus generated by efficient projects.” That piece says much more than this. It is published in the Journal of Public Economics 89 (2005: 197-210). I think you should read it.

‘The Stolen White Elephant’ by Mark Twain is an interesting story on the cost of investing in big, expensive loss centres. It is the story of a fictional Kingdom of Siam. A reviewer says Siam is blessed with a “national appetite for fraud”. Another says it has officers of “pompous assumption of infallibility and ridiculous inappropriate procedures.” The “pointless” story is about an expensive search for a stolen white elephant, a further loss of hundreds of thousands of dollars in compensation and the eventual discovery of the rotting corpse of the supposedly stolen animal. The story ends with the duped narrator celebrating the man who duped him. It ends as the man pronounces himself “a ruined man and a wanderer in the earth.” In Studies in American Humour, Peter Messent (1995) does a lot of justice to it in his ‘Keeping Both Eyes Open.’ The whole story sounds Nigerian; what Fela called “expensive shit.” But I can argue that though we wander today, the past was a better experience.

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“How can you develop a country rapidly if you can’t get about it?” Sir Rex Niven, pre-independence Speaker of Northern Nigeria House of Assembly, asked that question 69 years ago in relation to the state of roads in Nigeria. On January 27, 1955, Riven was asked to brief the Royal African Society and the Royal Empire Society in London on “Recent Developments in Nigeria.” He gave a very detailed account of himself as a British participant in the affairs of a key component of the Nigerian federation. Sector by sector, he spoke about efforts and failures. He particularly spoke on roads which he described as “the most important of the great aspects of development.” He said as he was speaking (in 1955), Nigeria had over 30,000 miles of roads whereas in 1920, “she had hardly any at all.” Then he used Kabba (in present Kogi State) to illustrate what he was saying: “The first province I went to, the newly constituted Kabba Province, had exactly 4 miles of road…but when I left Kabba four years later, there were over 200 miles of road.” Thirteen years later, the same Niven, in retirement, told the Commonwealth section of the Royal African Society on 11 November, 1969 that Nigeria had 40,000 miles of quality roads. That figure was even in spite of the ongoing civil war. Now, you ask: Why are our golden years always in the past? The past was obviously better handled.

Tunde Odesola

If charisma was a commodity, Pope John Paul II would have been the producer of its purest form. It wasn’t for nothing that the Pope survived an assassination attempt in 1981 and forgave his assailant, Mehmet Ali Agca, an escaped Turkish prisoner.

In his time, Pope John Paul II was the global ambassador of Christ. When he spoke, the world listened. He was the leader of 1.345 billion Catholics worldwide. He was also the first non-Italian Pope in 455 years. The Pope, a Pole, once said, “Stupidity is a gift from God, but one mustn’t misuse it.”

But I disagree.

In boxing, the epigram of Pope John Paul is akin to the cross jab, a combination of a straight left jab, followed by a straight right-hand punch – if you’re orthodox, a boxing term for the right-handed – different from the left-handed alias southpaw.

In respect for Catholicism, I won’t catcall the Pope’s straight left jab on stupidity but I’ll root for his straight right-hand punch that warns against misusing stupidity.

In his view on stupidity, Juju music superstar, King Sunny Ade, riddles stupidity as a fellow sent to buy the head of a viper for nine pence. On getting to the market, the fellow approaches the Elewe Omo herb seller, who fetches seven bead-like objects called itun, seven alligator peppers called atare and seven fruits called abere. Before handing the items to the fellow, the herbal(ist) seller pours all three items into a mortal, grinds them with a black soap and hands the product to the chap. Tell me, who buys the head of a viper for ‘nain’ pittance with all the three potent ingredients but ‘Padi Odensin’, the fool?

Untying the knots in KSA’s àdìtù, culture aficionado, Chief Sulaimon Ayilara, popularly known as Ajobiewe, who said the combination of the ingredients Padi Odensin was sent to get is a powerful African medicine used for cursing and binding, explained the meanings of itun and abere to me. He located the potency of the ingredients Padi Odensin was sent to fetch, in the deadliness of the viper, saying, “Ase mónámóná ni n be lenu oka,” an assertion of the viper’s swift poison.

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No parents give their child a bad name. But when a child gives himself a bad name, what can the parents do? This is the riddle of the White Lion. Wildlife researchers believe white lions are a rare colour mutation of the African lion. Though they’re not albino, white lions are leucistic, meaning they lack dark pigmentation. Their rare genetic mutation (leucism) causes their fur to be white. Thesaurus defines ‘mutation’ as alteration, anomaly, or variation. Did Oduduwa, the leader of the Yoruba, have ‘mutation’ in mind when he described the fake as ‘àmúlùmálà’?

Suppose the white lion in the wild had a choice to maintain its natural tawny yellow colour, it won’t hesitate because the mutation in its life is causing him to be easily spotted by poachers and his prey, making survival near hopeless. But colour complex blinded Padi Odensin of Kogi State, who adopted the name White Lion, thinking whiteness was synonymous with supremacy, holiness and godliness. Wasn’t it this fleeing White Lion who roared fiercely in the Den of Immunity just some months ago? The White Lion is no different from hordes of black African women who bleach their skins blotchy white to fan their inferiority complex.

Mr Olanipekun Olukoyede is the fifth Executive Chairman of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, Nigeria’s foremost anti-graft agency hunting financial fifth columnists. Olukoyede may be wondering why Nigerians aren’t applauding the orchestra of his agency’s financial recoveries. It’s because Nigerians are amazed at the billions of naira (re)looted under the nose of APC’s anti-corruption god, Muhammadu Buhari, and they look at everyone in President Bola Tinubu’s government as an EFCC suspect waiting to unravel. Nigerians also snigger behind your back, Ogbeni Olukoyede EFCC; they say, “Eni a le mu la nle’di mo,” pointing at the fat files of Betta Edu dripping with the oil of corruption.

Shortly, I shall return to the terrified White Lion. Now, I head up to confront the roaring Lion of Dunamis. Remember, I’m the Hunter with a whistle and a calling, I fear no evil for the lord is my shepherd.

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I call Pastor Paul Enenche a lion because of the way he roared in his over 100,000-capacity church in Abuja, on Sunday. Enenche won’t frown if I call him the son of the Lion of the tribe of Judah. Enenche is the son of God. Or, maybe I should call him a lionet, yes, a lionet – the pikin of a lion because the Lion of the tribe of Judah, Jesus Christ, won’t throw worshipper Veronica Nnenna Anyim into the lake of condemnation.

Anyim had attained a milestone nobody in her lineage ever reached; she had got a law degree from the National Open University of Nigeria, Abuja. She wasn’t going to be discouraged by her poor English and obscure background, she was ready to show the world what the Lord had done.

On the day of her testimony, Anyim must have been led by the spirit. She got a yellow attire, the same colour as the suit her father in the Lord, Enenche, wore; the same as the colour of the lion. She must have done many rehearsals at home with her family, fancying herself on the church’s big stage and the thoughts of her testimony going viral – for good. Though Anyim is a policewoman, the thought of climbing the stage and facing the capacity crowd would’ve made her struggle with sleep till daybreak.

On stage, Anyim was shaking with joy and fear, she felt like fleeing the stage, like bolting to where her father in the lord was sitting, grabbing his feet and crying and saying, “Daddy, I brought home the degree!” Anyin wanted her tears to soak the shiny shoes of her daddy, ready to polish them with her dress, like Mary Magdalene. If Daddy Paul listened well enough, he could have heard the joyous melody of her heart. Anyim had hoped for a handshake at the end of her testimony, with Pastor Paul congratulating her, saying, “Well done, the good labourer,” but a roar shattered her dreams, inflicting her with heartache.

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I congratulate Pastor Paul Enenche because Anyim didn’t commit suicide on the night of her resounding disgrace. If she did, Dunamis would have been under fire and unbelievers would have rolled out the drums, singing, “Many are called but few are chosen.”

It was all over Anyim, fear. Every word was uttered with a quake. She trembled, yet the Man of God filled with the Holy Spirit didn’t see it. How did the medical doctor cum Man of God, who opened his church to worshippers while COVID ravaged in 2020, despite the Federal Government’s counter warning, not see that Anyim was telling the truth?

When she fluffed her lines, the church interpreter showed kindness and understanding, helping Anyim rephrase her testimony. And Anyim must have been shocked when Papa came after her, booming, “Give her the phone!!” “What Law!?” “What’s the name of the degree called, Medicine is MBBS?”

Anyim panicked further and said, “BSc in Law.” Papa roared, “It’s a lie!! BSc Law! Is that how lawyers speak English?” Hoping to be given a second chance, Anyim recovered a little and said, “LLB Law, sir” but Papa was done with her, Anyim was already on her way to the lake. I wonder how Anyim made it till daybreak.

Me, I went to school and I got an LLB in English Language and Literature o. Sorry, jare, I meant a B.A degree. Writing fatigue is setting in. I’ll round off shortly, please.

As an English Language and Literature student, I was involved in many drama productions. The accomplished literary giant, Professor Udenta O. Udenta, taught me drama. To situate the Anyim saga in perspective, I called my friend and one-year senior during my undergraduate days, Azubuike Erinugha. I asked Erinugha, who now has a doctorate, the name of his classmate, who fled to backstage during a drama presentation, thinking he had severed his manhood. Zooby, that’s the alias of Erinugha, recalled the name of our co-actor. I can still see Ralph, grabbing his crotch with his left hand as he ran backstage with a knife in his right hand. “I thought I had cut it…” Ralph said at the backstage. Zooby, a filmmaker based in Germany and Belgium, teaches participatory filmmaking for community development.

Ralph came back on stage later, the audience didn’t know what was amiss. They laughed when he fled, thinking it was all part of the comedy. But, like the tale of Anyim, Ralph’s stage fright wasn’t a laughing matter.

Do you remember a top Nigerian musician who performed at the Nelson Mandela concert in London around 2008? When he got on stage, he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Stage fright is not NICE. Please, let’s give a clap offering for Anyim for tumbling through her lines. E no easy.

Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com

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