You were to land at Enugu airport, and proceed to Awka by road. Your workshop was on Monday. You would get in on the Sunday, and be back in Lagos on Tuesday. Three days.
Your host – a Professor of Clinical Psychology at UNIZIK, met you at the dusty airport car park. He radiated affability as you got into his car.
Was it not a meaningful coincidence that Ohaneze were holding a big conference at Ekwueme Square in Awka same day as your workshop at UNIZIK – you asked, tentatively? Yes, it was, he replied. The IPOB boys had threatened that they would spill the last drop of their blood to ensure the Ohaneze conference did not hold, you ventured. Don’t mind those boys, he replied, as he ploughed through the traffic. Anambra is the most peaceful state in Nigeria. Quote me.
He drove fast and, to you mind, rather dangerously on the single-track road. There were long stretches of vegetation, interspersed with clumps of human settlement.
Every so often, there was a road block, manned by mobile police or soldiers. At one such place, he greeted the tall, stern-looking soldier.
‘Hello Sergeant Jibrin’
The man smiled and waved the car past the queue.
You know him? – you asked curiously.
No, I read his name label from his outfit. They like that.
Practical psychology, you thought.
Every so often on the drive from Enugu to Awka, you came across a billboard that said
‘Gburugburu is working’
The old part of Awka was strangely reminiscent of any densely populated suburb of Lagos – Somolu, Ajah, take your pick. The ‘danfos’ drove and parked badly, and the colours even had a resemblance to their peers on the Lagos mainland. There was an air of frantic commerce, though it was Sunday.
At the hotel, there was a meeting to prepare for the event of the morrow. Presiding was the Dean of the Postgraduate School of the University, a Professor of Philosophy. He had a lean frame and a warm, open smile. There were a number of other professors sitting around the table. It struck you that they all looked young and energetic, without airs.
Your host made a joke about your worry over the IPOB threat.
Someone remarked how the Ohaneze leader John Nwodo was not a man to be bullied.
You remembered John had contested for the Students Union Presidency of the University of Ibadan when you were an undergraduate there. The campaign was intense. John was suave and persuasive. His foes said he was ‘establishment’. His opponent – Banji Adegboro, was passionate and ‘progressive’. His spoken English, however, was execrable, and that put many people off. John won the election by a mile.
Driving into UNIZIK in the morning, you saw the imposing Chike Okoli Foundation Centre for Entrepreneurial Studies. The Postgraduate school stood resplendent in the sunshine. There were several uncompleted buildings dotting the landscape.
At the opening, there was the rendering of the UNIZIK anthem, right after the Nigerian national anthem. Then there was a kolanut presentation ceremony, accompanied by a long exchange in Igbo.
At the end, your host, and the coterie of energetic UNIZIK teachers were delighted how well the workshop went. The Deputy Vice Chancellor joined you for a sign-off meeting at the hotel.
Tuesday. After a leisurely brunch, it was time to leave Awka.
Another drive past the checkpoints, and the ‘Gburugburu’ billboards.
At the airport who would you run into but the stalwarts of Afenifere – Baba Adebanjo and Supo Shonibare – even your friend from another group, ‘Lady Toks’.
They had been guests of Ohaneze at their Ekwueme Square conference, they informed. It had been a good conference, with people from different parts of the country.
Word was already filtering out on WhatsApp about their resolutions. Nigeria was to be restructured into six regions. There would be a single term, six-year presidency, with five vice presidents, each representing a region. More controversially, there would be full citizenship rights for any child born in a place, or a resident who lived ten years and paid taxes in one place, with an end to ‘indigene’-ship, save for the purpose of traditional ruler-ship.
You sighted ‘Tony’ among the returning crowd as they made to board the Air Peace flight. ‘Tony’ was a man you had first met over thirty years ago at a Reggae club in Edinburgh where you impecunious students gathered on Saturday nights to listen and dance to Reggae, and to ‘explore possibilities’. He would stand inconspicuously in the shadows, with a permanent smile on his face. You had no inkling what his line of work was, and you were not encouraged to pry.
Years later, after the ‘Babangida Boys’ tried, and failed, to topple their mentor Babangida, you saw his face and heard his voice in the papers. He had escaped into exile. He hankered, he said, for nothing more than egalitarianism and a genuine democracy for Nigeria, and was prepared to pay a price for it.
More recently, you would run into him from time to time at public functions, or on the corridor at the club. He would be dressed inconspicuously, and would walk about with the same mild smile on his face, not giving anything away.
‘Lady Toks’ pulled you aside. In a hushed, reverential tone, she wanted to introduce you to ‘Tony’. You knew ‘Tony’ from way back, you assured her.
The flight back to Lagos was rough, and at a point, the plane dipped sharply, vibrating violently. A lady’s voice from the back could be heard in loud prayer, casting out and binding demons.
Back on terra firma, waiting by the conveyor belt for your grip, you reflected on the last three days.
What was it Ernest Hemingway had said in that short story about the cyclist riding his bicycle across Franco’s Spain? It was a short journey, too short really, to know anything about life in Awka.
Femi Olugbile
