I published “Protocols of the Elders of the Niger Delta” two weeks ago in this column. Curiously, the op-ed attracted a more expansive torrent of responses in Internet listservs and chat rooms than it got here. One reader sent me a private email that seriously fired up my imagination. He had a positive opinion of the article, he said, but wanted to know how elders in my village would handle Goodluck Jonathan were he a ‘shon of the shoil’ intent on blowing all that money on Nigeria’s 50th birthday. My reader asked for specific traditional modes of intervention. Sometimes you get the most unexpected of questions from readers! I have decided to give him this public response.
I am from Isanlu, Yagba East LGA, Kogi state. Isanlu is one of the major towns – my reader said “your village”- in Okun land. Let’s say Okun land has oil and has experienced everything the Niger Delta has gone through in terms of human suffering and dispossession since the advent of the curse of oil in the region. Providence suddenly pushes a son of Isanlu land into Aso Rock. He gets there and his priority is to immediately announce a lootapalooza of N9.5 billion masquerading as the country’s birthday party, an expensive owambe proposition with zero prospect of addressing the material condition of a people cheated out of almost 50 years of their inheritance, what would the elders of Isanlu do?
Well, for starters, Kabiyesi Oba Aaron Ikuborije, the Agbana of Isanlu, would summon an emergency meeting of his “ijoyes”, “baales” (chiefs), and other notable elders of Isanlu to discuss the matter. The invitees would arrive the Oba’s palace wearing grave faces, all armed with a panoply of proverbs for the occasion. Most likely, they would all come to the meeting already convinced that President Jonathan’s case is “not ordinary eyes.” No man in his right senses would have a god-sent opportunity to make life better for his dispossessed people and elect to party in Abuja instead. The elders would be convinced that a snake is crawling on the invisible hands inhabiting its innards – “ejo l’owo n nu.” Next, they would try to determine the respective roles of “afowofa” (self-infliction), “afise” (infliction by others), and “epe” (curse) in the matter at hand. Between kolanuts and palm wine, at least two generations of President Jonathan’s extended family history would be reviewed. Angry co-wives in a polygamous setting? A wicked stepmother perhaps? Land dispute in the past between different lines in his family with the president’s line gaining the upper hand? Who, in the labyrinth of traditional family relationships, is unhappy with Goodluck Jonathan and has decided on ancestral procedures of revenge by casting the spell called “sina” (spendthriftness, pronounced ‘shina’) on him? Somehow, there is a malevolent soul caught up in “ibinu ori” (jealous of the president’s destiny) and who is striking with African remote control.
At this point, it could be decided to send emissaries to the president’s family compound and invite family notables to a meeting with Kabiyesi and his council of chiefs. All eyes would be on the president’s mom – bless her soul – if she is still alive. She and the accompanying family elders would try to convince the traditional council that that they have not “joko tetere” (been folding their arms) since their son brought the N9.5 billion profligacy scandal upon the family. This is the part where the president’s mom, using copious proverbs, would somehow hold her daughter in-law responsible for everything. “Kabiyesi, see me o. It is that woman. Who does not know her? She made my son do it. When I opposed their marriage, everybody in this town called me a wicked woman.” There would be reassurances. There would be pledges. Everyone would emphasise the need to “ti ese ile bo oro na” (seek traditional remedy). It would be necessary to swear everyone to secrecy and handle the matter as “oku oru” (an underground affair). Traditional steps would be taken very quietly. Remember, the president is their son. It won’t do for his people to let the rest of the country know that they believe that someone “is doing” the president. Publicly, modern appratuses of remedy and intervention would pursue their inexorable course. All sorts of welfare and development organisations in the town would appeal to the president to reconsider. The modern face of the struggle to rein in the president by his people is what the general public would see.
If, somehow, these pressures succeed and Nigerians suddenly woke up to a new low-key anniversary budget of, say, N1 billion (or lower), modernity would hit town in an orgy of chest beating. There would be talk of dialogue and consultation being essential components of “our nascent and participatory democracy”. There would be a lot of noise about “engagement” and “civil society” having carried the day because we have “a listening president.” No one would notice or talk about the invisible hands of “etutu” (rituals) in the matter. As usual, tradition would have remedied something and let modernity take all the credit.
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