‘DELUSIONS OF POWER’

It was my entry into the boarding house that sowed the seeds of conflict in my mind. In October 1984 at the interview for admission into the Sixth Form at King’s College I was very conflicted, I pictured in my mind that I had some unfinished business at the school’s boarding house and thought the post of School Captain was my natural ‘destiny’.  But when I gave more consideration to the narrowing academic gap with my younger brother, Adebowale, also a student at King’s College, which could disappear I quickly renounced my quest for the ‘delusions of power’.  I had passed the interview conducted by Mr. Abiola, the Hamman’s House Master and History teacher and was sorry to decline the offer of a place for the Sixth Form.

It was not easy but there was the irresistible beckoning of University of Ife.  It was an opportunity to rejoin my twin sister after years of separation, one that dated back to primary school.  In preparation for University, Panaf Olajide Olakanmi had provided me with some ‘tutorials’.  He was clear in his advice, I had to seek peace with power in order to succeed in politics.  It meant mellowing on my Christian profession in order to succeed politically.  In a parody of the scriptures he urged me ‘to seek ye first the kingdom of politics and suggested all other things will be added unto me.’  I reluctantly agreed with the ‘master’ for the lure of office seemed worth it all.

It was in my second year at King’s College that Anthony Ovie-Whiskey introduced me to realities of boarding house life.  He was a fellow member of Panes’ House and stayed in the dormitory next to mine.  He kept me well informed on how to avoid pitfalls and traps.  However, he never seemed able to avoid them himself.  He was constantly on a collusion course with trouble.  ‘O Whiskey’ as we called him was fun to be with, there was not a bad bone in his body, he never intentionally caused harm to anyone and was a sportsman of great distinction.  I liked ‘O Whiskey’ and I resolved that my immediate future would be bright with him around.   He quickly introduced me to Umeh and together we lurked around the school grounds in our free time.

The boarding house opened up a new vista for me, but it was clear it would be no plain sail with the demands of bathroom work and the dormitory duties.  On every Sunday evening at 4pm after a sumptuous meal of Jollof rice (tomato coloured) with choice pieces of prime beef or fish with only the rest period (siesta) intervening, there was the much dreaded bathroom work all junior boys had to contemplate.  My duty was to clean the blocked urinals and I hated it, the stench and the fumes it produced were lethal enough to cause a bout of nausea and vomiting. 

During the weekdays we had the morning inspections by the prefects who ensured that our duties were completed to their satisfaction, failure in this respect was punished with lines of imposition and an instant recall from the dinning hall during breakfast. I missed so many breakfasts simply on account of my ‘imperfectly’ completed bathroom work.  In the background was always the deep resonant voice of Folayan Osekita, the school’s Cadet Unit Commandant to the stern and brooding demeanor of Frank Inok and the philosophical musings of Citizen Nwochocha who had a twin brother, there was much to observe and learn.  Citizen Odiri Oteri was a quiet one but you dared not mess with him and Citizen Babalola rarely smiled at us.  Citizen Ojeyinka on account of the similarity in our names attempted to take me under his wings, Citizen Odunayo impressed me with his Christian faith and my distant cousin Citizen Abayomi Ogunkanmi another Christian in McKee Wright’s House always kept an eye on me.  However, it was to be Uka, a Fourth Former that I became close to for a while. 

Towards the end of my first term Christmas holidays disaster struck!  Suddenly my entire frame was convulsed with stinging pain and I was unable to move around and lay immobilised in my bed.  My mother rushed me to the University of Lagos Health Centre where I was placed on admission for two weeks.  The hospital proceeded with a battery of tests to establish what the matter was but my mother became convinced that it was due to some ill treatment I received in the boarding house.  She thought I feared returning there because of bullying.  In the end under relentless and sustained questioning, I placed Ukah in the frame and unfairly gave him up.  Unfortunately for him, Mr. Ibegbulam had just resumed as the new PKC and was looking for an example to make.  Ukah received a suspension and the way was clear for my return to the boarding house.  The only revelation that was brought to our attention by the Health Centre was that I was a carrier of the sickle cell gene, AS.  A regimen of drugs was prescribed for me, however, a year later when I found Jesus I began to operate on the basis of divine health and discarded the drug regimen.   Anyway, this became my get out of jail card and I was excused from grass cutting and a few other strenuous chores that characterised life in the boarding house.

The legendary ’Tolani Opaneye, the Vice School Captain and Panes’ House Captain was just in F5, a few dormitories from mine.  He was a diminutive sportsman that many feared and you knew never to cross him.  He could subdue a dinning hall into silence with stern looks and repetition of sentences, which resembled a chant.  There was the School Captain, Terrance Onyewuenyi, enigmatic, handsome and cool.  He was soft spoken but he packed a gentle authority, lots of charisma and athleticism into his lean frame. When he ventured into your presence charisma flowed rapidly towards him.  I remember his announcement where he referred to ‘Standards are falling’, which was to become a tour de force and a source of inspiration to many of us.  It was much talked about for months and had a profound effect on the school.

In the year 1978/79 Prefects like, Onyewuenyi, Opaneye, Adeola, Ayanlowo, Adesanwo, Olorunsola (before he left for University of Lagos), Oaiah, Osugo, Longe, Okafor, Okoneh, Owosina, Orette, Onasode, Soneye, Rosanwo and a few others dominated the scene.  I once incurred their collective wrath and I blame my good friend ’Wale Goodluck.  Goodluck was a day student at the time and he had some punishment inflicted upon him for some minor indiscretion.  He was required to write up some imposition but he was lost for words to write.  I noticed his dilemma and decided he was worthy of assistance.  I was close to Citizens Balogun and Sokan and I was in the habit of ease dropping on their ‘gists’ so I had gathered from my memory the various nicknames of the prefects and Sixth Formers.  I relayed all these names to Goodluck suggesting that it would make his imposition much more interesting and hilarious.  ’Wale proceeded on my advice and prompting to write in many of those nicknames at my dictation and submitted it but the matter did not end there.

After Goodluck submitted the imposition, the prefects read it and stumbled across all the mischief contained within it.  Under sustained interrogation, Goodluck gave me up to the prefects.  I was to experience the most sustained of corporal punishments you could imagine.  I was made to rest my shivering frame against the wall, stretch out my arms and then made to pretend I was sitting on an imaginary chair.  This was alternated with my kneeling down with both hands raised above my head.   For what seemed like hours and hours unending, I faced the music in the Prefects’ room and nothing of my pleas for a prerogative of mercy came to anything.  The prefects taught me a lesson I would never forget.  I believe Goodluck being a day student was able to retire to the relative comfort of his home.

After that, I learnt to watch my step and take things steadily.  Later on, we faced the boarding house initiation, a rite of passage that every new boarder had to pass through.  You were required to entertain the boarding house audience with all kinds of performance acts during a Saturday evening; any disapproval meant you were subjected to taking brine under the supervision of the prefects.  It was brutal, as the salt filled half the glass and was mixed with water.  As the victims were compelled to pour the brine down through their throats and their stomachs filled up with the salty solution, it created a nauseous feeling and triggered bouts of vomiting all over the school.  However, before that you were required to recite the ‘fag pledge’, which started with the words:

“My name is ……….. I come from the bush village of .......... where people do ............ I am a fag, a dirty stinking fag, I am to be seen and not to be heard, as from this day I promise to discard all my rustic and outlandish behaviour and to become a true King's College boy.”

This was followed with a roar of ‘sure!!!’ from the audience and then the hapless boy continued:

“With your kind permission I beg to entertain you with.............”

Emmanuel Obe and I had decided to put on a joint act that evening, most of our classmates were determined that the tall and handsome Obe would not escape drinking brine and by allying with him I would simply be collateral damage.  Our act was simple and unsophisticated; I passed Obe on the stage, bumped into him and then he gave me a whack on the face!  I found myself flat on the floor writhing in pain but this elicited a huge roar of applause!  It meant we escaped the torment of taking brine and it seemed that our destinies had converged at least for the night.  By sheer coincidence, Obe and myself were to repeat exactly the same classes due to failures in examinations and we were drawn close together by mutual adversity.

‘Ewati! Ewati!’

I repeatedly taunted Umeh in the classroom as he sat down concentrating on writing the imposition he had been subjected to.  My call was one reserved for boys who were at the regular receiving end of the punishment of impositions and it meant ‘beans lover’.  All of a sudden, his face contorted with rage and he clinched his fists until his knuckles clicked and then without warning, from all directions, a flurry of blows landed on me in quick succession.  Umeh had decided he would use swiftness of his blows to silence me up once and for all.  I was stunned into cowardice and simply stood there receiving the punches in the rope-a-dope Muhammed Ali fashion but there was to be no miraculous come back!  ‘O Whiskey’ who was observing from the sidelines urged me to respond in kind but I retreated behind the excuse that as a ‘Christian’ I did not believe in revenge.  The truth was far from that, I was scared of the injuries Umeh might inflict on me if I decided to engage him in a duel, surrender was the best option, and something I duly choose.  

'BOOK REVIEW' OF 'I found my voice' by Sheyi Oriade

At a time when the act of reading books as a recreative pursuit is increasingly becoming a dying art amongst the Nigerian public, a much regrettable occurrence, which is matched and exacerbated in its worrisomeness by the fact that the act of writing books too, is fast becoming a diminishing art amongst Nigerians. So it is against this discouraging background that this literary offering ‘I Found My Voice’ by Dr Olu Ojedokun is a welcome addition to the lean corpus of books authored by Nigerians in recent times.

‘I Found My Voice’ portrays as well as paints a portrait of a complex protagonist who at different times is passionate, provocative, pro-active, precocious, presumptuous, paranoid, pensive, pedantic, persuasive, punctilious, puritanical, plucky, pugnacious, persistent, principled, populist, politically minded, power-driven and possessed of a seemingly unquenchable desire to immerse himself in student political activity in order to achieve political relevance and agitate for improvements in the lot of the student constituencies he represents at the different educational institutions he attends. In pursuing such objectives, he comes into conflict with different authority figures, who he sees, through his youthful eyes as forces of conservatism resistant to reform and interested only in maintaining and sustaining the status quo. In his not too infrequent brushes with these figures he succeeds in provoking their chagrin causing them much irritation and discomfort.             

But as conflictual and controversial as some of his causes are, he is almost always careful to ensure that the ground upon which he stands and fights his various battles, is always firm. He never raises his head above the parapet without first of all ensuring that his actions and pronouncements accord with the letter and spirit of the documentary instruments from which he derives his legitimacy to agitate for change. This masterful ploy, which he often employs and deploys to wrong foot his antagonists, who, on account of his youth are minded to underestimate the depth of his acuity and his state of preparedness. This fact alone, serves to rescue him on the occasions, when he is thought by these authority figures to have overreached himself.   

In acting as he does, he reveals an intrepid side to his personality which not only endears him to those on whose behalf he agitates, but also ensures his enduring popularity in their collective estimation. Such that, every so often, he feels confident enough to approach them with new political propositions which require their endorsement, and which he often obtains.     

As admirable as the numerous causes and agitations he pursues and undertakes are, it is not immediately evident from the narrative, what it is, in his personality or psychological make-up that propels, impels and even compels him to set upon the path of seeming restlessness in pursuit of what he considers to be right. Could the reason(s) lie in his proximity, at a young age, to radical individuals within the University of Lagos Students’ Union? Or could it be due to the abrupt and cruel transformation in his family’s fortunes, at a tender age, which saw his family displaced from their comfortable lodgings and surroundings to much less salubrious environs? Or could it be his conversion to Christianity in 1979? My guess, is that the answer lies in a combination of all these factors, which coalesced within him to produce the young socio-politico and religious agitator and reformer we read about on the pages of this book.

In contemplating the varied patchwork into which he weaves the threads of his numerous and often hilarious experiences, it is the stitch of one thread that stands out above all others in this interesting tapestry of a narrative.  His love for, and seemingly irresistible attraction to politics, political expression and political office. Right from the days of his mock election as the ‘child president’ of Sadiku Lane, Lagos to his sophisticated and strategically run political campaigns at King’s College, Lagos and the University of Ife, he comes across as one utterly consumed by politics; a full bloodied political animal, equipped with all the necessary instincts to survive and thrive in a political jungle.

But as apparent as this may seem to anyone who reads the book, one cannot help but deduce an underlying tension between his political activism and his Christian ideals. This tension is never fully or satisfactorily resolved. In fact, it seems to wittingly or unwittingly circumscribe the protagonist’s ability to function simultaneously with efficacy in both realms. Thus, the impression is conveyed, perhaps unintentionally, that the ideal of Christianity and idea of politics are somewhat mutually exclusive and cannot be practiced effectively in tandem. Active participation in one, somehow dilutes or precludes the spirited participation in the other.

Should this, however, be so? I think not. In my view, this tension should merely create and present, a dialectical conundrum and nothing more. One which, with proper contemplation and reflection should give rise to a satisfactory synthesis which encompasses the nobler aspects of these seemingly discordant material and metaphysical (spiritual) ideologies. Such a synthesis would naturally foster a fusion of ideas, potent enough, to dispel the kind of political confusion so prevalent, at present, in Nigeria. I expect that such a fusion of ideas would not be too dissimilar in output and effect, say, to the Liberation Theologies formulated by Christian philosophical thinkers to advance the cause of social justice in parts of the Americas. In truth, however, I suspect that our protagonist at some level – subconscious or conscious - is only too aware of this tension, and rather cleverly, walks this tightrope using his philosophy of ‘Panafism’ as a balancing rod to traverse the space between both ends without explicitly saying, or appearing to do, so.   

It is often said that school days are the best days of one’s life. And nowhere is the truth of this sentiment more evident than on the pages of this book. The author regales the reader with anecdote after anecdote of his numerous adventures, encounters, and brushes with authorities within King’s College. If ever the term ‘Alma Mater’ conveyed the true import of its Latin meaning (i.e. a nourishing mother) it is never truer, than in the instance of the protagonist in this book. This institution seems to have enriched his life and thinking and actions more than any other.

It is, therefore, no real surprise when he reveals in his narrative, that he spent more time than he should have at King’s College. Always preoccupied it seems, with more interesting and rewarding extra-curricular activities, than with his primary academic objectives. To the extent, that when the opportunity presents itself to him to sever links with King’s College, he wrestles with himself, contemplating whether to take a place in the lower sixth form or proceed to University to read for a degree. In the event, however, the presence of his younger brother, who at this time had joined King’s College and the academic progress made by his beloved twin at the University of Ife, spur him to unlatch himself from his Alma Mater’s teat and head off to the University of Ife.

Once at the University of Ife, almost without pause, he immerses himself into the thick of student political activity. But unlike the ‘paddling pool’, that was King’s College student politics, he quickly discovers that at Ife, he is now swimming in a much deeper and wider political sea. One which is awash with skilful, calculating, conniving and populist ideologues, all adept at swimming with, and against, the tide. At this point, one is forced to ask some questions of the protagonist. Is his attraction to politics driven by a call to service or a desire to fill political office? Or is it a bit of both? Can he serve without leading or does he need to lead in order to feel able to serve? In partial respect, he is brutally honest in this regard, and confesses that on certain occasions his motivation for office is driven by a desire for power, in and of itself. Such candid self-awareness is commendable.

In any event, at the University of Ife, he enjoys more electoral successes. And even succeeds in carving out a memorable political persona for himself. One based on his unique stylistic dress sense, his moral probity and the effectiveness with which he discharges the duties of his different elective offices. Ironically, this memorable persona unwittingly robs him of the most prized position in campus student politics; presidency of the union. It turns out that many of his supporters identify him by his political persona alone and not his real name; thus on polling day they are unable to identify him on the ballot in the crucial presidential election. So rather paradoxically, he fails to win because of the success of his political branding.                                

One seeming contradiction which bears pointing out from the book, has to do with the issue of power and his approach to it. On the one hand, he appears to be most comfortable and at his most effective when confronting and speaking truth to power. But on the other hand, rather quizzically, he appears to be at ease in the company of the powerful, many with whom he forms and enjoys collaborative and productive friendships. This seems somewhat baffling. But then, when one remembers that our protagonist is a product and beneficiary of elitist schools and, therefore, himself, an elite of Nigerian society. It is perhaps only to be expected that he would naturally feel comfortable in such company. Perhaps, the real surprise then, is that given his elitist background, the protagonist is possessed of a social conscience at all. And one that he not only listens to, but on whose leadings and leanings he frequently acts.                     

In all, this is an immensely enjoyable book with many funny anecdotes, two of which, bear brief mention here. When faced with the prospect of joining either the rigorous King’s College Army Cadet Unit or the less demanding Boy Scouts Movement, our protagonist elects to join the latter and conveys the impression to readers that his choice is a virtuous one! And only he, it seems, could have secreted himself at night at a secluded scene, in order to prevent an act of sexual congress from taking place between two hormonally charged consenting students of the opposite sex. He punctures their passion by shouting out anti-fornication admonitions; pricking their conscience, deflating their desire, dissipating their lust and spoiling the mood! And as no good deed goes unpunished, he earns himself, in short order, a thorough thrashing from his sexually frustrated and disappointed hormonal schoolmate, whose best laid plans he thwarts through his religious zealotry.

Having read this wonderful autobiographical account of this high minded, yet mischievous youngster, who sets about changing his immediate world through socio-political and religious fervour; it is easy to look upon the protagonist as the undoubted hero of the book. But in reviewing this telling retelling of memories of youth past, the real hero to me is not the protagonist, but his mother. She flits in and out of the narrative at different points, displaying quiet strength, discipline and resourcefulness, as she strives with industry, diligence and dignity to provide for her children, as she deals stoically with the difficult hand that fate has dealt her. She does so admirably and shines brightly in the background of this narrative.                       

Dr. Olu Ojedokun has written a thoroughly riveting book. It is my hope that its finds its place on the bookshelves of homes, and school libraries across Nigeria as well as on portable electronic tablet devices. This book has something for everyone, but in particular it will inspire and entertain the young and the middle aged. Young Nigerians can take away from it the fact that it is never too early to engage in the practise of principled political activity in order to effect positive change in their immediate environment. And for the middle aged, it is a beautiful reminder of those halcyon days of – spent and misspent – youth, now long gone.

I highly recommend ‘I Found My Voice’ to a general readership.     

http://www.nigeriavillagesquare.com/bookshelf/review-of-olu-ojedokun-s-i-found-my-voice.html

'ANOTHER TELEVISION INTERVIEW ON THE DEVELOPING LESOTHO STORY'

My television interview on the developing Lesotho story:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Vc8wqYuigY&feature=youtu.be

‘PANAFISM’

My hands were raised up towards the heavens, suspended in a clasp, standing bedecked and resplendent in pure white silky ‘Danshiki’, a black fess cap tilting upon my head and a pair of black trousers providing the contrast.  Standing upon the central table, I responded to the boys’ excited chants of:

‘Panafissssssssssssm, Panafissssssssssssm, Panafissssssssssssm.’

with retorts of:

‘You are Carried’ ‘You are Carried!’

I continued deploying flaming rhetoric, followed by a crescendo of sounds, which transformed into yells of  ‘Yankari’, ‘Yankari’.   The yells sounding like some melody sung in the Hausa language did not matter because I milked and relished it.  In scenes reminiscent of rock stars, I was dominating the dinning hall, the venue, of the campaign trail’s climax.  The hall had been the scene of so much drama, where prefects held sway, where prayers were said and was one of the oldest and more historic buildings in King’s College.  On the top floor lay the Hyde Johnson’s House, the first boarding house in the school. King’s College, Lagos had a great history and tradition which could be traced back to 20 September 1909 as King’s School before being transformed into a ‘College’, it has maintained its original site on Lagos Island, adjacent to Race course now renamed, Tafawa Balewa Square. The origins of the school’s philosophy had always been a conservative one, one designed to maintain the status quo:

“To provide for the youth of the colony a higher general education than that supplied by the existing Schools, to prepare them for Matriculation Examination of the University of London and to give a useful course of Study to those who intend to qualify for Professional life or to enter Government or Mercantile service.”

Anyway, it was at this venue in this bastion of conservatism, the dinning hall, in 1983 that I made my final campaign speech, which was embroidered with rhythm, sprinkled with quotations.  It began with the uttering of the following words:

“Boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen, fellow compatriots.”

With the opening line borrowed from my debating routine, my voice ricocheting against the dinning hall walls, I drove the boys into heights of uncontrollable frenzy.  In measured tones, I sought to define ‘Panafism’ as:

“The making use of pen and paper, supported with facts and figures in achieving an objective with the application of other means where inevitable”.

To them the words, ‘other means where inevitable’ were code words for radical action and they loved it.  Then I carefully positioned myself, tilting my head, allowing me to introduce more rhythm into my speech.  In the words I laced together, I promised to go everywhere, any length, up to great heights and into the furthest depths to protect the rights of the students.  My speech was unashamedly welfarist in content and minced no words in reference to the ‘powers’ that be.  It was as if I was seeking an open confrontation with ‘power’.  On top of the central table where I stood I proceeded to reassure the crowd gathered that I would be no ordinary Secretary but a ‘people’s Secretary’.  My campaigning ability, the ability ‘to Speak Truth to Power’ had been horned through the last few years of class-to-class proselytising of the Christian gospel, which earned me, the nickname ‘Pastor’.  It was not unusual in the earlier days for ‘Gbemi Kehinde, Ayo Onafeko, Ayo Oyewole and others to hail me with the words:

‘Esa ami Pastor, ani esa mi Pastor!’

I am not sure they were ever able to decipher what I was about, for certain they knew I had acquired the habit for turning the other cheek when physically attacked by my fellow classmates and that I had foresworn the pastime of chasing girls.  It was always a temptation for them to see whether ‘pastor’ would actually turn the other cheek when slapped and many times, they got the proof that I would.

My intrusion into the realm of politics was certainly not accidental but was due to a constellation of events.   On reflection, I realise my previous experiences conspired to make this happen.  I had observed that even when I was proselytising, God made it possible for people to listen with rapt attention.  I noticed that it gave me some sort of rapport, identity and self-confidence.  This sowed within me a deep hunger to voice out my inner yearnings and to articulate my ideas.   At a recent reunion of classmates from my old primary school many said they were unable to recognise in me, the potential for the garb, my response to them whilst reflecting, was that when:

 “When I found Jesus I found my voice.”

I believe my discovery of the Lord Jesus Christ accounted for the major transformation in my life.  I am certain that without him I would still be a shivering, moody and nervous wreck in front of any crowd. 

Bibi Paiko my campaign manager and the Chairman of the ‘Panafism Orientation Committee’ was a dark, slightly tall boy with an ample bulk.  He possessed an easygoing manner, which endeared him to many.  He spoke fluent Yoruba language even though he was from the North of Nigeria and he would always tease me in the Yoruba vocabulary with words to the effect:

“Panaf you need to settle me with some cash o!”

I always left his presence ribbing with laughter.  He was very effective in ensuring that my message and ideas were floating around out there in the school.  There were others who helped me spread the message like ’Wale Babatunde my childhood friend, whose staunch support I will never forget.  His mother was a very close friend of my mother’s.  They had both grown up in Usi-Ekiti where Wale’s maternal grandfather had served as a Priest.  It was with great sadness that I learnt that a few years after we left the school both of these remarkable stalwarts had lost their lives in tragic circumstances.   It was more poignant in ’Wale’s case as I had met up with him in King’s College a few weeks before he died.

The message was that ‘Panaf’ was not like the boys of old, but was a more professional, sophisticated and disciplined campaigner, determined to leave his mark on the scene and in the annals of King’s College history.  He was prepared to tread the path where other candidates had been unable to follow; he was prepared to deploy and advance oratory and rhetoric to great effect, to propagate and to raise the level of debate in order to introduce a new ideal.

I encountered some barriers to my newly found ambition, which included institutional opposition from some School Prefects and established convention. However, I choose to defy convention that restricted the running for the Office of Secretary to the Students’ Council to Lower Six Formers.  Having meticulous studied the Student’s Council’s constitution I duly submitted my nomination papers daring the powers that be to exclude me from the process.  I was in my Fifth Form; I had previously been elected the Assistant Secretary before the PKC aka ‘Bingo’ suspended the Council.  In response to the suspension I had spent a year traversing what seemed like the length and breadth of Lagos meeting with Old Boys like Mr. Akintunde Asalu (a previous Secretary of the Students’ Council), Alhaji ’Femi Okunnu (The first Secretary of the Students Council), etc. 

Alhaji Lateef Olufemi Okunnu had served in the government of General Yakubu Gowon as the Federal Commissioner for Works and Housing, he was known for his trademark bow tie and his dark glasses, he had very light complexioned skin and indulged in his love of BMW cars.  He owned an iconic silver one, a 1973 BMW Bavaria 3.0S Sedan model with registration LX 1.  It was rumoured that he always shipped it aboard for its annual service.  One of his notable contributions to the school was the construction of a squash court; Alhaji had used his good offices to facilitate its construction on the grounds of the school.  However, by the time I was admitted to the school, the squash court had also assumed an alternative purpose, it was the place where scores were settled, where fists and kicks reigned and an arena that encouraged the settlement of disagreements.  It had the advantage of being secluded so that any pummeling of your victim was carried out without any unwarranted interruptions. 

I recall an occasion where John Ogwo challenged our local champion Gbemi Kehinde to a duel in the squash court when we were in Form One C.  Gbemi was diminutive in stature but broad and sturdily built and an experienced street fighter, he could fight dirty, grabbing all bodily parts in plain sight.  In John Ogwo’s case he was very tall and possessed exceptionally long legs and his arms had an extended reach.   The date and time was set for the duel and many boys took opposing sides, we felt that Gbemi would come out on top.  However, using height and reach and his knowledge of the martial arts, John Ogwo decimated Gbemi, gave him a lesson or two and for a while this comprehensive mauling subdued Gbemi, it was quite an upset.

I recall my first experience with Alhaji ’Femi Okunnu in 1983.  In search of him, I had initially gone to his old office at Yaba, near Sabo a Lagos suburb where his legal practice was based.  I was advised that he had relocated to Number 3 Karimu Kotun Street on Victoria Island, Lagos.  He extended great courtesy to me by writing to me on his letter headed paper and scheduling an appointment to meet with me on a later date.  It was a letter I showed off to friends and family with great aplomb.

When I got there on the scheduled Sunday at 12 noon for the arranged meeting at his newly constructed home/office in what was then a newer part of Victoria I had to wait till 4pm to see him in his octagon shaped office painted in subdued version of green. I did not mind the long wait for this was the beginning of a professional relationship with the law firm of Alhaji ’Femi Okunnu & Co.  In 1989, he was kind enough to offer me the opportunity of undertaking my Solicitor’s Articles in his firm.  He would share with me stories of his ‘socialist antecedents’ and described himself as a ‘Socialist with a conservative tinge’.  He was an immensely devout Muslim who loved people of all religions.  I believe the fact his family had a mixture of Christians and Muslim may have been a factor in this.  Alhaji approached me at the KCOBA dinner at Eko Hotel in 1990 and enquired about my future plans.  I confided in him my decision to return to England but he urged me to reconsider and come and work in his firm.  It was a kind offer but one to which I had to decline.  In later years, he served as the President of the King’s College Old Boy’s Association and became a Senior Advocate of Nigeria.  The meeting with the Alhaji was part of my intent on convincing the Old Boys of the need to urge ‘Bingo’ to rescind his suspension of the Students’ Council.    I also wrote to the President of the King’s College Old Boys’ Association (KCOBA) to highlight my concerns. 

Thankfully, the Council was now reinstated and I was convinced that I as ‘the deliverer’ deserved the ultimate prize.  However, a classmate, a friend and a Prefect presented as my stiffest obstacle.  He was the coolest boy on the horizon; Emmanuel Obe aka ‘O Reggae’ a class act, handsome in every respect and a heartthrob to the many teeming admiring secondary school girls he met while playing basketball for the school.  It was his charisma I had to contend with, he was one I respected and one I hoped never to run against. 

Emmanuel ‘Wale Obe’s story was similar to mine, our paths, almost identical for we had lost our fathers so early but now we were on opposing paths. His father had been serving as the Nigerian Ambassador to Senegal when he drowned in a swimming pool.  Obe and I had a close but eclectic relationship.  Then there was the likable and photogenic ’Tunji Omole whose intrusion into the race we felt could cause an upset.   He was very charming and possessed an infectious and disarming smile, there was something of a radical edge about him.  He was a scion of the Brewery magnate and philanthropist Chief Lawrence Omole from Ilesha.

My early experiences of Students’ Council election campaigns came from the cartoon posters drawn and posted on the school walls with outlandish claims like ‘Hulk says Uncle Joe is the rightest man for the job.’  They were usually jolly and jovial affairs and many of the junior boys with an artistic flare were recruited to sketch and design some of these posters.  It was a privilege to be chosen and seeing my own artwork displayed on school walls was a source of immense pride.  But my campaign for the Office of Secretary was novel and influenced directly from my understanding of Students’ Union politics, it was a novel approach and I perfected a tactic I had used in my previous campaign, issuing a full-fledged manifesto and churned out regularly ‘typed’ articles cum press releases, explaining what ‘Panafism’ was all about.   I remember that I sketched and designed a giant campaign poster of myself with my eyes bathed in optimism projected towards the heavens, a clue I believe of where my help came from, the creator of heaven and earth.

In an election strategy reminiscent of Nigerian Students’ Union politics the ‘Panafism Orientation Committee’, the campaign group I set up, ensured that every nook and corner of the King’s College campus, the toilets, the showers, the kitchen and the dormitories had a poster that just contained the bold inscription ‘PANAFISM’.  There was a refrain that even when you were ‘blocking’ (using the toilet) you saw ‘PANAFISM’, in the showers while taking your wash it was ‘PANAFISM’, when you woke up early at dawn you saw it.   Everywhere you looked there was the inescapable fact of ‘PANAFISM’.  The effect of this was that ‘PANAFISM’ became a buzzword, one you could not escape from.  We went as far as planting many boys in the dining hall to herald and proclaim loudly ‘PANAFISM’ when the campaign was officially declared open. 

My ‘political mentor’, Panaf Olajide Olakanmi, the President of the University of Lagos Students’ Union, from 1982 to 1983, had tutored me extensively.  I was in the habit of visiting his office or room in ‘Baluba Kingdom’ unannounced.  We had formed a close bond in the University canteen over many meals and he was always generous to me with his time.  It is to him that I owe the ideology, ‘Panafism’; it is to him I owed my initial political strategy.  My campaign was therefore different and seemed better planned than those of my contemporaries, I thought it ran like a well-oiled insurgency.   The result of the campaign was a testimony to the fact that I won with 609 votes to my nearest rival’s 103 votes.  But upon sober reflection I now believe I won not because of fancy things I said but because I gave voice to a story and an ideal that the boys could claim as theirs.  I sowed within them a hope that their lot could be better, that together we could make a difference. 

Now with victory attained, my eyes danced around in self-confidence as I shifted and became transfixed on what I considered to be the ultimate prize, power.  The sheer size of my mandate meant there was always the temptation to exercise power in an undisguised and indiscriminate fashion.  But this was just the beginning; on the morning after my victory, there was none of the customary honeymoon period that you could expect.  I met with Mr. Fabiyi, the London educated Chairman of the Students’ Council who had recently returned from England.  He was a Lagosian but was unlike the conventional Nigerian teacher, he was constantly bristling with ideas and was very effervescent.  In our first meeting in the Biology Laboratory’s side office, he sipped his cup of tea, peered at me from behind his glasses with his slightly crossed-eyes, slithering in opposite directions as he congratulated me.  I could sense from observation that he was trying to unravel the enigma called ‘Panaf’.  It was obvious he had followed the campaign closely and he added he was my fan but made it clear the PKC, Mr. A. A. Ibegbulam was very concerned about my victory and was on the warpath.  Later in that day as expected, I received an invitation to meet with the PKC in his office.