‘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.