Why can we not read the dossier of the dead to the hearing of the living? The records left behind by those who pass away should either teach the living about good or bad. Those who want good testimonies after their departure must endeavour to work for it; nothing comes free.
I am not a fan of former President Olusegun Obasanjo, and let me make that categorically clear from this point. I would return to give my reasons for this later.
I sat in my corner observing the spats generated by the former president’s remarks on the death of the late senator and controversial politician, Buruji Kashamu (aka Esho Jinadu).
And why did Obasanjo spell out the full names (or pseudonyms) of the bulky ‘businessman’-turned-politician? I am certain that till his death, not many Nigerians knew which name, indeed, was authentic in relation to this personality. And that was one of the many contradictions that his life evoked, the moment his being was unleashed on the psyche of Nigerians as one of the gladiators in the country’s contemporary political history.
In my estimation, Obasanjo’s action was not accidental in calling out Kashamu’s other names in his letter of condolence to Governor Dapo Abiodun. In Yoruba, naming is a very key component of enforcing societal discipline and order. The Yoruba would say, “Ti omo o ba daran, la se somo l’oruko” (meaning that, it is for the ease of identification, should a child commit a crime, that s/he is given a distinct name). When a single individual goes by different sets of names in legal documents in his lifetime, this becomes suspect.
Of course, one is not unaware of the reality that there abound many Nigerians who have found their ways to top offices in this country through dubious paths.
How does a man bear Esho Jinadu and at the same time still carry the tag Buruji Kashamu and with that be elected into a country’s most exalted chamber of lawmaking?
Drop the sentiments! Kashamu (or was he Jinadu?) did not leave a good name behind.
Those who quarrel with Obasanjo over his stance should remember that once a name is soiled, especially among the Yoruba, the rest of the community avoids such person like a plague.
Those who benefitted from Kashamu’s wealth are quick to say that he was a kind, generous man… Personally, I abhor philanthropy of the dubious. How do you steal from the people and claim to be kind to them by simply parting with fractions of your loot? And the point is that would Kashamu (Jinadu) have been so ‘generous’ had he toiled genuinely for the money he made?
If in doubt, what sentiments does a name such as Oyenusi evoke among the Yoruba? Robbery! What feeling do you get once a man is called Lawrence Nomanyagbon Anini? Even till date, the name Abacha sounds synonymous with looting, ruthlessness and other forms of brigandage you can find in governance.
If you quarrel with Obasanjo, dare name your son Kashamu and see how the society would frown at you.
If it is an aphorism, I find it a very distasteful one; and one that does the society no good. Why can we not read the dossier of the dead to the hearing of the living? The records left behind by those who pass away should either teach the living about good or bad. Those who want good testimonies after their departure must endeavour to work for it; nothing comes free.
I recall vividly as politics editor how a correspondent in the North once filed in an interview with one of the notable goons of Abacha’s ignoble era. Quite conscious of the frightening human rights abuse record of this fellow, who had however retired from the Nigerian Army, I found it incongruous to use this on the pages of the newspaper I worked for then, an an obvious whitewashing of the image of the said fellow. It ended in the trash can. Even as journalists, we owe the society the sacred duty to tell the world as things are and not allow anyone to use the power of money to obliterate people’s dirty past through image laundering publications.
Those who benefitted from Kashamu’s wealth are quick to say that he was a kind, generous man. Yes, I am not out to dispute that. Personally, I abhor philanthropy of the dubious. How do you steal from the people and claim to be kind to them by simply parting with fractions of your loot? And the point is that would Kashamu (Jinadu) have been so ‘generous’ had he toiled genuinely for the money he made? Would he have bulldozed his way into the politics of Ogun State the way he did if he had lived as Esho Jinadu (said to be his real name)?
And that brings me to the polluted politics of our land. Of course, it is the political manipulations of the ilk of Kashamu that usually fuel the cliché that “politics is a dirty game”. Dirty in the sense that here is a game in which no rules are applied, even when those rules are set in black and white. The only rule that dictates is money. And it is those who have it (in excess) who are commanders-in-chief of the political forces. It is the major reason well-intentioned, service-oriented, and compassionate men and women pocket their ambitions the moment moneybags arrive the scenes in our local and national communities.
And by extension, it is also the reason why the nation’s political field is peopled by players with questionable pasts. A man who stole in a United Kingdom trading company has served as governor of a state in Nigeria. Anyway, he ended up serving jail terms in the same U.K., even if this was as punishment for crime against his own people, resulting from the mindless rape of their treasury.
A senator of the Federal Republic of Nigeria once rose on the floor of the Red Chamber years ago. He looked round and told the Senate president that he was sorry for himself and Nigeria, at the calibre of people emerging as ‘leaders’ and ‘representatives’ of the people. Why this lamentation? The senator, a retired deputy inspector general of Police, looked round at his colleagues and said that he felt odd sitting with a member who he, as a commissioner for Police in one of the South-South States, had investigated and found guilty of armed robbery. That hair-splitting disclosure has not removed the said senator from the political firmament of Nigeria.
Of course, there has been some aura of invincibility around the former president. He appears too lucky to have gone away with all he had done till date. But just as has Kashamu bowed, Obasanjo will in due course, like every other mortal would. We shall all say what we know about him in very clear, unambiguous adjectives.
I have it on very good authority that the head of a Federal Government agency who was standing trial until a few weeks ago over the squandering of billions of naira belonging to the agency, has vowed to contest the senatorial seat of his district in Kogi State at next general elections. If he wins (as he may, given the humongous resources available to him), he too joins the ‘elite’ group of political warlords who dictate who gets what in Nigeria. He may even emerge to have oversight functions over the same agency where he has allegedly stolen billions of naira.
Let me add that award-giving organisations, media houses, youth groups, women organisations, professional and artisan groups have helped to nurture this culture, much to the detriment of our collective wellbeing.
Those who have taken Obasanjo up on his comment on Esho Jinadu, to me, are only expanding the frontiers of their decades old animosity with the man curiously referred to as Ebora Owu.
But back to reasons why I am not a fan of the former president, and I am happy that he has said Nigerians should say whatever pleases them about him when he also takes the final bow.
I do not know what Lagos State, as an entity, would write about Obasanjo when he takes his leave. But Lagos’ condolences would likely remind the world how Obasanjo essayed to strangulate the State by whimsically holding onto its federal allocation in order to compel a former governor, Bola Tinubu, to go down on his knees in obeisance to the “Federal Might” that he (Obasanjo) never realised was anathema in a federalist arrangement.
As a young reporter for The Guardian newspaper, I once stumbled on a man in Edo State. He was a pitiable sight. Inspector Ale (I can’t recall his full name now) had bitter tales of an encounter with Obasanjo while serving in the Ogun State Police command in the late 1980s. According to his account, he was part of a police team at a check-point, which stopped vehicles for routine checks. Obasanjo’s vehicle was allegedly stopped, but on realising who the occupant was, he was allowed to pass through. That, as the story went, did not please the former president who ordered that the police officer should be taught a lesson. Inspector Ale claimed that this culminated in his eventual dismissal from the force.
It is certain that the people of Odi in Bayelsa State, who won’t forget the November 20, 1999 massacre of everything living in their environment, would by now have prepared a befitting epitaph for Obasanjo. Six months into his administration as civilian president, Obasanjo, in what has gone down in history as one of the most horrendous human rights abuses in Africa, wiped off a whole community, even when the security agencies had the option of fishing out the culprits who attacked and killed some soldiers. But Odi was murdered on the orders of Obasanjo.
Of course, there has been some aura of invincibility around the former president. He appears too lucky to have gone away with all he had done till date. But just as has Kashamu bowed, Obasanjo will in due course, like every other mortal would. We shall all say what we know about him in very clear, unambiguous adjectives.
Semiu Okanlawon, a journalist, media and communication advisor, writes through sokanlawon67@gmail.com.
