Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth

by Wole Soyinka

  Danfere looked up slowly and keenly inspected his caller. “You realize, of course, what I would do to you if this turned out to be Fake News.”

  Merutali shrugged. “I was present. I had this typed out quickly from the transcript so you could see it yourself.”

  Goddie chuckled. “Talk of casting political pearls before village swine. But are you telling me he knew nothing of the YoY Awards?”

  “We-e-ell. You could say he, er…sort of.”

  “What do you mean, sort of?”

  “I made sure he did. Modu is a romantic.” A sharp gasp of shocked disagreement escaped Sir Goddie, but Merutali quickly raised his hand to plead for patience. “Yessir, believe me, he is actually a romantic. Of course he’s all business, a hustler, but he’s a romantic hustler. He actually believes in some of these awards. Don’t underestimate that. So he gets excited when he finds someone like Akpanga. It gives the authentic touch to his scams. He loves to inject exceptions into the entire process. In turn, that legitimizes the cynical parts.”

  “Especially when they have money?”

  “Exactly. I keep an eye on competition, so no sweat. I learnt he planned to bestow the Big One on our man. So I paid Akpanga a visit. I said, ‘Look, my job is to look after the party image. That means you are now my charge. Some people are trying to rubbish you, to reduce you to the level of a common man, just because you come from a village and you don’t talk big grammar.’ You see, you have to study the raw spot for a man like Akpanga. I have. So I said to him, ‘If anybody comes to you talking of a common prize, reject it. Don’t even let them say it twice. Throw them out.’ ”

  Sir Goddie gave a long, low whistle. “Merutali, you are the devil!”

  “No sir, politics is the devil in all of us. Including you, my friend. I actually enjoy my role. It brings out the creative in me.” He rose. “So now, the rest is up to you.”

  “You mean…?”

  “Between you and Oromotaya. I’ve done my part. I told him you might need to see him today. He’s in one of the reception rooms.”

  “He’s a scalper. How much do you think he’ll want?”

  “Does it have to be cash?”

  “With Modu, it had better be.”

  “That’s where you are wrong. I’ve just told you, he’s a romantic.”

  “So what do I do? Find him a girlfriend?”

  Merutali laughed out loud. “You can only try, you cannot match Akpanga. I can actually hear him saying exactly that! No, try National Honours. Independence is round the corner. Do a swap. He’ll lap it up.”

  Sir Goddie shook his head and smiled in a rare gesture of admiration for any object outside his mirror. “You know, I’d never have thought of that.”

  “The two big awards brought together in his own person? This year’s YoY will be one for history, you’ll see.”

  Sir Goddie sighed, pushed the crystal bowl towards him. “I think you deserve another kola nut.”

  10.

  The Audience

  This time it was the silent chief of staff who came for him. Pitan felt a presence even in his dozy state, woke up with a start. There was the man standing over him, simply studying him without a word. Pitan rapidly restored his senses to his actual location.

  “The People’s Steward will see you now.”

  Pitan glanced at his watch; it was close to seven o’clock. Next he glared at his taciturn escort, then followed him wordlessly. The Presence was indeed awaiting him, right by the open, leather-padded double doors.

  “Come in, come in.” Offered his hand for a welcome handshake, then propelled him to his desk. “Take a seat, Mr. Pitan.” He strode to his own chair and pushed the eclectic bowl of snacks towards his guest. “So you’re abandoning the entire country this time, not just our inadequate government.”

  “Your Excellency…excuse me, I mean, People’s Steward, sir—”

  “No, don’t bother your head with that one. One simply wishes to set an example, that’s all. Call me whatever you want. People do anyway, and they’re not always flattering.”

  Uncertain, Pitan managed what he hoped sounded sympathetic. “Oh no, you mustn’t think that, sir.”

  “It’s true, it’s true. But who cares? Once you are in this position, you must expect all sorts. So, off to the UN, eh?”

  “Yes, Sir Goddie. And I know what effort you put in to make it happen. It’s an honour. My family and I are most grateful for this support.”

  “No, no, no, everything is God’s doing. Let us thank God, who put me in a position to be of help. That is a much-coveted portfolio. I would have been sorry to see us lose it to some other nation.”

  Duyole tried to unscramble his mind and access his rehearsed speech, found that it was lost somewhere among the past recollections with which he had whiled away time in the reception room. No choice but to follow the lead of his host and simply respond to whatever.

  “I was perhaps the most surprised individual on earth. I had no idea I was even under any consideration from anywhere until I received a letter from the UN under-secretary.”

  “Well, I know you know your Bible—seest thou a man loyal and diligent in his works, he shall stand before kings and not before mean men.”

  Duyole’s smile grew weaker. Even his vaguely conceived speech, whatever direction it took, had not prepared him for such an encomium. He thanked the delighted figure once again, this time for forming such a high opinion of him during his consultancy. He hoped that whatever little achievement he was able to contribute would be built upon, leading to a steady supply of power for both domestic and industrial needs. The People’s Steward assured him that no effort would be wasted, no resources spared or squandered. Rural electrification was at the heart of his regime’s power manifesto, and they were determined to carry it out, nationwide. He slammed his open hand on the desk—“with or without the help of the World Bank or IMF.”

  Duyole blinked, tried to work out what those two institutions had to do with the project that connected him with the Ministry of Power. None. If anything, his detailed blueprint had stressed that the nation required the help of neither body; all it had to do was maximize existing local resources and involve the private sector, resuscitate mothballed equipment and distribution stations rusting all over the nation. So much for the labour of fourteen months. Duyole sighed.

  As if Sir Goddie read the engineer’s thoughts: “Oh, by the way…” He opened a drawer beneath the desk and brought out a red dossier, neatly tied with a black ribbon. The lettering SECRET was stamped diagonally across the cover. The People’s Steward patted it with touching gentleness and leant forward as if to stress confidentiality. “I must thank you for this. I know you must have wondered why I never sent for you all this time.” He raised his hand to forestall what he assumed would be the engineer’s protestation. “No, no, in your position I would feel the same. Quite understandable. I just want you to know, this”—and he gave the file yet another gentle pat—“this is what we call an active file. Active. There it lies looking innocent and still, but take it from me, Mr. Pitan, it is a most active file.”

  “I am most relieved to hear that, sir.”

  “Thank you. I need say no more. You shall yourself feel the impact of this report, even from far away in the United Nations. Take my word for it.”

  Duyole smiled his appreciation.

  “You have no idea, simply no idea what you have done for me in that ministry. I am handling it personally. The follow-up has started, and it is not pretty. Heads shall roll—no, heads have begun to roll. Until you came in, no one had succeeded in getting to the bottom of the rot in that sector. And then, of course, solutions! No one has gone that far in all these years. Criticism is easy, the nation is full of carpers They are professional. But when it comes to solutions…suddenly they are missing in action!”

  “I am glad to ha
ve been of some help, Mr. Prime Minister.”

  “You are modest. What I did not understand was why you chose to leave so abruptly. You were not even halfway into your contract. What was the hurry?”

  “Mission accomplished, sir. There was nothing left for me to do.”

  “Don’t say that. Never ever say that. I could have done with your help on the next phase. This is only the beginning. If you had not left, we would have moved into Phase Two by now—no, we would have finished with Phase Two and moved into Three.”

  The engineer smiled weakly. “I am beginning to feel guilty.”

  “No, no, no, that was not my intention. You did what you undertook to do, and the professionalism was impeccable. I know there were difficulties. I know what traps were set for you. Those fools didn’t know who they were dealing with. They know nothing of the Pitan-Payne stock. Oh, that reminds me, how is your father? Does he still find time for his favourite ballroom dancing?”

  “Mostly by himself these days, Sir Goddie. Then he even dances to hymns.”

  Sir Goddie laughed. “Including ‘Rock of Ages’?”

  “You know that nickname, sir?”

  “Of course. We belong to the same lodge.”

  “He’s well. Very well. And active. I’ve even tried to entice him into the firm.”

  “That’s good. Very good. Some people prefer to let age go to waste. That’s a pity.”

  Duyole laughed. “I promise you, sir, he’s not the kind who lets himself be wasted. He’ll always find something to do.”

  The Steward smiled. “But best to involve the family wherever possible. I approve of that. When next I see him, I shall let him know how much you’ve done for the nation. Up to us to pick up where you left off. That process has begun. You can safely leave the rest to us. Completely. You may take it that you have left this in safe hands.”

  Duyole inclined his head to convey diffidence and appreciation.

  As Goddie returned the dossier to its home, he jerked up his head suddenly. “Oh, I nearly forgot. I owe you one more apology. The government owes you an apology. We owe you money. It was when I called for your files that I discovered that embarrassing lapse. Can you imagine? It shames us. I have given orders. That unacceptable lapse shall shortly be a thing of the past. I have seen to it.”

  “I do appreciate that, Sir Goddie. I was of course going to mention it.”

  “You would not be your father’s son if you left without mentioning it. It’s all settled.” Goddie pushed the crystal bowl towards him. “Take some kola nut. It’s special. Comes from a tiny plantation not far from here. The flavor is unique. Many people don’t really know kola nut. They don’t know that it has dozens of flavours, each one different from the next. This one is truly exceptional. I like to use the coffee analogy—what the Blue Mountain coffee is to most other coffees, that’s what this is to the majority of kola nuts. And I mean anywhere on this continent.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Duyole stretched his hand toward the treat.

  “The man who owns that plantation makes a delivery to the villa every fortnight, with his own hands, the kola nuts still in their pods. His own idea. My housekeeper calls it the prime ministerial pod. Comes from a little village not far from here—it’s called Gumchi. Go on, take more than one. Take some home with you.”

  Duyole’s outstretched hand stopped abruptly, frozen. He looked questioningly at his host.

  Dr. Goddie looked puzzled. “Anything the matter?”

  “Did you say Gumchi, sir?”

  “Yes. You know the place?”

  “I should hope so, Your Excellency. My bosom friend is from that village. A surgeon. Presently in Jos.”

  Again the PM sat back, marveling. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, sir. We were that close, we once made plans to help him build a small clinic right there. Four of us.”

  “Really? What a small world. And an even smaller village, from all reports. Where were you going to put the clinic? There’s hardly any space in there. It’s all rock formation. Apart from that small kola nut patch, a few citrus, not much else. I sent the agric minister to go take a look, in case we could help with developing the kola. He brought back photos. Rocks. Nothing but rocks.”

  “That was the challenge, Sir Goddie. As an engineer…”

  “Of course, of course. If anyone could, you can. Just don’t touch my kola nut trees, or we shall fight-o!”

  Duyole joined in the laughter. “I’m sure they will be preserved, sir. That is, assuming we ever get round to that project. It was one of those youthful schemes, over two decades old. We formed a kind of mutual assistance pact. But we’ve all gone our different ways.”

  “Ah yes, that is life for you. Humanity moves, but the rocks remain.”

  “And the kola nut trees also, I hope, Your Excellency.”

  “We hope. We all hope. Change is all very well. And development. But some things should remain the same. We all need a sense of something permanent.”

  “I cannot agree more.”

  “Oh, that reminds me. Well, I don’t have to tell you. You, your company, you have acquired quite a national clout. Your name—my God!—that Brand of the Land, it all resounds as something extra. The name carries weight. And with this UN recognition…well, no question at all, yours is a name the nation must reckon with. I know you will always use it judiciously—in the interest of the nation.”

  Duyole tensed, sensing, Here it comes! Sir Goddie did not fail to notice the sudden guardedness, having years of experience watching out for just such dangerous reactions when dragooning a “volunteer” into non-voluntary missions. Goddie had no appetite for rebuffs and smoothly back-pedalled. “Hm. Let’s see now. Has your old man spoken to you?”

  “About what, Your Excellency?”

  And Goddie burst into laughter. “He’s a cagey one. I thought he would have mentioned it before our meeting. So I’ll tell you what’s the best way I think we should go about this. Well, I’ll give you a hint—we think the nation has a duty to promote Brand of the Land. Make it ours. A national heritage. That’s just a hint. When you get home, talk to your old man. There is just one small, connected service you may be able to perform before you leave—but I’ll let him explain.” He slapped the table. “Yes, we’ll leave it at that. He has something to discuss with you.”

  “As you wish, sir. But if you prefer—”

  “No, no, no hurry. He’ll explain. He and I speak the same language. Oh, here comes trouble.”

  The door was pushed open softly and the PM looked up. It was the chief of staff. Duyole now deliberately fixed his eyes on the man and kept them there throughout, returning the compliment for his earlier discomfort in the reception room.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Excellency.”

  His Excellency the People’s Steward looked up in surprise, looked at his desk clock. “Good God, are they here already?”

  “I’ve kept them in the main reception room, PS.”

  “Too bad.” And he seemed genuinely regretful. “Our conversation was beginning to get really interesting. All right, in a minute.”

  The receptionist’s “administrative nudge.” Audience over.

  “That reminds me, CoS.”

  “Yes, People’s Steward?”

  “Mr. Pitan-Payne’s security detail—I assume that was withdrawn when he left us?”

  “It’s routine, PS.”

  “Well, see that it’s restored immediately, and it stays with him until departure.”

  Duyole instantly launched into protests but was stopped by a very firm, no-argument gesture from his host.

  “I’ll see to it, sir,” assented the chief of staff.

  “His safety is even more crucial now than when he was consulting for a single government. He is now a world acquisition, not just ours. Big as we are, we can
’t compete. We don’t want to incur global infamy if anything happens to him.”

  “Understood, Your Excellency.”

  “And of course anytime you visit home, Pitan—all right if I just call you that instead of your double-barreled name?”

  “Honoured, PS.”

  “Good. So be sure to notify the chief of staff in advance. I don’t trifle with security—ask the CoS, he knows me.”

  Duyole shook his head, visibly upset at the turn of events. His severance from the system was intended to be final. He made one more effort. “Your Excellency, there is really no need, I assure you.”

  His host stopped and faced him squarely. “Yes, there is need, Mr. Pitan-Payne. There is every need. We cannot take chances. The security situation is what it is, unfortunately, so it is a responsibility we just have to confront.”

  “Leave it to me, sir,” the chief of staff reassured his boss. “I’ll take care of all the necessary.”

  The People’s Steward readjusted his agbada, swept round the vast desk, raised his wide-sleeved arm around Duyole’s shoulders. “You must come and see me anytime you return on leave or for whatever reason.”

  “That really is kind of you, People’s Steward. I’ll be sure to do so.”

  “We hate to lose you, but, well, you know what the Good Book says—in this case, Nigeria loves you but the UN loves you the best. Thank goodness you have the stamina. Your stay with us bore that out. You have no idea how tortuous their operations are in that place; it’s a marvel that any decisions are ever taken or carried out. I hate to say it—don’t quote me, but the UN is a madhouse. It needs shaking up. If you really want to achieve anything, you’ll have to give them your full time.”

  At the door he again offered his hand. “At the risk of repeating myself, the nation loves you, yes, but others, the UN especially, not only love, they need you more.”

  The special adviser was waiting on the other side of the door, his face somewhat distraught, his voice apologetic.