The Guardian’s dog and rape of Lady Justice

As I was concluding this piece, my eyes caught a presidential sledgehammer which landed on the head of Conscience Nurtured by Truth – The Guardian. In a release issued by the State House yesterday, authored by erstwhile Editor-in-Chief of TheNews, Bayo Onanuga, the newspaper was accused of a crime almost similar to what General Sani Abacha accused it of in 1994 which led to its closure. The “NADECO government” of Bola Tinubu merely rehashed the allegation. I will address it presently.

All over the world, the Lady Justice is sacred, representing the divine order, law, and custom. It is also an allegorical persona depicting the moral force of the judicial system. Originating from the Ancient Roman goddess called Justitia, her attributes are a blindfold, scales and a sword. When a leader is depicted to have raped this personification of justice, he has violated the deity of goodliness in society. Last week, Federal Capital Territory (FCT) Minister, Nyesom Wike, narrated how he revoked the Certificate of Occupancy (C of O) of some plots of land allocated to Julius Berger in the Katampe District of Abuja. It was shortly after he had dinner with the managing director of Julius Berger. By his own admission, he then deployed same for the construction of 40 Judges Quarters. Wike’s revocation of the land is most likely justified if indeed the German construction giant held it undeveloped for fifteen to twenty years.

The judiciary is reputed in the playbook of democracy to be the last hope of the common man. Of recent, stenchy oozes coming out of this last bastion of hope for a regressing Nigeria are really scary. In the triad of Wike-judges-Julius Berger above, the major fear is how judges who benefitted from the allocation of those lands will, without favour, dispense justice in any matter that has to do with Wike, now or in the future.

It is most likely the avoidance of such dalliance that Rule 2.8 of the Judicial Code of Conduct frowns at unholy matrimony between judges and would-be litigants. It says “A judge shall avoid developing excessively close relationship with frequent litigants – such as government ministers or their officials.” It goes ahead to say that any of such appearance of alliance is incestuous and “could reasonably create an appearance of partiality.” A last week editorial of the Nigerian Lawyer affirms this when it states that the relationship was questionable. It also says that “beneath the surface of this supposedly ‘noble’ project, serious concerns about integrity, impartiality and manipulation may emerge.” If in the near future, Wike and Julius Berger engage in a legal tango, can FCT courts be impartial arbiters?

The above incestuous relationship between the executive and the judiciary reminds me of my March 6, 2022 piece with the title, Buhari’s serial rape of the Lady Justice. It referenced an award-winning cartoon published on September 7, 2008, by the Johannesburg-based Sunday Times authored by Jonathan Shapiro. Shapiro’s cartoon identity was Zapiro. That cartoon triggered a huge ball of fire in South Africa. Named ‘Rape of Lady Justice’, it bore then leader of the African National Congress (ANC), who was to later become the South African president, Jacob Zuma, loosening his trousers’ zippers for a sexual romp with the effigy of the Lady Justice.

He had a shower tap placed on his head. An impish but salacious smile lit his face. Before him, flung on the bare floor, was a blindfolded lady with a lapel inscribed, “Justice System” hung on her chest. Four hefty and menacing-looking men knelt by the Lady Justice’s side, holding down the “wench”, whose skirt was half peeled off. They were political surrogates of Zuma in the ANC, which included Julius Malema, then leader of the ANC Youth League, among others. The scale of justice had fallen down beside the Lady Justice, with Mantashe smilingly beckoning on Zuma to clamber her for a rape binge, “Go for it, boss!”

That cartoon shot Zuma into a fit. Indeed, he immediately sued Zapiro for the sum of £700,000. Massive reactions followed it, ranging from the condemnatory to the laudatory. The ANC, SACP and ANC Youth League pilloried it as “hate speech,” “disgusting” and “bordering on defamation of character” and then petitioned the South African Human Rights Commission for redress.

Zapiro’s cartoon depicted the rape of the South African justice system, as well as other institutions, by Zuma. “He (Zuma) is raping the justice system and they (Zuma’s political allies) are complicit in that,” said the cartoonist in an interview. By this time, Zuma, a notorious polygamist who had six official wives as president, many more by unofficial account and 22 children from the liaisons, was a kingpin of lechery. Not long ago, the court discharged him of a rape romp with an HIV-positive AIDS activist, who was the daughter of his friend. Though Zuma pleaded that the sex was consensual, he however admitted that he had unprotected sex with the lady. He then stunned the world when he maintained that he had “showered afterwards to cut the risk of contracting the infection.” The shower tap Zapiro placed on his head represented this bombastic claim.

If Zapiro were to sketch that cartoon in Nigeria today, he will replace Zuma with the Bola Tinubu administration. His grovelling national assembly and its coterie of fawners would be Malema and co. Together, they can be more fittingly described as in a serial rape of our country. Virtually all institutions and systems in Nigeria today are being mercilessly raped to a point that they lack energy to saunter on. Tinubu, through surrogates, is presiding over a literal rape of the Lady Justice. However, his government’s version of executive rape of the judiciary is of different colour. Only recently, while Rivers state was undergoing its local government election, the name of Wike and alleged interference in judicial decisions became a singsong. Courts of coordinate jurisdictions at both state and federal levels issued contradictory rulings which were felt to have political imprimaturs. These have made the judiciary a laughing stock. In Kano state, similar rape of the judiciary was at play with the state and federal judiciary issuing rulings at loggerheads with each other.

The dilemma of Nigerians today isn’t different from that of the traditional clothes launderer the Yoruba call the Alágbàfò. The river constitutes his major economic source. He depends on it for his existential survival. As the Alágbàfò goes into enmity with the water/river at their own peril, so also will the enmity of the akara (bean cake) seller with the frying oil surely end in disaster. So, in a case where the Alágbàfò heaves the load of white clothes to the river for laundry but finds out that the river is polluted, the Alágbàfò finds self at the three-footpath juncture that troubles the stranger to a town. Like the Alágbàfò above, Nigerians are marooned on an island.

Their waters, the main source of their existential survival, are polluted. President Olusegun Obasanjo put their dilemma in perspective. In an interview on the News Central Television on Thursday, he painted the canvass of hopelessness very meticulously. This he did in a narrative of “a Nigerian president” – the people’s water, the river of their existence – who they voted into office but who rules like a voodoo priest. Voodooism isn’t about science but probability and permutations. While not specifically naming anyone, Obasanjo told the tale of “a Nigerian president who came to office without a plan” and who “then… woke up and just said, ‘three-point plan.’ What are the three points? What are they going to achieve? Who are the people who have worked on it? You came and you just opened your mouth and made a pronouncement on something that has not been.”

Everywhere you turn in Nigeria today, the river is tainted, polluted and coffee-brown. For the people, it is double jeopardy. Two sayings of the Yoruba encapsulate the Nigerian dilemma. They both border on a raped trust. One, which mirrors frustration, asks whether, in the rules of fidelity, the one upon whom a disabled reclines, if they are about to shift from the space they occupy, should not have the honour of notifying the disabled of their intention to shift. (Eni a f’èyìn tì, bí ó ba yè, wíwí ní í wí). Nigeria today runs a struggling economy powered by a trust deficit towards leaders who are believed to have questionable financial and moral fidelity, and flex misplaced ability. Nigerians are powerless like the disabled. Their leaders, upon whom they reclined for social good, have broken their spines.

The second jeopardy also hangs on a misplacement of trust. The one the people thought would save them from captivity has eventually turned out to be their captor. Uttered in a moment of underwhelming results from overwhelming expectations, Yoruba say, eni a gb’ójú okùn lé, kò jo eni agba. It is similar to the tale of the Alágbàfò and a dirty river.

What Nigerians are doing today is, like the hopeless drycleaner, sitting by the dirty river bank and watching whether indeed, from within the constricting thorns (ìgbágó), the palm-frond (màrìwò) shoot out. Which is very unlikely. Our dirty river has equalized and democratized suffering and hopelessness. While Nigerians are daily engrossed in a festival of lamentations and regret everywhere, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) said that our dirty river is clean and snow-white. Bretton Woods gave our hunger pass-mark. Homeless roam-about children, hitherto exclusive preserve of the north, are today everywhere in the southern part of Nigeria, too. The Olubadan of Ibadan, Oba Olakulehin Owolabi, raised this alarm last Thursday when the Executive Secretary of the National Commission for Almajiri and Out-of-School Children paid him a courtesy call in his palace. All over the streets of Nigeria, the hungry and ferocious looks on the faces of children and even elders are frightening. Under this government, Nigeria has become one huge IDP camp and everybody is a scrounger and scavenger.

If the executive is a true reflection of the dirty waters that have constituted existential turbulence for our Alágbàfò , the legislature is an affliction. Nigeria’s twin legislature is struggling to outdo itself in the fawning sprint and self-mockery. Take for instance the bill for the establishment of a Bola Ahmed Tinubu University of Nigerian Languages. It has gone through the second reading. Sponsored by Deputy Speaker of the House of Representatives, Benjamin Kalu and eight others, the bill sponsors said their aim was to have a university for the promotion of the learning of Nigerian languages which will “encourage the advancement of learning and to hold out to all persons without distinction of race, creed, sex or political conviction, the opportunity of acquiring a higher education in Nigerian languages and cultures.” Brilliant conception.

But, why then do Kalu and his legislative cohorts think that the man worthy to have his name affixed to the university is the president? If they were not suffocated by the smell of legislative groveling, no university of Nigerian languages should be named after any other person than Ayọ̀ Bámgbóṣé. Bámgbóṣé was an academic linguist and the first professor of Linguistics in Nigeria. In 1984, Bámgbóṣé became the first African linguist to be conferred the honorary membership of the Linguistic Society of America (LSA). He made tremendous contributions to education and linguistics. Bámgbóṣé’s 1963 journal article titled “A study of structures and classes in the grammar of modern Yoruba” is a locus classicus in linguistics. So, what qualifies Tinubu to be so named? In which of the Nigerian languages did he excel? Certainly not Yoruba, a language he speaks with bumbling understanding. His English is almost an aping of the Cockney. So where did Kalu and his fawners of power get their wild muse?

If the House of Representatives is a home for grovelers by the feet of the executive, the senate is worse. Godswill Akpabio, head of the senate, figuratively wears the Tinubu lapel on his arm and cap literally on his head with baffling shamelessness. He is reputed to adjourn senate sessions to enable him quickly shuttle to Aso Rock to ask for its mind. Thus, if Nigerians expect a legislature that will hold the executive to account, they are waiting for Samuel Becket’s legendary Godot in their legislators.

The combination of a dilemma of the Alágbàfò  and the serial rape of virtually all institutions in Nigeria today foretell a grim tomorrow for the Nigerian people. It was the palpable frustration of Nigerians that The Guardian lead story of October 25, entitled “Calls for military intervention: misery, harsh policies driving Nigerians to desperate choices,” reflected. It warned of chaos in the polity if the Tinubu government does not stop its bumbling misgovernance. “Nigerians were exhilarated with the return of democracy in 1999, but 25 years on, the buccaneering nature of politicians, their penchant for poor service delivery, morbid hatred for probity, accountability, and credible/transparent elections, among others, are forcing some flustered citizens to make extreme choices, including calling for military intervention in governance… Deep despondency permeates every facet of the polity consequent upon soaring cost of living. And while the political elite splurge on fine wines and exotic automobiles amid poor service delivery, calls for regime change could become more strident in the days ahead even though military insurrection holds no solution to the country’s woes.”

As usual, Onanuga, in his servile reading of every criticism, took time to pen a presidential doggerel as reply to the story. He called it inflammatory and an open advocacy for regime change. Are we sure this Onanuga is not the doppelganger of the Onanuga we used to know? Does he know that that The Guardian story is a cyclostyle of what Nigerians are saying on the streets? If it is, want does he expect the respected newspaper to write? What “deliberate agenda” could the newspaper harbor other than newspapering? What “fairness and objectivity” is he talking about if not a reportage of the narratives on the street and the hopelessness encircling the air? If you read through the so-called State House release of Onanuga, it bears semblance with Sani Abacha’s criminalizing of journalism, leading to the jailing for life of the Kunle Ajibades, his colleague in TheNews. It appears to me that Onanuga, like the Shappiro cartoon, is one of those fawners holding the wench of good governance by the thighs while his boss smilingly loosens the rope of his trousers. If you know what happened to that dog that was given a bad name, you will appreciate why all genuine democrats must rise in protection of the truth.

Dupe Baruwa-Dada: I lost a sister

In 2011, less than six months into the birth of a new government in Oyo State, a proposal was brought for the celebration of a festival in the state. The memo got to the topmost decision-making organ of the state, the Executive Council. A the Exco, a very suave and articulate man marshaled points on the need for the festival and everybody who spoke gave the memo thumbs-up. However, I constituted the one-man kanda, the stone in the bowl of his rice. So, I raised my hand and the governor, Abiola Ajimobi, gave me the go-ahead to speak. “Your Excellency, sir, beautiful as this proposal is, if we go ahead with it, the people of Oyo State will stone us. Our administration hasn’t constructed roads nor succeeded in bringing development to the people. A festival now will be a disaster,” I said. God bless his soul, without mincing words, the governor immediately canceled the memo.

As I stepped out of the Exco Chambers, someone called my number. It was my friend of, by then, 15 years, Dupe Baruwa. She said, “Boda Festus, tomorrow, my children and I will pack our baggage and move to your house for sustenance.” Alarmed, I asked why. “You just shot down the memo presented to the Oyo State government by my husband!”

In 1996 or 1997 – I can’t remember now – a ravishingly beautiful lady was posted to the Sunday Desk of the Nigerian Tribune newspaper and we became very good friends. We became each other’s confidants and advisors. Dupe confided in me on virtually every issue of her life and I did same to her, too. At some point, she even took me to Ijebu-Ode to go see her mother. When it came to my life-time consort, Dupe’s decision on who I would marry was the loudest and carried the day.

As fate would have it, in 2019, while in a tutorial class at the Nigerian Law School, Lagos, one evening, I beheld a man downstairs. He looked like the man I was his nemesis in 2011. So I called his name. As he turned, I knew he was the man whose memo I voided in the Oyo State council, Dupe’s husband. We hugged and became even closer during our period at the Law School, sharing same Group 8 class together. His family became mine, too.

When I woke up last Sunday to check the social media, I saw a post that nearly ran me mad. The post wished the soul of Dupe Barruwa-Dada a sweet repose. I was alarmed and aghast. How could Dupe die? Why did Dupe die? It must be a daydream. I had called her a few months earlier to commiserate with her on the loss of her mother and was waiting to attend Mama’s burial in Ijebu-Ode. It was not until I attended her funeral in Ikeja last Thursday and Dupe’s casket was wheeled into the church that it dawned on me that the angel had flown away afterall.

If angelic behavior could confer immortality on one, Dupe will be alive today. She symbolized the sapphire in intelligence, good-naturedness and purity of heart. She was amiable, obliging and amiable to anyone she came in contact with. Dupe’s death at the age of 48 tells me further about the brevity of life and its comparison by the Holy Writ with vapour which whooshes with such vigour but disappears in a minute.

Sleep well, my friend of 27 years, confidant and sister.