Dear Governor Douye Diri,
I have been writing letters to you since the last time I met with you in your office on 8 October 2024. But it seems to me that, for some reason, my letters have not been getting to you. I can only hope that this one finds its way to your desk, in spite of the machinations of principalities and powers that may surround you inside the deep hold of Creek Haven.
For a start, I wrote you a short missive, wishing you a happy New Year at the very entrance into the portal of 2025. I expressed a few sentiments that you might find useful in the course of the year, and muttered a few prayers of benediction for you and your beloved family. Even more urgently, I wrote you another letter giving account of a message I received from Brass, for your gubernatorial attention, no less. It is a message you need to bear in mind when you commemorate the unknown soldier on 15 January next year.
In another letter, I condoled with you over the loss of your cabinet member, Mrs. Elizabeth Jackson Bidei, wife of the famous wrestling champion. I also expressed my personal sympathies over the untimely loss of our own beloved son of Bayelsa, the tallest police officer ever to stand behind a Governor or President in the six-decade long history of our nation. The passing of Moses Jituboh, Assistant Inspector-General of Police, came as a big blow to many.
I felt it at a personal level because I had the privilege of working alongside Jituboh in the heydays of the Diepreye Alamieyeseigha administration. We were both principal officers to the Governor. He was aide-camp, and I was speech writer. I didn’t like standing next to him because he was tall enough to see the centre of my head. I got to know him fairly well on two foreign trips, one to Atlanta, and the other to London, both missions to celebrate with our brethren abroad the pivotal role played by Isaac Adaka Boro in securing nobility for the Ijaw nation.
On the first day I reported for duty as speech writer, I was sent to Jituboh’s office to be verified by the security unit and given a walkie-talkie by which I could be reached. The code name he chose for me, Pencil, did not fit. The Chief of Protocol, Joseph Akedesuo stepped in just then and gave an alternative. He called me Socrates, the in-house thinker for the government.
I felt flattered to be called by such a great name known for wisdom, but the name stuck. I went by the call sign Socrates for the rest of my stay in Government House, doing my best to be wise in the body of the speeches I wrote. Jituboh’s loss is also personal to me because he would not be there at the formal presentation of my book on Alamieyeseigha, wherein a chapter begins with his name in capital letters.
Indeed to write about Jituboh is to write about Alamieyeseigha. I cannot forget the image of Jituboh towering above Alamieyeseigha at every public event, his eyes scanning the horizon for trouble like an eagle. I came to respect him when I got to know that, in the early years of Bayelsa State, he invested in the idea of establishing his own printing press. In later years, he sponsored the publication of a colourful magazine, Barbie, named after his wife who invited my wife to be the editor.
Let me not forget to tell Your Excellency that I also wrote you another letter while you were on leave. In it, I recounted a few resolutions from the first pan-Ijaw economic summit organised by the Azaiki Foundation. Stemming directly from that, I also recalled a few details about the 70th birthday anniversary celebration of the second Military Administrator of Bayelsa State.
As you know too well, Navy Captain Caleb Olubolade chose to have the landmark event in Yenagoa, and was overwhelmed to be hosted at the sports complex he built in one year within a tight budget. The retired naval officer, the subject of my book entitled The First Captain Of Creek Haven, has since been inducted as a full-fledged citizen of Bayelsa State, with your express imprimatur.
I equally wrote you a separate letter calling on you to free John Idumange from the stronghold of Okaka penitentiary. I felt compelled to write that particular epistle after paying him a visit inside the dungeon. I went in the company of King Collins Ebi Daniel, paramount ruler of Abureni kingdom in Ogbia Local Government Area, a respectable lawyer and pioneer president of a professional body of arbitrators.
In our chit-chat about the pathway to a peaceful resolution of the matter at hand, I did well to declare that it was pointless to lock up a heckler without access to bail in a civil suit. Idumange was cheerful throughout the visit, and hopeful that justice would be fair to him. I look forward to the day he would regain the freedom he deserves, like his fellow compatriot, Dele Farotimi.
In the body of that epistle, by the way, I underscored the fact that the foundation government of Alamieyeseigha did not lock up anybody, in spite of the barrage of critics ranged against him. Instead, he visited his detractors at home with a smile, and sought to know where he went wrong and what could be done to correct any anomaly.
It is important to be on the right side of history, Your Excellency. I would feel aggrieved if anyone told me that the Diri government was averse to freedom of expression. Besides, with all this talk about cholera outbreak in the news, the government should do well to decongest correctional centers rather than throw in more inmates.
As your fifth anniversary in office approaches swiftly, I am obliged to let you know what the people of Bayelsa think about your government, in my settled capacity as a reporter with an ear to the ground. Do well to take the report with an open heart, the heart of a father figure, and act with good conscience. You will feel better in the spirit, if you do.
