Between May and June 1985, the trials I went through were more than Brother Jero’s. I couldn’t walk freely within the Campus because of the fear of the Security goons working for Buhari/ Idiagbon. It became more frightening when I got to know, through my own private sources as a journalist, that some students working as agents for the government were actually plotting my “carton-ment” ( a la Umaru Dikko). I invented the word “Carton-ment” in an article I wrote in school when the Buhari/ Idiagbon administration, using Mossad agents, attempted to bring Umaru Dikko (Shagari’s rice merchant) inside a big crate (they called it “diplomatic bag”) from Britain to Nigeria before some British Customs officers discovered him inside the crate at the Stansted airport on 4 July 1984.
Umaru Dikko was top on the list of politicians declared wanted by the Buhari/Idiagbon administration. He was said to have embezzled about 6 billion US dollars in oil profits from the national Treasury. He fled to Britain claiming he was being persecuted by the military junta. It was a failed kidnap. That was their plan for me but it never happened because throughout the “subversive elements” saga, I had people watching my back for me within the Campus and I avoided going to Lagos for whatever reason. It was a tough period for me. There was a scary incident during the episode.
I was going to the main library (Hezekiah Oluwasanmi) to read when the drama happened. Few metres to the library, I heard someone scream Mujemu and I turned to see who it was. All of a sudden, someone grabbed me by the waist. I was calm. It was in the afternoon. Only the wicked fear daylight. I was wondering whether it was a prank. His face was not familiar. He then said: ” Ah, so, you are a human being Mujemu. I never knew you could walk like us. I have always thought you were a mysterious being because of the various things I have heard about you and Cobra. You mean, a human being can do all these things I have been hearing about you on this Campus?” By this time, my friend that was calling, the PRS of King Cobra, Ade Oyenekan (alias Ayé) had joined us. He wanted to know what was happening and I said there was no problem. At that time, everybody close to me was concerned about my security. I now asked the guy what mysterious things he had heard about me. He said he heard that the University told me not to sell copies of the Cobra magazine we printed during the episode; that the Students Representative Council (SRC) also directed me not to sell the magazine but that I still went ahead to sell the magazine and I still had the courage to write about Idiagbon in the magazine calling him “Ogbeni Babatunde”. He wanted to know how one person can be daring the government and the University at the same time. The guy was a student too. He later became my friend.
He was right. I finally sold the magazine. It was a real battle between me and the University and the SRC. The DSA told me I should not sell the magazine that we already printed. I kept quiet because I didn’t need his approval to sell. He threatened to ban the magazine. I dared him. It was only the University Press Council that had such power. The SRC headed by Peter Wanogho also prohibited us from selling the magazine. I dared the Speaker and his House too. Let me explain. Two weeks after Idiagbon screamed blue murder, precisely, Friday, 10 May 1985, I decided to sell the magazine after some updates. Yes, I wrote a new article titled: “Haba, Ogbeni Babatunde” in the same edition after I had assured the VC that there was nothing about the government in that particular edition. I didn’t do it as an act of affront or insubordination. I realized that I was leaving the position of Cobra Chief and may never have the opportunity to state my own side of the story for posterity. I also realized that my successor may not want to revisit the issue in the spirit of “let the sleeping dog lie”. Therefore, I wrote it as a defence against the falsehood of the government. I stated our position in this statement: “The King Cobra is not a political journal and we will not make it one. Though we sometimes run editorials on national issues, this we do in good faith and where there are abusive and ridiculous inferences on any public officer, it is nothing but a display of youthful exuberance and an exercise of academic freedom”.
This, in a nutshell, was the objective of the editorial. Immediately some members of the Students Union got the information that we were about to sell the magazine, they called for a special sitting of the Students Representatives Council (SRC). Not sure what would be the reaction of the Congress if they said the sitting was to ban the King Cobra, they lied to the Congress that they wanted to discuss “budget for the Union”. Their other motive was to restrain us from selling the magazine. A very loud noise woke me up from my sleep. Some Awo students who were present at the House sitting when the prohibition order was passed protested against the resolution of the House. The resolution was passed some minutes after midnight. They started a very massive mobilization for a peaceful protest from Mozambique hall where the sitting took place. They moved to Angola hall, from there went to Awo hall before coming to my room at Fajuyi Hall. They started singing songs like: “Me, I go buy Cobra. Who say make we no buy Cobra, me, I go buy Cobra.” They suggested that we should start selling the magazine immediately and we should go and sell at Moza, Morèmi and Sports hall. It was a sell out. Not a single copy remained except the two copies I always reserved in the file.
It was a week later, started hearing from grapevine that the University Press Council had commenced an official investigation into the activities of Cobra News Agency. I didn’t give a damn because I knew that no decision could be taken without inviting me to state my case. I was being harassed from so many fronts- the Federal Military Government, Director of Students Affairs, Students Representatives Council, University Press Council and Staff advisers. Unfortunately, all this was happening at a time I needed to read like magpie if I didn’t want my CGPA to plummet to Second Class Lower from Second Class Upper.
The exams were two/three weeks away. My Supervisor was waiting for my final draft. Before the commencement of the exams, rumours of my expulsion from the University had started flying around. I was wondering how I could be expelled from the University when I was never tried by any panel or Committee. I didn’t even know what they said I had done. Honestly, it was like I was being haunted for a War crime. I needed a reading partner that could motivate my spirit.
The only person I had in mind was Mosun Dawodu. She was the only person who understood how to handle my tension without “supplying comforting alchemy”. She was a very serious girl who knew how to downgrade emotions to a non-issue at a time of high expectations. She was damn too dexterous in suppressing amorous adventures. A very business-like reading partner. The kind of person that would tell you: “Is that why we are here?” Not once, not twice that I had been put in check. I looked for her and she agreed to my proposal that we read together for the final exams after outlining her conditions of tortuosity. I accepted because that was what I needed to be serious.
The time of war is not the right time for corny fantasy. A man at the warfront is denied the indulgence of “horny land”. I made up my mind to fight my war one after the other. First, I had to settle “Who is the Department” by submitting my project. As soon as I gave it to him, he said I should come back in 3 days time. I went on the day he said I should come and it was approved without a single correction. My final exams were my next concern. Reading with Mosun Dawodu was very productive. We read without distractions. We discussed some of the topics together. We laughed and bantered without loosing guard. The exams were tough as usual but my resilience was stronger than ” the walls of Jericho”. My plan was to maintain my 2:1 even if my CGPA was not going to rise beyond the 3.55. I didn’t want to settle for anything less.
The beauty of scholarship is inherent in the attainment of excellence. My engagement in extra-curricular activities and the series of last minute challenges and persecutions I was experiencing were not sufficient justifications for any intellectual deterioration . A life bereft of challenges is not a good template for hardwork. As a man, I must be measured by the number of conquests I have made in life not by what grace has conferred on me. It is good to enjoy grace but it is equally fulfilling to work hard for fame. I wrote my final exams as if my life was dependent on them. I made my 2:1 eventually and I raised my CGPA concurrently and substantially. Because my life is always about drama, my final results ended with some drama. The drama was between “The Department” and the Head of Department.
I didn’t go home after the exams. I stayed back in school to sort out the expulsion rumour and to stay away from Idiagbon until I was convinced that my life was safe outside the campus. These two issues were critical to me. While I was trying to sort them out, I was equally putting my ears to the ground concerning our results. Priority was always given to final year students results because of the NYSC. We were in August already, so, results had started trickling in. In some faculties, the results were even ready since NYSC would commence in September.
On this particular day, I went to my department to check if our results were ready. As I climbed the staircase leading to the department, I saw one of my lecturers at the corridor. As soon as he saw me, he dragged me to his office as if he didn’t want me to be seen by someone or he wanted to tell me something confidential. I was right. What he wanted to tell me was very confidential. He told me in Yoruba: ” Dapo, o ti da ija àgbà meji sile ni department (Dapo, your case has caused a rift between two senior members of the department)”. Let me explain what he meant by that. Normally, after exams, final year students’ scripts and projects were sent out for moderation or vetting by external examiners, usually, lecturers from other universities. This occasionally happens after the scripts must have been marked and graded by the respective individual lecturers. This very year, 1985, there was a change in the practice. The department of History decided to appoint some lecturers within the department to play the role of external examiners.
What this meant was that scripts and projects would be shared among the lecturers within the department for moderation. They are called “internal-external examiners”. This can happen under two special conditions. One, if there were no funds to pay the external examiners and/or if there was no sufficient time for this exercise. I didn’t know which of these two conditions necessitated the practice to be suspended that year. Somehow, my project, after being scored by “The Department” (my supervisor, Prof. Akinjogbin) was given to the head of department for moderation.
According to this my lecturer, my supervisor “The Department”, gave me an “A” in the project while the head of the department of History, Dr Femi Anjorin marked it down to “B+” . However, the moment my supervisor got to know about this, he was livid with rage . He went to challenge the HOD in his office over my matter . This led to a kind of bitter exchange between the two of them. The two of them were elderly and senior lecturers but not the two of them were professor. Only my supervisor was a Professor. The exchange was still on as at the time I came, that was why my lecturer friend dragged me to his office. Project was an 8-unit course. It would have been remarkable to have an “A” in it. By the time the results were finally released, these were the details: HIS 402 (A), HIS 403 (Project) (B+), HIS 411 (B+), HIS 413 (B+), HIS 427 (B+), FRENCH (B). My final cumulative was 3.65.
Despite ending with a fantastic result like this, I was still not happy because I was bothered by the expulsion rumour. I was going up and down the department when my contact came to inform me that the VC, Prof Wande Abímbọ́lá was ready for us. In less than 10 minutes, we were in the VC’s office. I told him I was hearing rumour that I was to be expelled. The first thing the VC asked me was my result: “Have you checked your result?” I told him that I just saw it before coming to his office. “How was it?” I replied him: “It was fine Sir.” His final statement was very funny but assuring :”For as long as your result was good, I Wande Abímbọ́lá assure you that you will graduate peacefully so that we too can have some peace in the University.” I couldn’t laugh but my contact did.
Everything was happening so fast because it was that same week that I saw my posting: They threw me to Maiduguri.
At this stage, I didn’t have any option, I must go to Lagos, Idiagbon or no Idiagbon . We had less than two weeks to prepare for our national service. I needed to look for funds for my flight ticket. Besides, now that I had become a graduate, I wanted to visit Paddington to see old friends, not necessarily to show off my new status, but to engage in reconciliatory reunion with those who offended me by ridiculing my educational hiatus at a time they should be motivating me with peer homilies . It was sad that my friends in Primary school and my friends in the neighborhood did not consider it appropriate to lift a friend from falling when it was obvious that my hiatus was a self-made tragic indulgence. When friends watch friends fall, what happens to the morality behind corporate fraternity? If we all abandon ourselves in our moments of adversity, how do we enjoy the pleasure of our prosperity? If we all follow the Cainian philosophy of “Am I my brother’s keeper” by mocking our humble beginnings, how do we explore the privilege of one humanity in our spatial collectivity? I must go to Paddington to reconcile with Dada Adesegun against who I had an infantile grudge borne out of exuberant stupidity. Unfortunately for me, Dada Adesegun, the number three in my Primary school gang, had died . He died from a habit that we both cultivated in primary school which he failed to check like I did to mine.
It was very likely that I probably would not have overcome mine if I had delayed my decision to relocate from my province of adolescent rascality immediately after the death of Iya Ibadan, my great- grandmother who sacrificed her old age peace to exorcize the spirit of turbulence that was in control of my existence. It was not only Dada that died. Our gang leader in primary school, Bidemi Pedro, the one that I was his deputy , was also dead. He died the same way Dada died. He too failed to curb the excesses of delinquency that eventually developed into ineradicable malignancy that later took his inelegant life. The two of them failed to understand the metamorphosis of crime and the sociology of our penal system. Things that we were doing in primary or secondary school that people overlooked as youthful exuberance snowballed into something else at a stage. This is the stage of social complications where most youths always get it wrong. I almost did if not that my great -grandmother used her death to wake me up from the “slip of death”.
I must confess that I was somehow uncomfortable with my Maiduguri posting at a time that Idiagbon was looking for me. There was nothing I could do about it. I went to the market to buy all the things I would be taking to camp. I was always looking left, right, centre, back and front anytime I moved around. It was a difficult period for me. Few days to my departure to Maiduguri, the unexpected happened: Babangida had toppled the government of Buhari/Idiagbon. This was on 27 August 1985. There was jubilation all over the streets of Lagos in particular and Nigeria in general. I was so happy that I kept changing dancing styles. I moved from Fuji garbage to Fuji cabbage; from ijo yoyo to Fuji ropopo, from synchro system to synchro Phillips: from e kìlọ fún ọmọdé tó Mọ bó lówó ota. Only those who knew about my face off with Idiagbon would appreciate the amalgamation of the Nigerian music that I had packaged to celebrate the fall of my two dreaded enemies -Buhari and Idiagbon. Now, I can move freely and walk around in peace without switching my neck here and there.
At the local Airport in Ikeja, while going through the necessary formalities , I met some Unife graduates who were also traveling to Maiduguri for their national service. We got talking knowing that we were going on the same flight. It was nice meeting four of them at the airport. It was my first time of meeting Bunmi Fajebe, Toyin Akinwale, Wole Oladiyun. I knew the fourth one, Bola Òbí very well in Ife. Hmmmmm, coping with another Bola from Ife demanded a high degree of “dipromantic assiduity”.
To be continued
