Olubolade was so concerned about the future of Bayelsa State that he stayed back in Yenagoa for two weeks after he had been formally relieved of his appointment by General Abdulsalami Abubakar. That was a painful time for Olubolade. It was as if an era had come to an end.
He knew he would not be Military Administrator forever, but he didn’t know it would be so short. One year at the helm was just too short a tenure. If he had all of four years the way some governors do in civilian times, he would have surpassed his own expectations. He would have surprised himself.
But see what death had done. The world woke up one morning and heard that General Sani Abacha was dead. It sounded like a big joke. How can the fearsome General die? He didn’t die during the war. He didn’t die at the battle front. Why now? What would the future hold? What’s the meaning of all this? Which way Nigeria?
The anxiety was widespread, gathering steam, wave after wave, as the story was confirmed to be true. The Head of State was no more. There was no doubt that Olubolade would have stayed longer in office, and his legacy might have grown beyond what it was, if Abacha were alive and sitting easy at Aso Rock.
The captain found himself looking at Creek Haven with a new eye. He would miss the exclusive preserve of the place, the serenity in the air, the solemn bird songs at dawn, the fresh breeze from Ekoli Creek, and the sheer ambience of Government House that contributed to making it a haven for quiet contemplation. Some great ideas had come to him here and there, while he took a casual stroll from one end of Creek Haven to the other in the dead of night, wondering about his projects, and praying for God’s grace to bring them to completion.
He found himself driving around Yenagoa alone, or with his Aide De Camp, going from site to site. His only wish was that his successor, Colonel Edor Obi, would have the presence of mind to finish what he had started. There was ample need for continuity in governance, and Olubolade could only hope for the best.
Thankfully, he spent valuable time with Obi, showing him the books, taking him round the projects, and getting him to become familiar with the vision that inspired all these projects, and to see the imperative of completing each project to specification.
O, how he wished he could stay for one more year. But already public attention was going off him. Everyone had seen a new point of focus. The klieglights had switched direction, and he was left in the shadows. For two weeks, he waited to hear an affirmative proclamation from Obi with regard to the Olubolade projects.
To encourage that process, he had left N60 million in the coffers of the state. Surely, Obi could go far with that, as a take-off grant, if nothing else. Olubolade did not inherit that much from Habu Daura. In fact, he started on a clean slate altogether. He could jolly well have taken a chunk of that sum and declared only the balance, but that was not in his character.
After two weeks, the Navy Captain came face to face with the fact that it was time to leave. The government was no longer in his hands. The name on the lips of everyone with every passing day, the name to be heard in the major news bulletins about Bayelsa State, was Obi, not Olubolade. It was time to leave. Even his principal officers had switched allegiance. No Commissioner was coming to him with files for approval, and his authority in Creek Haven was quickly waning.
On the morning he left Yenagoa, he was overwhelmed with emotion. Only one of his principal staff, Joseph Akedesuo, the Chief of Protocol, accompanied him to the airport, without a convoy, without sirens. Not to worry. He had done his best for the state.
He had given of himself to the new state selflessly, and only time could tell if his legacies would endure. Many years later, he would feel justified. The people were grateful after all. Every time he returned to Yenagoa, he was received with open welcome and celebration. More than anything else, he felt gratified that his signature projects were still intact everywhere he turned.
The park he relocated had been built up by a successive government. The housing estates he built were still occupied by civil servants. The office structures along Road Safety Road were still in use. The fire service station was still the way he planned it. The cultural centre held its central place in the state capital, playing host to a variety of events and public shows, even if it had been amended by the Alamieyeseigha government. The state secretariat he built was useful for many years before civil servants moved over to a new one.
More than anything else, the sports complex which gulped the bulk of resources in his heydays as Military Administrator was still playing its unique role as the largest recreation facility in the state. The project was so dear to him that he resolved to mark his 70th birthday anniversary in Yenagoa, and the sports complex was a ready venue for the event. He could only give all thanks and glory to God for everything.
