I used to love Ibrahim Badamosi Babangida (IBB). He is a complex character whose exploits oscillate between thesis and antithesis. He wants to be humble but at the same time he is churlish. He wants to be humane but as a soldier, he is an assumptive killer. He is a fun to be with.
He drops jokes at his leisure and just for his pleasure. He loves to have friends but only those he can sacrifice for power. He is such a charming personage. But behind that charm is a Cimex lectularius. He walks like someone craving for people’s sympathy yet he is not the victim. He wants to be compassionate but what he can do for power contrasts with this desire. On Saturday, November 30, 1991,that was about two weeks before his final relocation to Abuja, we were having the environmental sanitation exercise in Dodan Barracks.
As usual, he was inspecting the premises to see if the exercise was going on well. By that time, we had cleaned the Press centre and were standing in front of it . He was going back to his residence and was passing through the Press centre. He had no plan to come inside the centre. He had never stepped inside the centre before then. He had a meager entourage. There was no “Double Chief” with him.
As he was passing, he waved at us and instead of waving back at him, like many of my colleagues did, I said jokingly: “Mr President, you have not inspected our Centre. You have not even visited the Centre before Sir.” Inside Dodan Barracks, you couldn’t beat IBB in popularity contest. He replied: “Dapo, is that an invitation or an accusation?” “Invitation Sir”, and we all laughed. That’s IBB for you. He knew and called some of us by our first names. He detoured and entered the Centre with only three of his PBGs. There was nothing to inspect really, I did it so that some of us could take personal pictures with him. Some of us had spent three to four years in Dodan Barracks but no personal pictures with our Principal. It was not compulsory but if there was opportunity to do so, why not? We did. Well, I did.
The two of us took pictures in our casual dresses . He was wearing ankara, I was wearing “Adire”. As he was leaving, Okon whispered to me: ” Na only you fit do this kind thing Oga Dapo.” I smiled. I understood what he meant. The picture was generously used by Daily Times in one of its editions in July 1992 when the paper was celebrating 7 Years of IBB.
On 4 June, 1993, I got an American visa, courtesy of the Federal Government, to travel to US to do a documentary on “The Babangida Years”. The contract for the job was between my two friends, Demola Seriki and Kunle Makinde who is married to Adenike Adebayo, daughter of Major General Adeyinka Adebayo, one of IBB’s godfathers in the Army. We were five jolly good fellows in the group – Demola Seriki, Musiliu Obanikoro, Niyi Ademola, Kunle Makinde and Dapo Thomas.
In this deal, only the three of us were involved. Kunle was working in our embassy in New York. I was not personally involved in the deal. I was only contacted to write the script. I had read a lot about IBB. I had spoken to so many intellectuals to interrogate the Man IBB. I had gathered substantial materials on him. I was given the job by Demola Seriki because he knew that I was close to some of IBB’s aides including his ADC, U.K. Bello.
That was why I screamed when I was told he had been killed in the Dodan Barracks battle during Orkar’s coup. He was to help me secure some private interviews with IBB and Maryam. I was the main anchor of the documentary. The little closeness I had with both IBB and Maryam was made possible by U.K. Bello, Greg Obong-Oshotse and Sam Okolo who were Maryam’s press secretaries in that order and, at different times. In addition, Demola knew my position as the Secretary of the Press Corps and my influence within Dodan Barracks. I didn’t take my familiarity with IBB for granted. I showed him love and respect.
I wanted to be sure that I loved the man I was writing his documentary. The truth was that I should have been disaccredited when I left Newbreed in May 1990 but I was not because this project had been on and Double Chief was aware of it. I was more or less accredited for the project.
Everything was set for the trip. Kunle was expecting Demola and I in New York for the final writing. But I had to wait to cover the June 12 election. It was part of the package. We had to incorporate the report of the election into the story. That was all I was waiting for. On the day of the election, I was all over the town. I went round , wrote my reports, recorded some scenes and packaged all my facts.
Then the unexpected happened. An ugly dimension crept into the national discourse via a disruptive conversation called “Annulment”. Evil took control of a good man. A man whose time had come for global honour decided to plunge himself into national horror through image erosion and reputation diminution.
I wanted to package his image for global ascendancy so that he could be a better and more refined UN Ambassador than Olusegun Obasanjo. IBB had the clout. He had the charisma. He had the swagger. He had the visibility. He had the fame. He knew the game. But he blew the clout and acted like a clown by submitting to his clan of power mongers like a king without a crown. He allowed himself to be hounded by scoundrels of power who held him hostage and threatened to convoke the wrath of gunpower on the nation if Basorun M.K.O. Abiola, was officially announced the winner of the election. Playing the role of an “unwilling collaborator” in a well scripted drama that was professionally rehearsed, IBB annulled a very peaceful election on June 23, 1993.
Immediately, his fame plummeted tragically. His name commanded no more awe having failed to protect the One that won the election. There was nothing good to write again about a man who floundered at a time courage was required. I was pained because I lost the money which could have helped my story but my deepest sorry was for IBB who lost his own moment of glory. He ruined his fame. He lost his clout. He lost the game. Those at home did not want to see his face ever again. Those abroad did not want him to step on their soil. He became an orphan in the mansion of power . He lost his Maradonic aura as he dribbled himself into premature decrepit. He was crippled by the metaphor of greed and the effusion of ego. The endgame for IBB was a sad stalemate.
As for me, I had to do a reflection of my life. The year I993 had been a very complicated year for me. All the adversities I was to experience in a lifetime decided to do their sabbatical leaves at the same time, in the same year, in my own house. First, my relationship with Daily Times came to an abrupt end. Secondly, my car was stolen when I went to watch a match between Stationery Stores Football Club and NEPA Football Club at Onikan Stadium, Lagos. It was a Toyota Carina. Despite reporting the case at the Onikan Police Station, I still decided to do the investigation myself. I ran after every Toyota Carina in Lagos State in the morning, in the afternoon and even in the night. I was almost lynched one day while inspecting a Carina that was parked in another man’s compound.
The Carina and my Carina had the same exact colour. They beat my team and they stole my car. Double Wáhala for “deady body”. Thirdly, Babangida ruined business for me with the annulment. The contract was more than 10 million dollars. I was to receive 10,000 dollars before travelling out. We were still negotiating when the deal was killed by IBB. About ten of us were involved in the project. I had not received a dime before the annulment was announced. It was very painful. When all my “jama jama” between 1993 and 1995 did not bring anything positive, I came up with some crazy ideas.
Let me start from here. In April 1993, I was appointed a member of the Lagos State Football Association with the following people: Victor Odofin-Bello (Chairman), Alhaji A.K Ashorobi, Abiodun Salu, Haruna Ilerika, Ishola Lasisi, Dr. F. F. A. Machado, Dr.(Mrs) P.B.Ikulayo, Dr. L.A . Farri, Ishola Ayodele, Musiliu Obanikoro, Dapo Thomas, Adeniyi Ademola, T.O.Oladeji. Others were Moroof Oluwa, Layeni Alimi, Gbenga Obasa, Akin Ladigbolu, T.A. Tella, Alábá Oduntan. It was not a salary job. It was prestigious but there was no money in it.
Then, this: Some of my junior colleagues in journalism, namely Bunmi Aborisade, Dele Ajaja, Uche Kanu, Tunji Omoseebi got together with some politicians like Dr. Chukwuemeka Ezeife, Remi Okurinboye, Senator Bola Tinubu, Dr. Fredrick Faseun, Tunde Okunade to establish a newspaper named JUNE 12 . It was established in July 1993 to keep the spirit of the June 12 struggle alive. I was approached to be a columnist alongside notable columnists like Marshal Kebby and Frank Kuboye. Again, there was no salary attached. I accepted. So, between 1993 and 1995, I was comprehensively doing charity ventures wearing ties to Board meetings and collecting no salary at the end of the month.
Yet, family and friends were looking at me like a big man. No doubt, there is fame in journalism. But what is the place of fame in a life battered by penury? I started reading Marshal Kebby since 1974 when I was still in secondary school. I used to think he was a very rich man. It was not until I got to Daily Times in 1991 that I got to know him physically and personally. The man had no money to show for his fame. He had no car after several years of writing beautiful columns in a big organization like Daily Times.
His, was the exact template of a penurious fame. When we now met as colleagues in JUNE 12, I engaged him in true life conversations regularly and I saw myself in the trajectory and tragedy of his history. That was how I came up with the idea of going into private business. As at 1993, I had become all that one could become in journalism. I rose through the ranks as a reporter from 1979 to become a veteran editor with all manner of funny prefixes like assistant editor, associate editor, acting editor, “active” editor, editor at large, substantive editor, “substantial ” editor, roving editor, “supervisory” editor etc.
All these fascinating titles had no economic value. That is journalism for you. It is a titular profession with asphyxiating remunerations. Sometimes, when your affluent subordinates are hailing you “My editor”, you won’t even know if it is a mockery or a sincere greeting. As we normally joked then: “Na title person go chop?”
As a former bus conductor and a former garage boy, I decided to go into transport business. It was a familiar terrain. All I needed to do was to inject some decency into my operational modalities. My academic attainments notwithstanding, I had to resurrect my vocal trademark. In Nigeria, vocalization is part of transport business. You need to have a rough voice to succeed in the business. You can’t use sweet voice to call bus stops. A deep bass voice is what you need to be a garage guru. I chose to give it a try believing that my experience would work for me.
I bought a Mazda bus with my personal money. It was just 50,000 thousand Naira. I borrowed almost one hundred thousand naira to refurbish it. It worked. But only for a period. The full business started on Monday, 1 April 1996. On the day of the interview, the first driver I employed came with a very big Bible, King James Version, just to give me the impression that he was a “Man of GOD”. He even told me he was coming to my house from a Bible class. I swallowed his lie because he looked believable. He acted the role of a “Man of GOD” very well. I employed him. For two weeks, he delivered the amount (1000 Naira) agreed per day.
The third week, I think on a Monday too, he failed to adhere to the 7pm closing time. He gave me some excuses for the two hours extra that he spent. He came back at 9pm. But he didn’t give me any extra money. That same week, that was on a Saturday, he returned by 10pm. I was about scolding him when the “Man of GOD” changed voice for me. His usual thin voice rose shockingly high in remonstration. I couldn’t say anything. I only opened my mouth. All the while, I didn’t see the bus. He threw the key at me and told me in Yoruba: “E gba kòkòrò moto yin. E lo gbe moto yin ni under bridge Akowonjo (take the key to your bus and go and remove your bus at Akowonjo “under bridge”).
That was how he left. I had to go and pick my bus where he parked it. Meanwhile, I warned him never to take my vehicle beyond Ikeja-Ogba area. What he was doing at Akowonjo, he didn’t tell me when he was leaving. He spoiled the bus and abandoned it there. The repairs cost me about 30,000 Naira. The second driver did not come with any Bible on the day of his own interview but the crucifix he wore on his neck was as big as the fist of “fury”. He got the job but he didn’t last. He spent only five days. He was told to deliver 1000 Naira. He complied on his first day at work. The second day, he dropped 900 Naira with explanation.
The third day, he dropped 800 Naira with excuses. The fourth day, he dropped 500 Naira without any explanation or excuse. The fifth day, despite working for the full day, he dropped only the key and left. My residual activism in garage gangsterism and my fugitive years with Darasingh in Mushin had vanished with my academic transformation. I thought my experience as a former tout would be helpful in coping with transport business in contemporary times but these new entrants in the business have redefined and redesigned transport business in a way that the owner of the bus is merely working for the driver of the bus. When a bus driver starts thinking that he is doing the bus owner a favour, that business is “dead on arrival” for the owner of the bus.
After few days of critical thinking and intense study of the accounts, I discovered that I was owing about 220,000 Naira which I borrowed from family and friends. On 1 May, 1996, I decided to drive the bus myself. I knew I had wealthy friends who could settle the debts for me but that’s not me. I don’t make friends for purpose of charity. I make friends to explore the integrative potency of the diversity in humanity.
Again, I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t a business failure. I told myself that since I borrowed the money to fix the vehicle, I would have to use the vehicle itself to settle all its debts. I drove the bus, plying Ikeja to Ọgbà for one year, carrying passengers up and down and settling the debts one after the other when it was convenient to do so. I took part in few garage protests but I was never part of any union. Some of my friends were always coming around to keep my company. My garage guys were always happy when my friends came to visit me at the Ikeja park.
The one whose company they enjoyed most was Femi Fálànà whose office was at the Glass House, Ikeja under bridge. Femi would stroll down to the park to check me. From there, he would start discussing with my colleagues in the garage as a way of enlightening them on national issues. He was a star to them . They all loved him . They saw him as a very humble guy who was there for his friend in his moments of trial. There was also Kunle Adepitan (Per Se).
He too was always there for me. Though he lived around Ikeja bus stop, he was always at the park with me anytime I was on the queue waiting to load passengers. Most times, he and Femi would join me and a big debate would start mostly on the June 12 debacle. The three of us were friends at the University of Ife. So, we had very good moments parleying with the dregs of the society.
My garage friends always enjoyed my elite friends. The last one is Taju Olagesin. He was my classmate in Comprehensive High School, Ayetoro. He too always came to visit me at the Ikeja Park. He was the same guy who accommodated me in Ayetoro when I was banished from the school and the town by Baba Ibikunle. Generally, we always had very stimulating “elite-peasant” sessions. We learned a lot from them and they also learned so much from us.
There was also Dele Momodu. He didn’t have to come to the Park. We were neighbours in Otigba. He was living off Medical Road. We could talk from morning till night. We were that close. Somehow, the transport business was fun but definitely, not a good experience. I had few brushes with “Yellow Fever” and VIO but at the end of it all, I was able to clear all my debts. One guy I missed most when I left was Tony Akporehema. He was a graduate driver-owner like me. He did not let me feel odd in the midst of these oddities. The two of us really operated like graduates. We would start work at exactly 6am and closed at 6pm or 7pm .
I had a Honda Sports car with which I cruised town after closing from the garage. Exactly one year of doing the business, I gave the vehicle to my mechanic, Wale Adebo to continue from where I stopped. He was to deliver only 800 Naira per day having been of tremendous assistance to me on several occasions.
Immediately I dropped the bus, I went into public relations consultancy. This was in 1997. I was only few weeks in the business when my friend, Musiliu Obanikoro, who had been elected Chairman of Lagos Island Local Government on the platform of Grassroots Democratic Movement (GDM) appointed me his Special Assistant. It was a fantastic job. I was given a free hand to do my job. As friends, we flowed very well . The Local Government won several awards. Koro himself became a household name. I mobilized all my media friends to celebrate M.O and his achievements. We were both enjoying these glorious moments when I gave him the news that I was going back to.
*To be continued*
