I dreamt that I was in Kaiama, my wife and my lawyer by my side, and we attended the formal opening ceremony of the Ijaw National Academy. At the start of this dream, I was dressed in a red round neck T-shirt branded with the CNN logo, and I was wearing milky gabardine trousers that flapped in the wind.
I noticed that throughout the ride from Yenagoa to Kaiama, I was not comfortable in my casual wear to an occasion that was bound to attract dignitaries from all around the country. Come to think of it, Dr Yakubu Gowon, former Head of State, was to commission the Academy. The day before, he had cut the tape into the iconic new structure that now represents the forte of Creek Haven.
The crowd at that ceremony was colourful, and the images I saw upon the satellite clouds of space confirmed that much. Princes and princesses were present. Lords and ladies were in attendance. Kings and queens made out time to welcome the former Nigerian leader, and here was I going to meet the man in my sporting kit.
The entrance to the road leading to the Academy was partially blocked by a panoply of security vehicles and combat ready soldiers and police men. There was sufficient space for us to drive through, but only up to a point. Our driver was directed to find a parking point.
On my part, I was overjoyed to see a signpost to the left, designating the access road to the new Academy as Kay Williamson Drive. This was a befitting tribute, perhaps the most wholesome accolade given to the memory of the first white citizen of Bayelsa who took up residence in Kaiama, and insisted that her remains be rested in Kaiama and nowhere else.
By all accounts, Kay Williamson died in Brazil. In her will, she made an express demand that her body should be cremated. And that’s what happened. The ashes of what used to be the foremost linguist in all of Africa were conveyed all the way to Nigeria, and to Kaiama where they were formally laid to rest with a solemn service of songs.
If you doubt this story I’m telling you, ask Professor Ebiegberi Alagoa. Ask Professor Abiye Derefaka. These are men whom Professor Kay Williamson saw as her brothers, alongside Dr Gabriel Okara. She related with them as soul mates throughout her days at the University of Port Harcourt.
Kay Williamson was the first white human being ever to teach me in a classroom, and only God knows what impression that made on me. Everybody else was making noise in that class, as far as I was concerned. I wanted to hear only what she had to say. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to learn everything she could possibly teach me.
I remember the day I first walked into her office at the quadrangle of the Faculty of Humanities, University of Port Harcourt. I had no reason whatsoever to see her. I just wanted to set eyes on her at close quarters, and ask for directions to the next office. She turned out to be far more friendly than I expected, and she was ready to be of help.
If I begin to talk about Kay Williamson now, you will forget to ask me what else happened in my dream the day I found myself in Kaiama along with the newly elected Chairman of the Association of Nigerian Authors, Bayelsa State chapter, Mrs Bina Nengi-Ilagha, and the Vice Chairman, Barrister Murphy Biriabebe.
As I said, I became uncomfortable in my gear, and I was wondering how to change into my Spiderman outfit. I looked in the boot of the car and saw that my famous red masquerade gown with the long tail-wind was right there in a bag, complete with a pink inner shirt, a red polka-dotted tie, and the red top hat atop it all. I did not waste time ducking to the side of a stationary bus and, when I stepped back on to Kay Williamson Drive, I had transformed into a royal prince of the Niger Delta, with a tell-tale smile upon my lips.
This was a dream, remember? Anything can happen in dreams. I walked up the road, flanked by my lawyer, my wife having walked ahead with His Royal Highness Christian Otobotekere, paramount ruler of Tombia clan. I received smiles and greetings from everyone who walked by, and stopped to shake as many hands as were extended to me. At a point, I ran into a quartet of journalists who insisted that they must pose for a photograph with Pope Pen. I didn’t get to see that picture because it was a dream. But I remember seeing the faces of Aniekan Umanah, Willie Etim, Tongha Fuibode and Union Oyadongha.
Right ahead were canopies blocking the avenue, people milling about like ants around a great cube of sugar. For a moment, I thought militants were insisting on seeing Governor Seriake Dickson. But lo and behold, the occasion itself was taking place along the road. I couldn’t make nor head nor tail of it. Why would the former Head of State be invited to commission a new school along the road? Was there no appropriate hall to host the event inside the premises?
But the occasion was already underway and there was nothing I could do to change the arrangements. Under the canopy was an impressive array of royal hats upon dignitaries whose credentials saturated the creeks of the Niger Delta. I had no way of knowing who was who. If I could get a seat, to begin with, perhaps I would be able to gauge my surroundings and identify known faces who might have shown up in my dream. In the end, I found myself sitting between Duate Iyabi, Commissioner for Finance, and Senator Inatimi Rufus-Spiff.
The entire scenario reminded me of a long time ago when I used to be in government. The retinue of protocol officers, all looking dapper in their Italian suits and Ray Ban sun shades, was enough to dispel any air of uncertainty surrounding the success of the event. Up front, I could see Governor Seriake Dickson, smiling, his eyes focused on Dr Yakubu Gowon who stood happily behind a silver lectern, dressed in a deep blue long shirt and resplendent studs.
He was saying something remarkably patriotic, and that much was evident from his gestures, but his voice was strained and not much of his utterances could get to me. The faulty public address system did not help matters. Its croaky, hoarse notes distracted from the grandeur of the occasion, but that did not put off Gowon from letting the audience know how much he lauded the idea of an Ijaw National Academy, and how much he loved the land and people of Bayelsa.
I was relieved to know that this was all a rehearsal to the real event inside the gates of the Academy, beside which was a long-span flex banner advertising another event built for the following day, Friday July 14, in bold print as follows: A Day With The Nobel Laureate & Other Literary Icons. Right there on parade were the familiar faces of Professor Wole Soyinka, Professor John Pepper Clark-Bekederemo, Dr Gabriel Okara and Professor Ebiegberi Alagoa.
Did I tell you that I caught up with His Highness Christian Otobotekere, the elderly poet and paramount ruler of Tombia clan? Walking beside him, we looked like a royal tag team. Nobody could see us and pretend that they didn’t see us. We did not have to force our way forward. Our way opened for us to go forward.
A black jeep paused in its strides, and the door on the left opened for Otobotekere to enter. Since the old man was finding it difficult to climb in, I lifted him up and heaved him in. There was still space enough for one, so I climbed into the back seat beside him and locked the door.
When I raised my face, I could not believe who I saw seated at the right flank of the vehicle. At the proverbial owner’s corner of the jeep sat Chief Edwin Clark. It was the first time I saw his face up close, in the flesh. And not only that, Your Excellency, I actually heard him speak.
He asked Otobotekere how Pa Gabriel Okara was doing. Otobotekere pointed out with a respectful gesture that the great poet was sitting right there in the front seat of the vehicle, munching upon some bygone metaphors. I didn’t look to see who was driving the vehicle. For all you know, it might have been Alamieyeseigha.
