Monday Column by Emmanuel Yawe
royawe@yahoo.com | 08024565402
Some years back, I was driving to Katsina for an appointment with my big uncle, the former Inspector General of Police and present Chairman of Arewa Consultative Forum (ACF), Alhaji Ibrahim Coomassie. Cruising at my maximum speed of 120 km/hr, we suddenly heard a deafening explosion.
My car then swerved dangerously right and then left. I managed to steer it to safety and me and my brother Hussaini Mongonu who was travelling with me came down to start chatting happily in Hausa about our lucky escape from death. A villager who was attracted by the loud noise rushed to us. His reaction to what he found was almost humorous.
He immediately started shouting, calling on all to come and see an Ibo man who could speak Hausa.
Why did the man believe I was an Ibo man? The time of our journey was the dry season when the weather conditions up north are extremely hot.
I was in jeans and a free, obey the wind tee shirt. My style of dress convinced my friend that I am an Ibo man. His repeated calls to his neighbours were clear and unmistakable. He was not calling on them to come and bail us out of our predicament. Nothing would have convinced him that I am not an Ibo man. His surprise was that I could speak fluent Hausa.
I did not blame him because years back in 1982, I was a victim of deceptive looks. As a young reporter, I was assigned by my editors at New Nigerian to cover the Maitasine uprisings in Bulumkutu quarters of Maiduguri. Apart from mere reporting, I was given specific written instructions on a piece of paper which I still keep till date. I had covered the first Maitatsine uprising in Kano in 1980 and with the recurrence in 1982, there was a need to get to the roots of the problem. I was to interview religious and traditional rulers to get such information.
The Shehu was number one on my agenda. I remember the bright Sunday afternoon I went to his Palace with my friend and colleague Mr. Agia Iyornumbe with the Daily Times then. There were no security guards at the entrance, a situation we found rather strange. We decided to walk in, maybe the men were inside. But there was nobody in the expansive reception area. We walked pass it into the inner chambers of the Palace. We were about to pass a parlor and were about to enter another room when a voice called at our back. Two men, casually dressed were having a conversation on the sofa at our back.
I remember the one who spoke to us. He wore a brown caftan and a hand woven cap made popular by Bukar Zarna. He spoke in English, asking who we were and if he could be of assistance to us. I told him we were journalists looking for the Shehu of Borno to interview him.
“I am the Shehu of Borno,”he replied.
I took a closer look at the speaker’s face and discovered that he was telling the truth. It was his face. It was the Shehu himself. I glanced at my friend and then at our casual dresses. Then an explosion hit my head like a bomb, sending down shrapnel that shattered my heart and unsettled my bowels. I wanted to runaway but my feet failed me.
I knew from history books that the Shehu of Borno was a revered religious and traditional ruler. He was so much held in awe by his people that the best things in life were reserved for him. It was for instance an actionable offence for his subject to use an umbrella no matter how scorching the sunshine was or how heavy the rains were pouring. Only the Shehu could use an umbrella. It took the daring politician, Alhaji ibrahim Waziri to challenge that law and get it changed. For the two of us to be wandering in his palace like that was like courting trouble, big trouble.
In clear and measured tones, the Shehu told us he was willing to be interviewed. But as we could see, he was discussing with somebody now.
He gave us an appointment for the following day. We were to contact his private secretary. We met the man the following day at his office and he told us the Shehu had already briefed him about our coming.
Every time I remember this incidence, I hold myself in self pity about how crude and uncivilized we were. What was so urgent about the interview we wanted that we had to invade the Shehu’s privacy. The way we were going round the palace, we would have ended in his bedroom or that of his wife in a short time. And for all our misconduct, the man did not chastise us. That Shehu was a civilized man.
Why am I telling you all these stale stories? Last week I had an encounter with a man which made me reflect on my adventures as a reporter and a writer. I have met the good, the bad and the ugly.
The Chairman of INEC, Prof Jega was on the firing line last week over the creation of additional polling units. People were calling for his removal. I attended a press conference where he responded to his critics and I was convinced that he was right and his critics wrong. I said this much in my column of last week calling on Nigerians to give him a chance since he was doing a good job.
Immediately the Peoples Daily of last Monday hit the streets, I received a text message from 08091715177 accusing me of hating the North West and trying to bring disharmony between the Christians and Muslims of the Region. I was taken aback. Where in my article did I express hatred for the people of the North West? If anything, I called on Nigerians to support Jega, a prominent son of the North West. I pointed this out to the anonymous defender of North West and asked him to identify himself if he is a man of honour and courage. He never did.
This man simply saw my article, saw my name and GSM number and without reading the article concluded that an Emmanuel will not write in defence of a Muslim from the North West. So he jumped on me. These are the kind of people that kidnap and behead journalists. I would have forgotten about him but for the fact that he threatened me with death. I carried out my little research and found out that the line he used was registered by Abdulssalam. So, my dear friend from the North West; go to the hospital and ask for a psychiatrist to examine your head. You also have a sick mind. I am a journalist and as much as I would have liked to help you, I cannot.
