Anthills of the Savannah

ELEVEN

The sense of exhilaration which had descended on Ikem after the taxi-drivers' visit stayed with him all afternoon and into the night, a night in which Elewa, touched by the flame of this novel excitement opened to him new reserves of tenderness exceptional even for her. Back now from driving her home he brewed himself a strong cup of black coffee to ward off physical languor from the precincts of his charged and alert mind and sat back to think. In such situations much of his thinking came in strong, even exaggerated, images.

He saw himself as an explorer who has just cleared a cluster of obstacles in an arduous expedition to earn as a result the conviction, more by intuition perhaps than logic, that although the final goal of his search still lies hidden beyond more adventures and dangers, the puzzles just unravelled point unambiguously to inevitable success.

The drivers' visit was probably not the cause but only the occasion of this sense of thrill and expectancy — a culmination perhaps of several related events beginning with the happenings of last Friday. Or perhaps it merely triggered an awareness going far, far back in his subconscious mind waiting like a dormant seed in the dry season soil for the green-fingered magician, the first rain.

In any event he had always had the necessity in a vague but insistent way, had always felt a yearning without very clear definition, to connect his essence with earth and earth's people. The problem for him had never been whether it should be done but how to do it with integrity.

At some point he had assumed, quite naively, that public affairs so-called might provide the handle he needed. But his participation in these affairs had yielded him nothing but disenchantment and a final realization of the incongruity of the very term 'public' as applied to those affairs shrouded as they are in the mist of unreality and floating above and away from the lives and concerns of ninety-nine percent of the population. Public affairs! They are nothing but the closed transactions of soldiers-turned-politicians, with their cohorts in business and the bureaucracy. Ikem could not even guarantee now that his own limited participation had not been fatally flawed. His most poignant editorials such as his condemnation of the human blood sport called public execution, his general dissatisfaction with government policies; his quarrels and arguments with Chris; everything now began to take on the vaporous haze of a mirage.

Of course, he admitted bitterly, we always take the precaution of invoking the people's name in whatever we do. But do we not at the same time make sure of the people's absence, knowing that if they were to appear in person their scarecrow presence confronting our pious invocations would render our words too obscene even for sensibilities as robust as ours?

The prime failure of this government began also to take on a clearer meaning for him. It can't be the massive corruption though its scale and pervasiveness are truly intolerable; it isn't the subservience to foreign manipulation, degrading as it is; it isn't even this second-class, hand-me-down capitalism, ludicrous and doomed; nor is it the damnable shooting of striking railway-workers and demonstrating students and the destruction and banning thereafter of independent unions and cooperatives. It is the failure of our rulers to re-establish vital inner links with the poor and dispossessed of this country, with the bruised heart that throbs painfully at the core of the nation's being.

Naive romantics would have us believe that this heart at the core is in perfect health. How could it be? Sapped by regimes of parasites, ignorant of so many basic things though it does know some others; crippled above all by this perverse kindliness towards oppression conducted with panache! How could it be in perfect health? Impossible! But despite its many flaws this can be said for it that it does possess an artless integrity, a stubborn sense of community which can enable Elewa to establish so spontaneously with the driver a teasing affectionateness beyond the powers of Ikem.

How then, he asked himself, how can he partake of this source of stability and social meaning? Not (again as the romantics would have him do) by pretending to be like the poor; by wearing specially and expensively aged and patched jeans in mockery of their tatters. Why should he add to the insults they already bear? How then?

What about renouncing my own experience, needs and knowledge? But could I? And should I? I could renounce needs perhaps, but experience and knowledge, how? There seems no way I can become like the poor except by faking. What I know, I know for good or ill. So for good or ill I shall remain myself; but with this deliberate readiness now to help, and be helped. Like those complex, multivalent atoms in Biochemistry books I have arms that reach out in all directions — a helping hand, a hand signalling for help. With one I shall touch the earth and leave another free to wave to the skies.

Aha! Come to think of it, that might explain the insistence of the oppressed that the oppressor must not be allowed to camouflage his appearance or confuse the poor by stealing and masquerading in their clothes. Perhaps it is the demand of that primitive integrity of the earth… Or, who knows, it might also be something less innocent (for the earth does have its streak of peasant cunning) — an insistence that your badge of privilege must never leave your breast, nor your coat of many colours your back… so that… on the wrathful day of reckoning… you will be as conspicuous as a peacock!

His excellency was pacing agitatedly like a caged tiger in the confined space between his desk and the far wall, his hands held tensely behind him, right fist gripped in left palm. He motioned Chris to sit and continued to pace for what seemed like a full minute more before he spoke:

'At last! But God knows I did not ask for it. It's you, my oldest friends, you and Ikem who swore for reasons best known to you to force a show-down. What more can I say except: So be it… While investigations continue into Ikem's link with the Abazon agitators he cannot continue to edit the National Gazette. But I must still do things properly and constitutionally no matter the provocation. That's why I have sent for you. I want you as Commissioner for Information to issue a formal letter suspending him with immediate effect.'

'Hold it, Your Excellency. I don't understand. What exactly is he supposed to have done?'

'Are you serious? You really don't know?'

'I am afraid no.'

'Well, let's not waste time by getting into who knows what, now… Intelligence reports have established that he was involved in planning the recent march on this Palace by agitators claiming to come from Abazon. In fact they were found on careful investigation to be mostly motor-park touts, drug pushers and other criminal elements right here in Bassa.'

'I am sorry but I can't believe that.'

'In this job Chris, beliefs are not my primary concern. I am no bishop. My concern is the security of this state. You should know that; you are Commissioner for Information. Anyhow, let me assure you there is incontrovertible evidence that Ikem was in contact with these fellows in the quadrangle right here and later drove to a hotel in North Bassa to hold a secret meeting with them. How's that? Well, you seem to be in a sceptical mood; what will you say then if I tell you that the security agents shadowing him actually arrested him for a minor traffic offence outside the hotel as he was about to leave? Just to make sure no alibis are invented… Good, isn't it, to know that some organs of government still perform effectively in this country.'

'Can I speak with him?'

'How do you mean? Have you not been speaking with him? Oh, I think I see what you mean. He isn't in custody or anything of the sort. Not yet. So I certainly think you should see him. But first of all I want him suspended from duty and barred completely from the premises of the Gazette. Is that clear?'

'No it is not. I am sorry Your Excellency but I will not write a letter suspending the Editor of the National Gazette simply because some zealous security officer has come up with a story…'

'I see I have been wasting my breath…'

'If they think they have a case against him let them send him a query themselves or suspend him if they have no patience for such bureaucratic niceties as queries. I don't see how I come into it.'

'Listen. The way I see it this matter is not likely to end with mere suspension for conspiring with thugs to invade the Presidential Palace. That may be only the merest tip of the iceberg. There is some indication that Ikem might have colluded with these same people to sabotage the presidency referendum two years ago. I don't mind telling you that your own role in that fiasco was never cleared up satisfactorily either and may well come up for further investigation.'

'What on earth are you talking about…?'

'So I sincerely hope — and pray — that you will not make your own position… you know… more difficult at this stage. It would be most unwise I can assure you. If I were in your shoes I would go and issue the letter as instructed and await further developments.'

'And if I refuse?'

'I shouldn't if I were you.'

'Well, Your Excellency, for once I am turning you down. I will not carry out this instruction and I hereby tender my resignation.'

'Resignation! Ha ha ha ha ha. Where do you think you are? Westminster or Washington DC? Come on! This is a military government in a backward West African State called Kangan…'

'We wouldn't be so backward if we weren't so bent on remaining so…'

'Some day you will have a chance to change all that when you become the boss. Right now this boss here won't accept resignations unless of course he has taken the trouble himself to ask for them. Right? This may sound strange to you I know because up until now this same boss has allowed you and others to call the shots. Not any more, Chris. I will be doing the calling from now on and I intend to call quite a few before I am done. Now is that clear? I want that letter to be in Ikem's hands by close of work today, without fail. You may go now.'

Chris left without another word but unshaken in his defiance. He made for his office, intending to begin right away the removal of his private papers and odds and ends to his residence until he could vacate there as well. As soon as he stepped into his office, however, he was handed the telephone by a flustered secretary. His Excellency on the line.

'Yes, Chris. I have reconsidered this matter. You do have a point in not wishing to write the suspension letter yourself. I wanted to do you the honour of appearing to be still in charge of your ministry. But never mind. We will take it from here. Meanwhile the SRC Director will be chatting with you on a number of leads he has developed on the bungling of the referendum and other matters. For God's sake give him maximum cooperation.'

His excellency was living up to his threat to do things constitutionally even in the face of all the provocations. The letter to Ikem which was hand-delivered to his flat by a police despatch-rider that afternoon had been signed by a certain Chairman, Board of Directors of Kangan Newspapers Corporation, publishers of the National Gazette. A certain chairman because the board and the corporation in question had been moribund for the past three years or more. Ikem had never met the said Chairman or seen a single letter signed by him since he took up the editorship. Incredible!

He carried the letter like a trophy to Chris's house after he got a message that Chris wanted to see him urgently. Beatrice was already there when he arrived. She had something like a puzzled look on her face when she greeted him. Perhaps she had expected him to come in bristling with combativeness instead of which he seemed so strangely composed, even serene. Was it the look of a prospective martyr who has successfully trained his soul's gaze to look past the blurred impending ordeal to the sharply focussed crown of glory far beyond. She noted but said nothing about this new person and the effect it seemed already to be having on his host, for it was truly extraordinary the way these two sat down quietly and began to trade details of their separate and related predicaments like a pair of hypochondriacs reminiscing on their sweet injuries.

Without realizing it, Beatrice had responded by striking her characteristic pose of detachment — sitting somewhat stiff and erect, her arms folded firmly across her breasts. But instead of staring fixedly away into median space to complete the attitude she made a concession to her indestructible interest by constantly swivelling her glance from one face to the other as the two men carried on their surprising duet. At last her loaded silence struck Chris.

'BB, you are saying nothing.'

'What do you want me to say?'

'BB said all that needed to be said when it might have been useful.'

'But we were too busy with our private diversionary war.'

'Don't be so hard on us; we were not alone in that. All the wars ever fought in this country were, are, diversionary. So why not the little running battles we staged now and again to keep our sanity. You seem to doubt my claim? All right, you tell me one thing we… this government… any of us did in the last three years… or for that matter in the previous nine years of civilian administration that wasn't altogether diversionary.'

'Well the diversion has ended,' said Beatrice.

'Has it? I'm not so sure. This letter here and all this new theatre of the absurd that Sam is directing to get rid of me and to intimidate Chris, what's it in aid of? Diversion, pure and simple. Even the danger I see looming ahead when the play gets out of hand, what has any of this to do with the life and the concerns and the reality of ninety-nine percent of the people of Kangan? Nothing whatsoever.'

'Well, I still think that if you and Chris had listened to me and stopped your running battles as you call them early enough he would not now be trying to disgrace you.'

'Disgrace? I'm surprised at you, BB. I didn't know you could be so incredibly sanguine. Disgrace? The fellow wants to kill us! He is mad, I tell you. His acting has got into his head, finally.'

'Well, I think BB is closer to the mark. As usual. I agree the fellow is completely deluded and can therefore be very dangerous. But his interest at this point is limited to making us look small, not murder. What he told me on the telephone this morning was very significant I think. He was giving me a chance, he said, to still appear as the Commissioner for Information.'

'Did he say that? And what does that mean?'

'Well, appearing is very important to him. Not appearing is, of course, the worst kind of disgrace. And all this is tied up in his mind with his failed referendum for life president. The pain still rankles. I don't think I told this to either of you at the time. But after the failure of the referendum he had complained bitterly to Professor Okong that I had not played my part as Commissioner for Information to ensure the success of the exercise and that you had seen fit to abandon your editorial chair at that crucial moment and take your annual leave.'

'Professor Okong told you?'

'Yes, but I then confronted him. At first he pretended to make light of it but I wouldn't let go. So in the end he revealed his bitterness. He said that he was deeply wounded that we, his oldest friends, found it possible to abandon him and allow him to be disgraced. Those were his very words.'

'Did he really say that?'

'I reminded him that he never really wanted to be Life President. That made him truly, hopping mad. I didn't, he said, and you know I didn't but the moment it was decided upon you had a clear responsibility, you and Ikem, to see it succeed. You chose not to. I never before heard so much bitter emotion in his voice.'

'And you didn't mention this to Ikem? I don't ask about myself, who am I? But to Ikem, no? You never cease to surprise me, Chris. Nothing in this world can make your heart race!'

'That was more than two years ago. I didn't think then it was all that important. In fact I never thought of it in this light until you used the word disgrace just now.'

'It doesn't speak too highly of your power of analysis or insight which is what I have always told you.'

'Please Ikem, please, let's not slip back into our routine running battles, yet…'

'No no, BB. I am serious. If Chris had reported this to me at the time I should have insisted that we both resign there and then and we would not be in this mess today. You see what I mean?'

'Perhaps. But we lost that chance. What I want to know is what Chris proposes to do now and what he recommends you do.'

'Simple. I shall draft my letter of resignation tonight and have it delivered to him tomorrow morning. For Ikem I strongly, most strongly, urge a period of silence until…'

'Rubbish, Chris, rubbish! The very worst prescription for a suspended editor is silence. That's what your proprietor wants. Because he makes reams of paper available to you he believes he owns your voice. So when he feels like it he withdraws the paper to show you how silent you can be without his help. You musn't let him win'

'So are you going to set up a new paper of your own then?'

'Don't be ridiculous. If you can't write you can surely get up and talk. You haven't lost your vocal chords.'

'Where do you intend to talk? In a corner of Gelegele market?'

'Oh, Chris!'

'Never mind. All I say is careful! That's all. Or Kabisa. Though I haven't heard him use that lately.'

'Not when it has filtered down to motor mechanics,' said Beatrice.

'That's right.'

'Ikem, I think Chris is right. You've got to lie low for the next couple of weeks, so we can plan our moves properly. Chris is right about that though I think you are closer to the mark about the danger.'

'Well I wasn't exactly going to create Hyde Park Corner in Gelegele in spite of Chris's insinuations. But people are going to ask me questions, and I shall bloody well answer. I'm not going to crawl into a hole…'

A taxi-cab seemed to be having some difficulty with the police sentry. Chris who had a view of the gate from where he sat, got up, moved to the entrance door, clapped his hands to attract the sentry's attention and signalled to him to let whoever it was come in. But the taxi-driver had already lost his patience, it appeared, and was heatedly discharging his passenger right there.

The passenger turned out to be Elewa. She paid and collected her change in a state of flutter clearly discernible from where Chris stood and rushed into the house breathless and deeply agitated. Ignoring welcoming greetings from everybody she flung herself at Ikem.

'Wetin I de hear, Ikem? Na true say dem done sack you?'

Ikem nodded his head as he pressed her to himself. She burst into tears and violent crying and in that brief instant exploded the atmosphere in the room. All three were embarrassed by this intrusive emotion, but more especially the men, and each put in a clumsy word or two to console the girl and restore the original calm.

'Oh come on, Elewa. I am only suspended not sacked… Who told you anyway?'

That did it. She stopped crying almost as dramatically as she had begun. But her voice, when she spoke, was broken and heavy with grief.

'Everybody de talk am for our yard. Even my mama wey de sick hear am small for six o'clock news from our neighbour him radio. But me I go chemist for buy medicine for am.'

'Never mind, my dear. You see I still de alive and well.'

'I thank God for that.'

'How mama be today?'

'E de better small… You say no be sack them sack you na… weting you call am?'

'Na suspend they suspend me.'

'Weting be suspend?… I beg, BB weting be suspend?'

'My sister, make you no worry yourself. As we de alive so, na that one better pass all… I no know say your mama no well. Sorry. You done take am go hospital?'

'Hospital? Who get money for hospital? And even if you find money, the wahala wey de there… My sister, na chemist we small people de go.'

It was Elewa's Keen ears which picked up the radio news signal from some distant set turned too high probably in someone's Boys' Quarters in the neighbourhood, and her voice which screamed 'News!' Chris sprang up and dashed to his television set, switching it on and checking his wristwatch at the same time. Elewa was right. The eight o'clock national news was about to begin. They all sat back in grim-faced silence to watch.

Ikem's suspension was the first headline. Something approaching an amused look crept into his features for the brief duration of his limelight — a straightforward announcement without frills. Then all of a sudden he was stung as if by a scorpion and he screamed and leapt to his feet.

'Oh no!' he shouted. 'They can't do that! Chris did you hear that? And you say I should lie low. Lie low and let these cannibals lay their dirty hands on a holy man of the earth. Switch that damn thing off!' He was already making for the television set when Chris's voice telling him to get a hold of himself told him also that this was not his television set, nor this his house. He went back and sank into his seat, his left thumbnail between his teeth. Then he got up again:

'Elewa, let's go!'

What had caused all this agitation had been a subsidiary item tagged on to Ikem's news because of its relative unimportance and prefaced accordingly with the formula: In another development…

Yes, in another development, according to this smug newscaster dispensing national anguish in carefully measured milligrammes, six leaders from Abazon who were involved in a recent illegal march on the Presidential Palace without police permit as required by decree had been arrested. And (in the same development) the office of the Director of SRC had informed the Crime Correspondent of KTV that the six men who had made useful statements were being held in BMSP.