Anthills of the Savannah (20 page)

“I no tell you that before say this kind car wey you get de make person shame. To day he no get battery, tomorrow him tyre burst. I done talk say if you no want bring money for buy better car why you no take one good Peugeot from office as others de do and take one driver make he de drive am for you. Your own work different than other people? No be the same government work? Me I no understand am-o.”

T
HE 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 dispos-
sessed 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!

H
IS
E
XCELLENCY
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.”

H
IS
E
XCELLENCY
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.”