Glory at Independence
October
1st, 2010 was that day of my life: I was caught in the ambiance of an expectant
crowd, sandwiched by ambitious Journalists, and enveloped in the voices of the
crowd. I did not know which was louder: the shouts from the youths present, the
music interlude from inside the hall, or the coarse voice of the Orderly who
stood next to me shouting: “give way!
Give way please!!” Such moments are moments when people stand tall, heads
held high, and with calm voices, reply the hailing crowd. Such moments,
defining moments. For me, it wasn't. July 1994 held those strings that pulled my
life’s defining moment.
If
I hadn’t lived beyond 1994, I certainly would not have understood why in
Sheraton, the Journalists barely allowed me a thoroughfare. “How do you feel today sir?”; “Did you ever imagine attaining this height
at such young age?”; “Sir, what significance
does 1994 hold in your life?” Too many questions; yet, my words were
reserved for the audience inside the hall. Comfortably so, my Secretary kept
pace with the words: No Comment Please! No
Comment Please!! Then, few steps before the hall’s entrance, I betrayed my
Secretary. Or I would say, my legs did.
My
right leg had already found a comfy balance on the foot mat at the entrance; I
felt the wool on the mat, it was very soft. It was like the smooth curvy hair
of a three-day old child when greased with Pears baby oil – the kind every
mother wants to carefully comb and pattern. It was at that point that my left
leg refused to join its counterpart. I became still when from behind, I heard: “Sir, people think you overcame death in 1994
for a day like this. Can this assertion be considered true?” The voice was
tiny, and familiar – like the melodious voices birds sing with at the dawn of a
breezy morning.
For
a moment, I wanted to ignore the question and keep walking. But again, my eyes
failed me. As I turned, my sight was drawn first to the mild pink colour
comfortably resting on her thick lips, giving a perfect blend to her fair and
spotless chubby face. Her hair was stylishly packed behind, separating two or
three woven strands, I think, dangling in front. Strands that reminded me of
perfectly boiled sticks of Dangote spaghetti. The kind you want to consume with
a chopstick. Holding a microphone on the right, she sharply moved aside the
woven strands using her left hand. She rephrased her question: “Sir, do you agree with public opinion that
your survival of 1994 is for a day like this?” Gazing at the curvy shape revealed
by her fitted carton-brown suit, and the perfect match of her camisole and white
leather wrist watch, my lips gave way for words. “Some children die at birth no doubt, and some, shortly after. But yes, I
survived 1994 for a day like this.” I said and walked into the hall. The
words on her name tag read Adewumi Tosin.
I
took my sit inside the hall. It was the biggest in Sheraton Hotel, so I was told.
Perhaps its being big as I considered wasn’t in its length and breadth but in
the calibre of people who sat there in. On the head table where I sat, was the
US’ Secretary of State, Executive Governors of Osun, Ogun, Oyo, and Lagos
states. It was Nigeria at fifty, our Golden Jubilee of Independence celebration
and I was invited to receive an award. I got the award, and reacted more befitting. The award has the inscriptions: Nigeria’s Youngest Peace Ambassador written in dove colour. This for
me, was indeed glorious. A glory I claimed following my incessant campaign
against political violence, my indelible support for victim-children of
political violence, and my best-selling published Prose – Unshattered Dreams which sold over 200 million copies in Africa,
and was already shortlisted for the O’Connor Award for Literature. It was a memoir from 1994, dedicated
to the memory of Arike. Of course, “bi
alagbede ba n lu irin loju kan soso, oju amin lo n wa ni be - if a blacksmith hammers on a particular
point, he wants a distinguishing mark there.” I was making the mark already. For
a moment up on that stage, memories of 1993/4 came alive; I remembered
Professor Adekunle Coker and his proverbial life style.
