Kaduna the Golgotha

The voice. It was very clear. It came drifting towards me, as always, wrapped in a subtle blaze of soft, luminous blue light. It was a mild, alluring sound as of a woodwind instrument.

I had barely concluded my early morning contemplation when I heard a mild voice say:

“It is time to move on. There are still many challenges ahead; so much yet to learn, and unlearn”.   

The voice was emphatic. Very gentle. Quite soothing. Pleasant and reassuring as ever. It was a voice I grew up with.

With joyful expectation, I went about the day’s business. But the eagerly awaited tutorial from the Inner Master, which I thought was what the inner voice conveyed to me, did not come. However, I was about closing for the day when Tarki, a very brilliant and intelligent officer who was my Staff Officer (Operations) came into my office.

“Sir, there is a staff transfer list from the National Headquarters. You may like to go through it before you close for the day.” He said.

I took the sheet of paper from his outstretched hands and glanced through it. My name was the first in the list which indicated my transfer to Kaduna. Then I understood the message which the Inner Master gave me earlier in the day. Within two days, I prepared my handover note, obtained my clearance and left for Kaduna.

Hardly had I arrived Kaduna than the Sharia riots began. For a few days, there were series of demonstrations, from Kaduna State Christians on one hand and Moslems on the other, against and for the Kaduna State Government’s introduction of the Moslem Sharia law into the state, quickly mutated into a full blown war between Christians and Moslems. The previous day, Christians had peacefully marched through Ahmadu Bello Way, protesting against the adoption of any religious laws in Kaduna State. No unpleasant incidences were reported. However, a subsequent demonstration by Moslem fundamentalists the next day, turned violent. As usual, the first victims were some hapless Igbo who unconcernedly were going about their businesses, unaware of the unfolding situation. They were brutally clubbed to death.  The Igbo became the hunted again as always.

Quickly, faster than sound, word went round. The Igbo community rallied round, and promptly put up a stout resistance against the aggressors.

As soon as the orgy of blood-letting and arson was over, I took my annual leave and headed home to the South-East, into the waiting, warm embrace of my anxious wife and children.

Not long after I returned and resumed work, the war re-ensued. It was as if the second phase of the Kaduna Sharia War was waiting for my return to Kaduna. The first phase took a much more devastating toll on material property than on human lives. But, the reverse was the case during the second phase. While the crisis raged, it was reported that so many dead bodies littered the corners and streets of Kaduna. A virtual divide was created in Kaduna. Moslems migrated to the north of Kaduna while Christians moved in droves to southern Kaduna.

 “If going to Yola was like going to Nineveh, Kaduna was akin to Golgotha.” I made a silent lament.

“The One who led you through Nineveh, will also see you through Golgotha.” The voice, borne by the gentle wind hummed its assurance to me.

   

A Deal Gone Awry

Arag, the Zonal Accountant, came to see me in my office. He was not his usual high-spirited self. He quietly sneaked in, looking depressed.

“Arag, why are you looking so distraught?” I asked, after returning his compliments.

“Now, sit down, relax, and tell me what it is that has put you out of sorts.”

Without hesitation, he opened up to me on the source of his distress. He began his tale. His voice was laced with a tint of nervousness.

 “Some time ago in March, the Zonal Commanding Officer, BaGo, told me that a cheque of One hundred million Naira was being expected from the Nigerian Ports Authority to the Zonal Command. He also directed me to pay the cheque specifically into the FRSC Kaduna Zone, Public Enlightenment Account.

“However, when eventually the cheque arrived, I observed that the payee on the cheque leaf was only addressed as Federal Road safety Commission. The implication, is that such a cheque should only be paid into the bank account of the Commission’s national headquarters. I brought this to the attention of the Zonal Commanding Officer. But he pressured me to pay the cheque into the Zonal Public enlightenment Account.”

“So, what did you do next?” I asked him.

“I told him I would only pay in the cheque if he signs the payment teller. He agreed, and signed the teller. So I paid in the cheque.”

“Are you saying that BaGo really signed the payment teller?” I probed, eyeing him doubtfully.

“He did, sir. And I have photocopies of the signed teller.” His response was immediate. His sad, pleading eyes staring into mine.

Reaching into the notebook in his left hand, he flipped out a photo copy of the teller. I scrutinized it. BaGo’s unmistakeable signature was appended there.

“Are the field commands authorized to operate Public Enlightenment Accounts?” I enquired further. He uttered an incoherent answer.

“I am aware that such an account is not permitted. Invariably, only both of you were privy to that account.” I told him. He was silent.   

“You mean that all these things happened nearly six months ago?” I inquired of him.

“Yes sir.” He responded.

“And why are you telling me this story just now?”

“Sorry sir. I didn’t know that…” he stuttered.

“You didn’t know what? If your deal with BaGo pulled through, would you have let me know what transpired? You would have quietly pocketed your quarter of a hundred million Naira or thereabouts and keep pretending that nothing happened.” I said, unperturbed. “It is now that your deal has hit the rocks that you have remembered me.”

“Oga Chike, please help me out.” Argu just kept mumbling silently.

“You took a deliberate action. In secret, you ate something that has afflicted you with a purging disorder. Now you are asking me to come clean up your mess for you. Am I a ‘night-soil-man’? Don’t you know that freedom goes with responsibility? One is free to act, but must be bold to face the consequences of his/her actions.” I responded, looking straight into his eyes; searching out his mind. His eyes, still pleading, stared back at me.

“Oga, it was BaGo that directed me to pay in the cheque. I only acted as directed by my ZCO. Now they are saying I acted alone. They want to dismiss me from service with ignominy. I plead that you summon a zonal meeting in which I would relate all that transpired to all staff. ”

“I will intervene, but I am doing so only because I am convinced you didn’t act alone. But I am sure you are complicit in the deal. You and BaGo are together in that dirty deal. I will only try and make them not make you the scapegoat. Both of you should bear the responsibility for your actions. And from experience, I know that they are doing this to you because of where you come from and who you are.

“However, I will not be the one to summon a meeting of all staff without the ZCO. That could be interpreted as mutiny.” I said to him in a blunt manner. 

“How then…what then will I do, sir?” Argu asked, his mind in a turmoil.

“Go and apologize to BaGo.”

“Apologize? I don’t quite get it, sir.” Argu responded. He sounded saddened and despondent.

“Yes, you will go and apologize to him for two days. Tell him that you are sorry for the role you played in the botched deal. Massage his ego. Tell him that you are, and will always remain his boy…that you have no other person who could intervene on your behalf except him.  And that you know he can wield his influence and bring the investigation to a permanent halt. Come tell me how he received your apology each day. After the second day, I will tell you what next to do.”

After Argu’s second day of apology to BaGo, he came to me. He was in a somewhat cheerful mood this time around.

“Argu, you look happier today.” I said. What news do you bring?

“Oga Chike, BaGo says he has totally forgiven me. He also promised that he would bring his weight to bear on the matter, and ‘kill’ it once and for all.” Argu said. A sheepish grin pasted ill on his face.

“BaGo made such promises to you?” I asked. “And, you believe he would deliver on them?”

“I suppose he will. I don’t think he would want the scandal to linger.” Argu slurred a response.

“I thought you said the investigation from Abuja put the whole blame on you? What did BaGo say about that? I asked.

“He seemed not to be paying attention. He said nothing.” Argu’s response was casual.

“I bet you, BaGo was very much aware. He has always been involved in the plot to scapegoat you. Otherwise, why did he bar you access to the gathering where he addressed every other personnel of the command, and announced that you planned and executed the failed deal, without his knowledge? Can’t you see through the façade?” I affirmed.

“Any way, never mind. You will go back to BaGo. Tell him that you want to tender your apology to him before all the officers and men, in appreciation of his kind gesture to bring the case to a close. Impress it on him to summon all the staff so you can, in their presence, render your public apology to him.” I said.

Just as I expected, Argu later came back to report that BaGo had fixed a date for the proposed public apology. It was slated to be made during an emergency Zonal Staff meeting that would hold in the next two days.

“Now, go and get prepared with your documented evidences, like the photocopies of the payment teller which BaGo signed. That day, after BaGo’s brief welcome address, I will tell the staff why they have been assembled, and immediately invite you to tell them all that transpired.  You must go straight to the point, be brief and incisive. This is your opportunity to tell all of us your own side of the story.” I emphasized.

As the scheduled emergency meeting progressed, when Argu rose to speak, instead of tendering an apology, he was quick to pour out what and how things really transpired between him and BaGo. BaGo became so infuriated and almost resorted to physical violence. He therefore unceremoniously dismissed the meeting. However, before he did, Argu had spilled the whole beans.

“Chike, this is all your idea!” BaGo roared in a fit of rage, shooting a dangerous dart of a look, hard and long, at me. The countenance of his face was that of a hideous monster. His dark face darkened—darker than pitch.

From then, I knew that BaGo would do everything he could, to have me out of the way. But I could not be perturbed even a wee bit.

To be continued...

Copyright: Chike Nwaka.