Anthills of the Savannah

“Why do you think you have that feeling?”

“Why do I have it? well let’s put it this way. I have watched my colleague in question closely in the last year or so and my impression is that he does not show any joy, any enthusiasm in matters concerning this government in general and Your Excellency in particular. I was saying precisely that to him only a few minutes ago. ‘Why do you go about with this tight face all the time?’ I said. ‘Cheer up my friend.’ But he can’t cheer up. Why? The reason is not far to seek. Two of you were after all class-mates at Lord Lugard College. He looks back to those days and sees you as the boy next door. He cannot understand how this same boy with whom he played all the boyish pranks, how he can today become this

nation’s Man of Destiny. You know, Your Excellency it was the same trouble Jesus had to face with his people. Those who knew him and knew his background were saying: ‘Is it not the same fellow who was born in a goat shed because his father had no money to pay for a chalet?’…”

He was going on and on, but His Excellency’s mind was now divided between what he was saying and the echoes of old President Ngongo’s advice: “Your greatest risk is your boyhood friends, those who grew up with you in your village. Keep them at arm’s length and you will live long.” The wise old tortoise!

A new respect for his Attorney-General was now reflected on the mirror of his face where the shrewd lawyer saw and caught its beams in both hands. This giant iroko, he thought to himself, is not scaled every day, so I must get all the firewood it can yield me now while I am atop.

“As for those like me, Your Excellency, poor dullards who went to bush grammar schools, we know our place, we know those better than ourselves when we see them. We have no problem worshipping a man like you. Honestly I don’t. You went to Lord Lugard College where half of your teachers were Englishmen. Do you know, the nearest white men I saw in my school were an Indian and two Pakistanis. Do you know, Your Excellency, that I was never taught by a real white man until I went to read law at Exeter in my old age as it were. I was thirty-one. You can’t imagine, Your Excellency how bush people like me were. During my first year in Britain I saw Welsh Rarebit on the menu one fine day and I rubbed my hands together and my mouth began to water because I thought I was going to eat real bush-meat from the forests of Wales!”

His Excellency was now definitely amused and smiling. The Attorney-General was dazzled by his own performance and success. Who would have believed His Excellency would listen this long to a man talking about himself and even smile at his jokes?

“I say this, Your Excellency, to show that a man of my background has no problem whatsoever worshipping a man like you. And in all fairness to my colleague—and I want to be scrupulously fair to him—he does have a problem; he wants to know why you and not him should be His Excellency. I don’t mean he has said so in so many words to me but it is in his mind. I am not a mind reader but I am sure it is there, Your Excellency…”

“Thank you. You have no evidence, only a rather interesting theory. I appreciate it. You know I don’t as a rule go about snooping for this kind of information, or setting my commissioners to spy on each other. I can assure you there is a very special reason, reason of state, why I put that question to you. And I appreciate your candid answer. In a way I am relieved and very happy that there is no evidence whatsoever. Now, you must forget we ever talked about it. As I said before, not a word about this to any living soul, you und’stand?”

“Perfectly, Your Excellency. You can count on my absolute discretion.”

“Discretion? No, Mr. Attorney-General, you mean your absolute silence. If a word of this ever gets around, it’s either from me or from you. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely, Your Excellency.”

“Good day.”

3

CHRIS CALLED IKEM on the telephone and asked him to send a photographer to the Reception Room of the Presidential Palace to cover a goodwill delegation from Abazon.

“That’s a new one. A goodwill delegation from Abazon! A most likely story! What shall we hear next?”

“And for God’s sake let me see the copy before it goes in.”

“And why, if one may have the temerity to put such a question to the Honourable Commissioner?”

“You’ve just said it. Because I am the Honourable Commissioner for Information. That’s why.”

“Well that’s not good enough, Mr. Commissioner for Information. Not good enough for me. You seem to be forgetting something, namely that it is my name and address which is printed at the bottom of page sixteen of the Gazette and not that of any fucking, excuse my language, any fucking Commissioner. It’s me who’ll be locked up by Major Samsonite if the need arises, not you. It’s my funeral…”

“Quite irrelevant, Ikem. You ought to know that. We have gone over this matter a million times now if we’ve gone over it once; and I’m getting quite sick and tired of repeating it. I am doing so now for the last time, the very last time. Chapter Fourteen section six of the Newspaper Amendment Decree gives the Honourable Commissioner general and specific powers over what is printed in the Gazette. You know that well. I will now invoke the letter of that law and send you my instruction in writing. Expect it in the next half-hour. It is clear that’s how you want it, so I will oblige.”

He hung up and called in his new secretary. As she pulled up her chair and turned to a clean page of her dictation pad the telephone came alive and she made to answer it. But the Commissioner got to it before her and placed his hand on it, and while it continued to ring he said to her: “I am not in, no matter who it is.” Then he took his hand off and she picked up the receiver.

It was Ikem and he was shouting. Chris could hear his strangled disembodied voice quite clearly because the secretary held the handset a little way from her ear to save her ear-drum.

“He is not on seat, sir.”

“Don’t lie to me! He bloody well must be on seat because he just now hung up on me.”

“Well, sir, this is not the only telephone in the city, is it? He could have called you from his home or from the Presidential Palace or anywhere.”

Chris was smiling a mirthless smile. An angry man is always a stupid man. Make a thorough fool of him, my dear girl, he thought. Ikem’s concessionary silence was long and heavy. Then without another word he clanged the phone down so heavily that the girl jumped.

“Full marks, dear girl,” said Chris without a smile now. “And my apologies for the behaviour of my graceless friends.”

“Who was it?”

“Didn’t you know? That was the Editor of the Gazette.”