Am I an elite?

KWENU! Our culture, our future

Am I an elite?

Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo

New York, USA

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Am I an elite?

I ask this question because everywhere I go people tell me it is we, the elite, like Biblical Serpent, that spoilt the pristine Garden of Eden called Nigeria. How could I be an elite and still do not have a channel on Youtube Comedy central?

I seriously think this is an opportunity for me to clear up a few things. I have so many certificates, macrosoft, D++, LPM, CPR -- etc., but only one degree. When newspapers and websites write my name and put beside it MA, Lynn, those do not stand for degrees. MA stands for Massachusetts and Lynn is the name of the city where I lived. Believe me, I have been asked several times by several educated people to tell them in what field I got my MA and what degree is this Lynn - a moment Andy Uba would have seized perfectly and put to good use. I want to clear this up because I don’t want to be in Maurice Iwu’s shoes.

You see, to tell you how crazy my mind works, I am obsessed with meeting Maurice Iwu. I just want to shake his hand and introduce myself, “My name is Mr. Peter Biya, the registrar of the University of Cameroon. I am here to collect your outstanding tuitions.” I’d like to see the look on his face.

Truly, the only thing I ever wanted to be was a singer. When Simon Cowell of my time told me to forget it, I shifted. I wanted to be a bohemian poet. Then I was told that it would require smoking a pipe and wearing shorts. Never mind that it would make me a target of mad men like Abacha. That was how I lost interest in being anything.

A lot of people are losing interest in things that used to fascinate them. Indian writer, Arundhati Roy, recently announced that she was returning to fiction writing after a decade of activism and non-fiction writing.

I was interested in Arundhati’s reason because I am gradually abandoning realism and fantasy commentary on the web and newspaper pages for fiction. Mine was since Atiku Abubakar revealed to that fiction writer how he became a billionaire from a N30,000 naira loan. And to cover his own butt, Obasanjo announced how he too became a billionaire by borrowing 2 billion naira to save his chicken farm. How he got a bank with 1.5 billion capital base to lend him 2 billion naira in 1999, five good years before Soludo’s solution, is still beyond me.

To resolve mysteries like this, I usually seek the help of Governor Nnamani of Enugu State, a reputable public intellectual and also a certified elite. But of recent, he has been busy shifting his own billions around and running from Ribadu. Not shifting his billions is exactly what put the 20 billion naira Rivers’ man, Rotimi Amaechi, in trouble. He may now miss the promotion from Speaker of the state house of assembly to Governor.

Anyway, from what I know about Nnamani, I was sure he wasn’t the kind of man who would own 172 houses. The Nnamani I know would either own 365 houses, one for each day of the year, or restrict himself to the typical -- one in London, one in Switzerland, one in Potomac, one in Lagos, one in Canada, one in South Africa, one in Abuja, and one in Gambia. I considered and strongly rejected the suggestion that the number 172 stood for the number of times Nnamani slapped shege out of the eyes of his wife. I even threw away those who said it stood for the number of those big-grammar-high-octane I-want-to-be-president-but-I-do-not-mind-being-a-Senator speeches he made across Nigeria.

This is the reason Arundhati gave for her decision to end activism and the writing of non-fiction in favor of writing novels:

“The argument has been made, the battle remains to be fought – and that requires a different set of skills. I also feel very imprisoned by facts, by having to get it right. I don’t want to play these games of statistics any more, I have done that. I don’t want to be imprisoned by that, or by the morality that is expected of activists. I have never been that pristine person, that role model.”

Isn’t that cute? And, by the way, isn’t she cute? Or am I confusing her with the other Indian lady, asampete nwaanyi oma, Shilpa Shetty? Well, Indians are all cute, aren’t they? On that point, me and I-will-die-for-Babangida, Alex Akinyele, are in agreement.

Anyway, that reason of hers makes you wish that someone like Orji Uzor Kalu has read “The God of Small Things.” Or should he read “The God of Small Voices?” I say this because I do feel, seriously, that the man is hearing voices. Or how do you explain his decision to visit the White House to confer with Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy while Obasanjo was busy sneaking his name on Ribadu’s List? Forget what haters are saying that he only spoke to the gateman, took a picture with life-sized cardboard picture of George Bush and turned back. Which was all that his paper, the Sun, needed to splash him on the front page.

Did you notice that when Iwu took him off the list of contaminated politicians, he immediately announced that he would not probe Obasanjo? But when his name re-emerged on the pages of the gazette, that dreadful Nigerian black book, he quickly announced that he would give Obasanjo war if Obasanjo desired war.

I am all for Orji Kalu’s war. Only that before the war is over, he may call a World Press Conference, climb the podium to apologize. Though at night, I parade as a psychologist, I have no degree is psychology. But I can tell you one thing for sure – the problem with hearing voices is that you never know which voice is crazy.

Talking of elites and public intellectuals, imagine this: In 2003 at Jomo Kenyetta Airport in Nairobi, Rev. Fr. Mathew Kukah was denied a transit visa he needed to spend the night in a hotel in Kenya before proceeding to South Africa. Mind you, the hotel was booked for him by Kenyan Airlines. The Kenyans denied him a transit visa because he had a Nigerian passport. When a white co-traveler asked him if he got the visa, Rev. Kuku nodded yes because he felt ashamed to admit that he had been denied visa.

So our good Reverend lied. He risked confession and penance, opipia, just to cover his shame. Why don’t they teach this in Sunday school? Maybe one or two of our politicians will learn to be so ashamed that they will lie for their ideals. For instance, Atiku Abubakar could just nod when asked if it is true he has just been elected president of the Commonwealth of Potomac. Imagine the wahala that will remove from our political ring when he says goodbye to his ambition to be president.

Still on shame, grandpa Charlie Boy is showing his private parts. Even ex-NBA star Tim Hardaway is kicking and screaming, “Maybe twenty years ago, not now, man.”

Someone told me that if I had to ask, then I am not. So again, I ask you, am I an elite?

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Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo is the author of Children of a Retired God. To order the book, visit Amazon.com, or irokoproductions.com. You can also order Children of A Retired God at any bookstore near you.