New People Rice Farms 3 & 4
Draft
CHAPTER 3
Apparently
Suma’s uncle had come to the office about midday while Suma was out inspecting
the various plantations controlled by him. He had come with news about Suma’s mother. The
old lady had been ailing for more than two years. The traditional medicine men
in the village had exhausted all their incantation and had given her up. The
mysterious illness of which she had fallen victim was beyond them. Some time
ago, Alhaji Ando had arranged for her to be seen by a specialist in CHAPTER 3
Even though Suma, as de facto general manager of the plantations, now had resources that extended far beyond his monthly salary, his mother’s medical bills which increased as her chances of recovery diminished, was a considerable burden. In the last weeks he had sent hardly any money home. Perhaps he had already given up all hope concerning the old lady whose complaints he recognized as a lower abdominal cancer. But in giving her up he felt the keenest grief as if his mother already lay dead in her bed. It occurred to him that long before the illness began, he had substituted occasional gift of money for love and companionship he owed his mother. Now that pain and forebodings of death had put her beyond human contact, Suma saw that he had long ceased to be the dutiful son he wanted to be. As a student in
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On
arrival in Aluju plantations, Suma Benu had established friendship with Ndagi
Labaran, the rice mill supervisor who had worked in numerous operations in the
enterprise. It was a splendid world in
which the spirits of the two gentlemen moved freely. The friendship between
Suma and Ndagi was nourished by this kind of companionship.
“Tell
me again what this place was like fifteen years ago,” Suma asked his friend “Why do you ask ?” Labaran was also curious
“You said that the Europeans lived in caravans and started work at dawn.”
“And we the Nigerian staff worked round the clock starting from 5.00 in the morning until late at night. Nobody grumbled. The labourers even liked it. You won’t believe it, but we spent t months fixing the Mill. One British engineer, Mr. Reeve just went on bringing numerous machine components, and persisted on adjusting and fixing them until the day when he got it right. The labourers were paid according to piecework. They all wanted to finish their piece the same day even if it meant working right through the night. But now we have culture polluted trade unions. So many people report sick and they hang around, portraying malingering attitude.”
“Ndagi, my brother, do you realize that these rice plantations are finished? Do you realize that we will go bankrupt and close down? Do you realize that we are producing at about 23 per cent capacity and selling less than half of our production.
“That is not my concern.”
“Look at this slum. Every roof is leaking. The walls need washing. Your chairs are in ruins and one of these days the springs will allow your buttocks through. How long have you been waiting to get a house in the Karaworo Reserve?”
As these thoughts swirled round in Suma’s head, Ima flitted into the room. At six years of age, she had already lost two milk teeth with the result that she lisped and refused to smile. But she was all the same light and winged like an angel. With her mother’s slim and bridgeless nose and her dark dewy eyes, she was an exceptionally attractive child. Between her and her father an Oedipus type of bond existed. She related to Suma as a companion and she talked to him openly as she would talk to her friend. Ima approached her father frowning because she had a grievance to speak of, and smiling too because she had put her mother’s lip stick on.
“Come and sit here, my child, “Suma said and continued “Adamu is a very good driver. We have never had an accident with him. You remember the time when the Kukoyi’s had an accident and their mother died and Bimbo, your friend, had a broken arm? We have never had an accident like that. Adamu is a very careful driver. You should thank God that he is our driver. I wish I can do my work as well as Adamu does his own work.”
As soon as her father launched into his frustrating grown-up talk, Ima thrust her frail little body against his and tried shutting his mouth with her hands. The lecture simply meant that she was not going to get what she wanted.
“Adamu is a bad man. Adam is a bad dirty man. He lies and lies and lies. I do not like him; and he smells.” The little girl repeated. “Daddy, Adamu did not come for me in time today. I stood in the sun waiting all afternoon after all my school friends had gone home,” she looked steadily at her father to see whether the enormity of her ordeal was registering. She weighed the right of a field manager’s daughter to punish persons in a lower social position who offended her?”
“I am sorry, my baby. I will speak to him.”
“I want you to sack him. He is a bad man. He is a very bad man. A bad man tells lies all the time.”
Suma looked at the child. Her clear eyes, bright as a bird’s, sparkled with changing light. Her slim body was as light as a flower; and her words as straight as a bird’s song.
“Where did she get all this self-assertion from, and why did it not darken her innocent gaze? Where did she learn the lesson of vindictiveness from? The lipstick she wore in jest, the expensive flowered dress she had picked up from the wardrobe when there was no adult to stop her, and the gold studs on her ears: did these things speak?’’
The conversation was cut short by the arrival of Hajiya Rakiya. Swaddled as usual in the many folds of an expensive green silk wrap above a black ankle - length gown, her lovely face peeped out like a baby’s wrapped in a shawl. Her perfume filled the room. For a time, Hajiya and Suma lingered on courtesies of welcome because they had not really expressed warmth toward each other for some time. Suma who had expected that Saratu would be coming with her step mother became increasingly apprehensive that the visit would be stormy. But as Hajiya pushed aside the dried meat which Ima brought for her, she spoke very casually and on an unusual topic and left the house.
Suma followed Hajiya outside his bungalow but returned to the lounge immediately. He looked round the sitting room with its low windows boxed in mahogany and covered with green mosquito proofing and the white ceiling boards. It was as if he wanted to take an inventory of what he had achieved in the years he had lived in that house. He had certainly been comfortable. Plump cushions and elaborate lace finishing lined the back of the deep armchairs. Poufs in Arabic leather died black and gold lay scattered with sunken middles where Ima and Dauda had been riding them as durbar horses. The children came in quick succession, Ima, a charming light skinned girl had been a bundle of joy. Always playful, with her toys, Ima, at four years, also ate her meals readily. The little brother, Dauda, two years old, had been given his maternal uncle’s name. The boy was precocious and jumped at objects of interest at first sight. He was quick at recognizing people who had previously played with him thereby sustaining the confidence to be appreciated.
Suma Benu examined the walls of his lounge, decorated in cheerful off yellow colour. At attractive positions on the walls, visitors could stare with profound interest at mounted photographs of the master of the house, Saratu and the children. Also conspicuous on the walls, a large glazed picture of a thick forest in splendid state of nature and a beautiful bronze cast of giraffe
Also displayed in a corner of the lounge were gifts from Alhaji Ando consisting of the China ware containing bright coloured artifical food items including banana, pineapple and raspberry as well as a set of coffee pots and small containers in carved wood utilized for serving nuts and chocolates.
What did this vulgar show of doubtful riches mean? The room was like a billboard on which Suma posted the trophies of his success. What he was telling the world was that he now walked among the great and the successful who would appreciate the display in his lounge. Suma believed that he had acquired managerial experience required for positioning himself at higher level in the society.
However, to hear his wife, Saratu clucking and laughing with Ima, one would think the former was in good company. The young woman had turned the challenge of her loneliness into an art of motherhood. Last December, Suma had added a video player to the television set in the inner parlour. Therefore, Saratu and her children had a private world of intense dramatic action into which they could retreat from the heat and inactivity of rice plantations.
But Saratu did not have a life in common with her husband. Indeed she lived three different lives herself. With her husband, she was like a jewel shut tight in its case. With Hajiya Rakiya she tried to be worldly and manipulative. With her children, everything was play and make – belief. None of these worlds was substantial enough to share with Suma. She thought that his interests were hard and brutal rice planting, factory machinery, commodity supply contracts and local power politics. Saratu imagined it was indecorous and unfeminine to try to penetrate this world. So the big fire of her coming together with Suma died down without igniting the slow – burning wood that keeps the house warm day by day.
Three months after the wedding, Suma had one day remembered that he owed letters to Marion Shroeder, the girl friend of his agricultural college days in Michigan. They had written to one another weekly during the first trimester of his return to Nigeria. He had told her literally everything, about Alhaji Ando, Saratu, his job in the rice plantations, his old mother ailing in the village, the millionaire’s row in Kaduna, and the difficulties of putting his roots down again in the Nigeria soil without benefit of Mcdonald’s chicken, fresh fruit juice and intelligent conversation. Marion’s letters which were always bulky, almost a diary, became Suma’s substitute for intelligent conversation, a rubber nipple he sucked on to soothe the pains of his weaning from the scientific culture of the agricultural college of Michigan State University. It was not the case that absence made Suma fall in love again with Marion, a roughly made South Carolinian with buck teeth. But he longed for something she represented, a close toughening not just of bodies but of minds, with its deep intimacies, and the fighting too and making it up again
When Suma came back to the house at midday badly bruised and smarting after his encounter with Alhaji Ando, Saratu and the children were in their part of the house watching an intricate episode oblivious of Suma’s infusion. He went straight to his room. But the gloom of the drawn curtains, the crimson furnishing, and the heavy incense which Saratu often burnt in the room were far from soothing. He felt as if he had entered a sorcerer’s den. Falling into a chair, he closed his eyes to be alone with his incense. Hardly minutes passed before the maid came in with a chilled bottle of coke in a plastic wicker basket tray. Thirsty as Suma was, he was not up to the effort of opening the plastic bottle. Saratu did not come in to talk with her husband until an hour later when, powdered and perfumed and adorned in white lace with green and gold trimmings, she was ready for her daily visit to Hajiya Rakiya. Without glancing at Suma, she walked straight to the long mirror by the window and began to adjust her head scarf. “You see the nice cloth Mama Rabi gave me?”
Sume peered uncertainly in the direction she indicated as he slowly rose to the surface.
“It is nice, isn’t it”
“How can Mama Rabi give you anything? She can’t even buy herself one kobo akara.”
“You don’t like the cloth? It will go well with the shoes
you brought from Lagos.”
Suma was too busy with his own miseries to think of Mama Rabi. But it irked him that Saratu would take a gift from anybody. Whenever she went to the camp, she came back loaded with grocery and gift drinks which the starving families there piled upon her. She should be sending things to those underprivileged people instead of taking whatever they had from them.
“Why did you not pay Mama Rabi for the cloth? I gave you some money this morning.”
“Those women love me too much.”
“You’d better start loving them a bit in return.” Saratu came close to her husband who was still sitting slumped in his chair. Her perfume enveloped him and bending close to his face, she batted her eyelashes in his face.
“You are the only one who doesn’t love me.”
Suma was too much tangled up in his feelings to respond to these blandishments. He glanced up but he did so frowningly. Discouraged Saratu went back to the mirror, brought out her lip stick and deepened the red of her mouth. Turning sideways, she looked at herself in profile and shook her ample backside.
“Fausat will bring you ground rice and chicken when you want to eat. Or do you want the suya Malam Paro brough yesterday?”
Saratu was already on her way out the room when the children, Ima and Dauda were heard chanting under the fig tree in front of the house: “me too”, “me too”. They wanted Hajiya Rakiya who was just coming into the house to pick them up. Hajiya was not in the habit of visiting the Benus. She claimed the right that they whom she called her children should come to her. At thirty-six, she continuously showered praise on God for the gift of two beautiful daughters. With a pale brown skin, delicate nose and dignified carriage of Shuwa Arab lady, she was indeed a very beautiful woman. Her voice was a soprano with subtle inflexions and run-on notes. Dressed in a flowing black robe with her face framed in white damask, she was like an angel incarnate in too much flesh.
After the greetings were done, Suma left the two women together to resume the unbroken thread of their daily intercourse. For a long time their speech and laughter rang round the house. But then they subsequently subsided into confidential whispers which went on for nearly half an hour.
Saratu’s face, when she rejoined her husband, was rigid with distress. As usual she did not look at Suma. But there was nothing artful in her averted glance this time. Sitting on the bed she closed her eyes. And slowly, without uttering a sound, she let two tunnels of tears run her cheeks. All the make belief of which she was mistress had melted away from her. The real young woman, exposed and overweight lay trembling slightly on the bed.
Suma was deeply touched. Springing up, he went to Saratu and put his arms round her.
“What is the matter? Are you in pain?”
For some time she did not speak. Since the birth of Dauda, she had been liable to crippling back ache which some times immobilized her for a week. Dr Darakina had made no precise diagnosis. But he warned and teased Suma about the dangers of having his children in such close sequence. Saratu’s pains greatly complicated relationships between the couple. Suma was more tender and caring; and being more caring, his demand for the attention of his wife doubled. He often just wanted to comfort Saratu when she was in pain. Saratu, at first continued to weep but heaved a sigh of relief as her husband tried to pacify her. Often her body tensed up and, with a sudden shudder, she would repel Suma.
“Get away and don’t touch me.”
Suma could only stare at her. And it took some time before she continued.
“My uncle gives you everything. I give you everything. But you are not satisfied
“What is the matter? Has the devil got into you?”
“You ungrateful restless man, you want my uncle’s job. You have a house. You have children. You have money. You are a big man. But you want my uncle’s Job.
“Your uncle?”
‘Yes, my uncle.”
“You want Lagos environment. O..K., you go to
Suma could not decipher the link between hi wife’s outburst and the immediate visit by Hajiya Rakiya.
CHAPTER 4
After the sporadic encounter with Saratu, Suma proceeded to Idisepa, the middle income estate lying among grass and garbage heaps to the left of the road where factory foremen and farm supervisors were housed. The police station, St Joseph’s church, the modest mosque with its two turrets, one grocery store and a small pharmacy described by users as medicine shop surrounded the central square. Within the vicinity were clustered matchboxes in cement and rusty corrugated iron in which the workers lived. Idisepa is a modern slum full of sweaty women who manipulated small make-shift corn and pepper grinding machines. Husbands were substantially operators on rice processing equipment in numerous plantations along the River Niger stretching from Jebba, Bacita, Shonga, Lafiagi and Patigi. Internal migration before independence and decades thereafter favoured the environment with industrious settlers, most of who adopted the rice belt as home.
The fertile rice belt, located along the bank of the River Niger between its tributaries, Rivers Moshi and Kaduna is situated at the southern end of Niger State and northernmost part of Kwara State in North Central Nigeria.
Rice has rapidly developed into staple food in Nigeria, the West Coast of the continent and indeed in the Maghreb. Breakfast cereals, baby foods and elaborate dishes are formulated from rice. Numerous branded flakes and crisps dominated markets. In the belt, rice had been grown substantially in upland areas while cultivation of rice had existed in many regions of the country especially in swampy southern zone of the South East. Indeed scientists confirmed that throughout the West coast of Africa, mangrove rice is abundantly produced specifically along the coasts and by rivers.
As Ando Kajere had expected, Suma Benu plunged his life into rice production between the two tributaries of the river Niger.
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About
half year into the arrival of Suma Benu in Aluju, Ndagi Labaran benefited from
training sponsorship to participate in a programme on advanced milling
technology in Korea where he learned detailed
production processes for polished rice.
On his return to Aluju Ndagi had called to ask his friend, Suma to pick up a small present he brought for him.
On Suma’s arrival in his friend’s house, they hugged and chatted casually for a
time. When Ndagi’s wife Munirat brought out cold fanta and some Korean nuts,
Suma complimented her for looking so good after her husband’s return. Ndagi dashed into the bedroom and came out
with a book on policy on rice self sufficiency in Korea. He also brought a beautiful shirt for Suma.
“So
you remembered us in for away Korea even though you were standing on your head
all the time. Thank you very much, brother. You don’t know what my wardrobe
looks like these days,” Suma was highly appreciative.“Oh yes I know. You are always gorgeously turned out.”
“And how does it feel to be back home?”
“It’s great man. Simply great.”
“You mean you don’t like Korea.”
“ I mean that I like home.”
“Have you looked at this house? Have you looked at the rice plantations? How can you always like it here?”
“Looks as if you are seeing these things for the first time.”
“And the improved milling methods you have just been learning; do you think you will ever use them here?”
“Don’t know. And don’t care either. It was great to know that it can be done. That is all that matters.”
“Even if we never actually do anything along the methods.”
“But I am optimistic.”
For a time the two friends talked about rice self sufficiency in Nigeria, integrated mills and impact of global economy. As they talked, they were transported into a world of ideal technological possibilities.
The pay day in Aluju rice plantations was most often celebrated as festival by workers. It was defined as day of empowerment. The food vendors exercised bargaining power on the eventful day. Some workers were consistently identified in the “book me down” category. They mortgaged their monthly wages on food sellers’ credit line.
“I can see that you have not settled your debt. Fatai, you have got enough money with you”, Mama Temi furiously challenged her debtor.
“I am ready to pay. “, Fatai made effort to protect his image while trying to abscond. The lady grabbed Fatai’s shirt.
Daniel Usman explored conciliation by suggesting immediate release of money by Fatai.
“Madam, please release his shirt,” Usman pleaded on behalf of his colleague. “You and Cletus should come to an agreement over whatever the balance may be. Try to explain to him the things he has bought at different times. You know Fatai is your customer. Try to be patient with him”. Usman utilized social tactic to resolve the issues amicably.
Many similar disputes and reconciliation were going on throughout markets on rice plantations on the pay day. Indeed by this process, some workers hardly went home with their pay pocket.
“I have only 750- naira in my pocket. There are other customers who received outstanding money owed to them from me today”, stated bulky Katanga who was reputed to be diligent in paying debt to food vendors.
Most workers who entered hangouts with their pay packets often went home without good news for their families. Such workers had more sordid stories to all their wives instead of giving money for food and for other family needs.
“Yams, elubo, pepper, garri and palm oil have all finished in the house” Hanatu informed her husband, Katanga who returned to his house feigning tiredness.
“Who finished all the food in the house?” Katanga asked his wife as he stared at his hungry children, two of whose stomachs were presumed to be protruding for reason of malnutrition. The children dared not cry because Kantaga’s “bulala” hung on the wall for any insolent complaint. Nonetheless Katanga wondered how he worked so hard in rice mills but received low remuneration.
‘You know last month, I brought a lot of money home because we were paid our overtime. Today, I think my money is not complete”, Katanga lied to his wife
“It is only your own money that is never complete but your brain was so complete that you consume more food and pepper soup outside instead of providing the family with sufficient money. You can do what you like, God is with us”, stated Hanatu in resignation.
Some of the workers engaged in adaci with their wages. This was the popular annual savings scheme. The first time John Damila was approached, he was reluctant.
“How many people will be on the adaci” John asked Yekini Kola.
“We are ten and we will contribute
“That is great but when will it be my turn”, John asked.
“You can choose it. Only three people have chosen so far”, informed Yekini.
“Okay, I will be the fifth person. That will be in the month of July,” John indicated.
Adaci was utilized in varied ways. Some workers built mud houses covered with zinc roofing sheets. A few ambitious adaci contributors could decide to build their own houses with cement blocks.
“Adaci was also often used to do something substantially concrete”an older contributor advised a recruit to the scheme.
Most workers also committed their wages to the demands of the extended family system. Applications for special loans from employers or from the commercial banks were often made in order to enable workers to settle school fees for brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces or in-laws. A number of times, hospital bills on behalf of these extended relations were settled from wages or from other funds raised by workers.
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“You were thirty minutes late to work this morning.
That attitude is unacceptable by this section” Jibril Girigiri was queried by
his supervisor, Likita Umar
“My sister – in-law was rushed to the hospital this
morning. She has been admitted. The girl is on holiday with us”, replied Jibril.“Jibril, you know I will not accept such excuses. Please move straight to your machine. I will look into this matter”, stated the supervisor.
Two days later, Jibril was looking desperately for money to settle hospital bill. He lacked concentration at work. As a tractor operation, he was immediately seen to be deficient. Likita Jibril received a serious warning letter for his undesirable attitude to work during the period.
Jibril thought that his superior was inhumane.
“How could this man start punishing me because I paid attention to my sick sister-to-law. My supervisor should have been sympathetic,” Jibril thought.
Garba Bala had distributed kolanut to all his friends, colleagues and superior at work as invitation to the forthcoming naming ceremony of his new born son. Bala was a laconic 35 year old motor vehicle driver. He was most popular on the plantations for his excessive sense of humor.
Bala brought some kola nut wrapped in leaves to the Administrative Director, Gabriel Inuwa.
“This is the kola nut for my son’s naming ceremony” Bala informed the Inuwa.
“Not possible, you have already got a name. How many times will you do naming ceremony for yourself?” Inuwa asked.
“Okay, for the child that my second wife recently had”, Bala was emphatic.
“How many wives have you got?” Inuwa persisted
“Only two” replied Bala with a broad smile.
The naming ceremony of Bala’s young son was occasion for merriment. Guests started arriving in Bala’s two – room house as early as 5; 00 am. Two goats were slaughtered for the occasion. Gaily dressed women cooked laboriously for visitors.
A week after the naming ceremony, Bala was desperately looking for financial assistance to sustain his family. He claimed to be “broke”.
Generally, wage earners were regularly required to make numerous donations to burial and reburial ceremonies, wedding, launching ceremonies and other social functions.
“You can hardly turn down invitations by close friends” stated a worried factory worker.
“Most often our wives and ourselves are invited to purchase specific dresses for some ceremonies”, stated a middle-age man.
Problems created by workers social commitment were often reflecting in the work situation. Worries, irregular behaviors, inattention, carelessness, social absenteeism are common symptoms of an overburdened worker. Employers were readily accused of exploitation. For industrial workers, saving from their wages were an exception rather than the rule.
“Some people sabi save. I know of a tractor operator who bought a brand new 504 station wagon for taxi”, stated a field worker.
“You know tractor operators get a lot of overtime and most of them no dey get time to enjoy themselves. They work day and night,” replied a listener.
That was what most workers should be prepared to do. Work day and night and save their earning for meaningful investments.
Caring for the extended family at the expense of industrial work had caused a serious conflict between management and workers representatives. Many days had been lost as a result of strike action.
At Pasanako, manual rice harvesters had their own style of merriment on pay days, often at the village square, ethnic dances lasted till midnight. Occurrences were witnessed including innovative traditional activities, buying, selling, lots of laughter and banters. Sorrow would be expelled in place where clowning, ethnic jokes, tricksters and jugglers made the market square frivolous and joyful.
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Mallam Idris Lasi joined the company sixteen years
ago as a casual laborer. That meant that his appointment could then be
terminated without notice. That was the most unpleasant term of the conditions
for casual labor. Idris Lasi was laid off at the end of each season but was normally
re-engaged for the following season. He was therefore on and off for six years
after which he was converted to seasonal labor. Under the seasonal condition,
he was entitled to due notice prior to termination or payment in lieu of notice
for termination. He was also required to
give his one month notice prior to disengaging from service. Most of his colleagues would abandon their
work without giving formal notice to their employers.
Idris Lasi was a conscientious and persevering
worker. He consistently acquired practical experience on the job. His job was to move pipes and lines in order
to ensure even distribution of water in irrigated rice plantations. Indeed
irrigation projects promoted by Federal Government of Nigeria had existed in
Tada, Shonga and around River Kampe within the bank of River Niger for decades.
Eventually, Idris Lasi watched the mechanic who repaired pumps and damaged sprinklers. With time, he was able to effect repairs on faulty pumps and sprinklers. He could not even write his own name. All report he gave his superiors were verbal. He pronounced the English names of part of pumps and other equipment like a parrot would repeat captured words. Lasi developed the skill and proficiency of pipe fixing and pump repair by method of watching highly trained technical people.
After eight years, he had become a permanent employee by which he enjoyed other fringe benefits, housing allowance, vehicle loan, transport and allowance.
Ten years on, Lasi was promoted to the position of a charge hand, the position he held for six years. He was an affective leader of his subordinates. He was cost conscious. Lasi earned
Idris Lasi had two enormous problems. He sustained a large family – three wives with twelve children. They lived in a highly congested two room apartment. He was the only income earner in the family. Eight of the children were in schools. Lasi had no bank account. He could not save. By the pay day, if he was not paid his wages, he would become extremely nervous. If overtime opportunities were denied him, Lasi would be hysterical and disillusioned. He would persistently curse his supervisors for depriving him of the supplementary income.
Secondly, it did not appear as if Lasi had immediate chances for promotion on his job. His was rated a good artisan by his department management. However, Lasi’s single handicap was his illiteracy. He could train his subordinates to repair irrigation equipment and pumps. But Lasi could not record their timesheet neither could he give written report and assessments.
“If I had adequate savings, I would leave the company’s services”, Lasi said one day to Peter, a fellow field worker.
“But you are good on your job and the company would lose your expertise”, replied Peter
“One white expert from
“You may be right. Educated people have a high opinion of themselves in this country. I agree with you that there seems to be an absolute neglect of illiterate people, not withstanding their technical ability”, Peter supported.
“But I know illiterate people who are running successful businesses. They have motor vehicles. They have plenty of money in banks and they even do business with the Government and companies,” suggested Lasi.
“That’s true. What most people study in school may not be relevant to their real output in this country. Most people use their qualifications as a passport to high position”, Peter explained.
Idris Lasi became fatalistic about his job. He lacked job mobility. He had the obligation to secure regular income to sustain himself and his large family. However, he nourished the hope that someday, his destiny will change for the better whereby his technical skill would be fairly and adequately remunerated.
Idris Lasi’s problem was common to rural agricultural projects where certain skilled jobs are performed by artisans lacking in formal education. These illiterate skilled people were often highly reliable and conscientious. They, like most other workers were motivated by good pay, fair personnel policies and promising career opportunities.
Idris Lasi’s son had been sick for two days. He was watching the progress of the child. He expected the child to recover immediately from illness without administration of drugs and intravenous injection which could deplete his meager financial resources.
“But you must take the child to the clinic immediately. You cannot delay treatment hoping that he will recover”, stated a manager, Mr. Abdul Mara who came to visit Lasi at home.
“Oga, if I take him to the clinic, I have to pay. You know I have not got this month’s salary yet”, said Lasi.
“What about your savings. You have been working for over 20 years”, suggested Mara.
“Oga, I have no savings. Look at all of us here. How can I put money aside. As for me, a month’s salary hardly lasts the whole stretch. Often, I have had to borrow money towards month end in order to cope with family demand. Refund from my salary takes place on the payday. The take-home will be diminished.
“Anyway, let me follow you to the clinic. I will foot the bill for you this time” promised Mara.
Rural industrial workers have identical feature and lifestyle – intensive hard work, low pay and large families. Most of them were pursued and haunted by creditors on the [pay day.
The greatest consolation of these workers was the high respect which they enjoyed within their families. They were revered by their wives and children. For these agricultural and industrial workers, family comfort was their ultimate objective, a highly desired end which depended on intensive labour input. Indeed the nerves cracked and the skin blistered in the process of pursuing the means. It was significant that these workers were saved the hardship of unemployment.
“You must be enjoying your work”, Idris Lasi was once told by his friend, Lawrence Audu who had been visiting rice fields on temporary research assignment.
“Walahi, na gode Allah”, replied Idris
“What exactly do you enjoy in the work, I mean why are you so committed in spite of your complaint about low pay?” Audu explained.
‘I have worked for about twenty years now. Five years ago I was promoted to charge hand. So there is progress”, confirmed Idris.
“What is the benefit of promotion to you since you cannot read”, Audu asked Idris.
“Even those who can read cannot do my job. I can repair pumps and mix chemicals for spraying in the field. Our present oga asked me so many questions about chemical because he wanted to learn about my job. I explained the use of various types of chemical and mixture of fertilizer to him. Specifically, I showed him how to mix these chemicals,” Idris expessed with considerable confidence and he continued, “I am happy because the company promoted me. At least, it is recognition for my good work. The company did not discriminate against me for lack of book knowledge. My salary has improved as a result of my promotion,” Idris chuckled and continued, “each morning when I get to work, the workers who report to me greet me with respect. Also I can now discuss with our Ogas about the problems of my section”, Idris emphasized.
“Do you think you will continue to progress on the job, with more promotion?” Audu was inquisitive.
“Mr. Suma Benu, our field manager told me that I cannot sign vouchers. I agree with him. But I have common sense. I know when a chemical is bad. I know when a pump needs attention. I can encourage people to work hard. I know how to handle the lazy ones”, declared Idris with peculiar confidence.
“God’s time is the best. I wish you good luck. Maybe one day, you will get another good reward. You seem to be very interested in the company”, Audu made a positive remark.
“A man must never play with his source of livelihood. If you take your work seriously, God will take you seriously,” Idris declared his value.
Lasi’s story would be recounted in Aluju rice fields for many years since his breed was endangered. Technical graduates from tertiary institutions were already displacing Lasi and the nature of his expertise. For surplus value, the company might have derived substantial benefits from Lasi and his contemporaries. Younger graduates would work smarter, deploying theoretical and practical skill along with the competence to operate in group exhibiting identical skills.
“Expect greater self control from your team,” Suma Benu once addressed technical entrants in an induction session.
“The old workers were painstaking, exerting long hours and demonstrating total commitment.
“Let us advise you that skill intensity is critical to the success in high quality rice growing and milling. Your application must be durable to conform with our work culture” the new staff were advised by the chief chemist, Michael Saidu.
At the lower level different forms of work arrangement were installed in the fields and mills. Payment system corresponded with specific work scheduling. Piece rate was determined by quantification of work. The method was restricted to manual rice harvesters whose volume of work would be determined by rows of rice delivered into carts for further processes including hulling and shelling. Mills will complete the processes by separation of bran, de-stoning and polishing. Operations in fields included fertilizer and herbicide application. Hourly, daily and weekly based work methods also formed employee compensation schemes in the rice plantations. All these rates were determined at company level collective bargaining exercises. These were base rates over which other company wage and salary structures were determined.
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