New People Rice Farms 7 & 8
Draft
CHAPTER 5
Meanwhile, the children clustered round Hajiya Rakiya and out came the inevitable sachets of chupa chup and mint popsies. Amid the ill commotion which the impending feast provoked, Suma asked Hajiya what she had done with his wife. At first, it was as if Hajiya Rakiya had not heard the question. She quietly disengaged the children one from another, gathered her shawl round her and putting her delicate hands, sparkling with false jewelry on the arm of the chair, she lifted herself to take her departure.CHAPTER 5
“So my little ones are fine. Well then, I can go home and sleep soundly,” she said.
Suma too got up and tried again to address her visitor as she walked towards the door.
‘Hajiya, your daughter left the house this morning. You can’t go without telling me where she is.”
“What kind of man asks this question? He is either a rascal or an idiot. I give you my innocent child to look after. You shout at her. You push her up and down. You ill – treat her everyday. Now you ask me where she is. Why don’t you go to the police? Do you know how old that child is? Twenty seven years. Just twenty seven years. And you have given her all the trouble of her life you wicked man. Why does a man send his soul flying about. Your real soul is not resident in you. What do you want really? Tell me what you want,” Hajiya Rakiya screamed at her in-law.
Indeed Hajiya Rakiya was a woman of wide – ranging emotional powers. Even trivial events took on a mythical size in her large and abounding heart. And she would laugh, or cry or fly into rage at a mere nothing. Here lay the secret of a charming character in whose company nothing could be boring or humdrum. Perhaps she cheapened the quarrel in the family by dramatizing it but she was sure that in Suma she was facing a traitor to the family whose rebellion must be put down.
Indeed, Hajiya Rakiya exerted enormous influence on Suma Benu’s family. As Saratu grew in maturity and beauty, Hajiya insisted that she must be hardworking, industrious and self reliant. Saratu was expected to lay solid foundation for the development of her children
Saratu was not available in Aluju. She had in fact returned to the village with Suma’s uncle. When a man was incapable of caring for his wife, the extended family would recall her, and the ancestor must intervene.
Suma Benu, as a protagonist was in battle with so many fronts, his belligerent boss, the extended family especially his sick mother and the deteriorating image of the rice plantations.
While Suma Benu planned a trip to his village in Osimapa to reconcile with his wife, the rumours of strike action by the workers was spreading like wide fire on one cool Wednesday evening. Suma was amazed. There had been no awareness of pending contentious industrial dispute. The strike action was therefore spontaneous without defined immediate cause. The trip to Osimapa was therefore shelved as Suma Benu would be required to sit on an emerging strike committee that would resolve the conflict. For many years, the rice plantations plunged into slumber as the whirlwind of change occurred globally. Indeed, dramatic events defined as globalization continued to shake the business world. Skills had changed rapidly along with the disappearance of jobs. Employees needed to reinvent themselves and integrate their knowledge into new jobs.
The pending strike action was indeed instigated by veteran Trade Unionists who were visiting plantations in Aluju to organize workers into an agricultural union.“ Suma Benu was astounded by the unexpected presence of the visitors who established an apparent immediate direct contact with workers’ representatives on the mill floor. “But why can’t your workers form a union to fight for improved conditions of service for the members”, was the continuous rhetoric statement by Mr. Louis Papa, a veteran radical trade unionist whose notoriety was established in workers’ and management circles across the country. His presence was already being felt in the plantations.
Indeed trade union growth had been slow on the rice plantations due to non recognition of workers collectivization by management. New employees were compelled to accept job offer on condition that they would not unionize. Louis Papa and his collaborators would alter the arrangement by demanding for closed shop whereby a new employee was compelled to register as a trade union member.
“Our representatives have been trying to meet the management but it is difficult. Some members are afraid of losing their jobs. The management does not want workers to organize into a trade union”, suggested Fredrick Ture, a plantation worker who had been reading about Trade Unionism from books and newspapers but who had never actually organized workers
The Estate workers had been wanting to exercise their fundamental human right to associate freely by forming a union but the management had threatened to refuse recognition to the union whenever it was formed.
‘But the management cannot deny you recognition”, Louis Papa stated emphatically.
“They tell us that our union must first prove that it is well represented in all the company’s departments and that majority of the workers support our effort,” Abdullai Susu, an aggressive operator in the mill tried to explain. Susu had been struggling with a few workers to ensure that the formation of the union was successful. Abdullahi Susu was ambitions and determined to achieve fast career progress or to secure a key position in the proposed union hierarchy.
“Your employers cannot withhold recognition indefinitely since judicial order could prevail on the company to accord you recognition as a registered union” Mr. Dodi, a visiting unionist from Lagos declared.
“The ministry of Employment, Labour and Productivity had intervened by speaking to management on several occasions. The management only avoided pending judicial order by according recognition two months ago,” Abdullahi Susu tried to explain.
“However the Registrar of Trade Unions threatened to withdraw the union’s certificate of registration for our inability to clarify issues relating to the formation of executive committee and some annual accounts matters,” Susu further clarified.
“That is precisely why we are visiting the plantations. I am the general secretary of several trade unions like yours. I am based in
Indeed Louis papa had been organizing trade union in Nigeria for over 30 years. He proclaimed himself a hardcore comrade.
“The only way to stop the exploitation of workers by capitalist employers is for the workers to organize into a trade union in order to struggle for their right”, the old unionist explained.
Louis Papa, about 60 years old and veteran unionist was very charismatic. He gave a sense of direction to all the unions he had continuously controlled by demonstration of expertise on negotiating tables. He would incite workers to strike cautioning on violence but also abandoning strike scenes. His tactic was to prolong the action and frustrate management to succumb.
Louis Papa abruptly rushed back to Abuja to take up the unionization of rice plantation workers with the Registrar of Trade Unions. He prevailed on the Registrar and the union’s certificate was subsequently released. Comrade Papa was appointed as the general secretary of the Union of Rice Plantation and Mills. The management of the plantations expressed dismay at the appointment of Comrade Papa because he was considered notorious on the negotiation table.
The pending strike planned to attract the attention of management to development in workers’ collectivization was aborted through early reaction by management.
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CHAPTER 6Early the following morning, Suma Benu proceeded to his village in Osimapa to join his wife and other relations in his primordial community. Elders in the village were dismayed about the news that Suma devoted little attention and care for his wife. He might be spending money to cater for the children and their mother but he was reported to have consistently ignored the emotional comfort of his wife. The problem was not exactly reported to the family but people lived with rapid spread of bad news in communities.
Following salutations, exchange of pleasantries, Suma assured his relations in the compound.
“Wherever you see me, accept me,”he declared. Neither Suman’s father, old Ishiaku nor his mother, Iyedaku could be possessive of their son during a visit to the village. Suma belonged to everybody in the compound. Each person exercised peculiar claim on him.
Suma visited her sick mother in her room and assessed her health condition which appeared to have improved as demonstrated by the agility with which the old woman embraced her son. Thereafter Suma was invited by the elders of the compound for some dialogue.
Prolonged salutations ensued, followed by enquiries about life in Aluju, work ordeals, friends and general curiosities about the country as a whole. Suma’s responded to enquiries with tolerance while pleading for people’s understanding and apologizing profusely for being out of touch with the community.
As soon as Suma found a locally produced wooden chair, he sat comfortably. Women and young girls in the compound surrounded their visitor with lavish entertainment. He was presented with a cup of fresh cool water, sourced from the valley springs, the greatest natural gift to the people of this mountainous settlement. Food would follow but Suma could not influence choice of menu.
“We cannot give what we don’t eat,” Mama Naratu, an aunt to Suma declared with tinge of humour. Mama Naratu had earlier visited Suma’s family in Aluju.
“He will eat the food he grew up on,” another curious unidentified woman added.
Ishaku Benu had earlier summoned male and female elders of the compound to a meeting.
“Good evening, my fathers, mothers, aunts, sisters and brothers. I must respect the tradition and listen to all of you. My uncle visited us in my work place and invited me home to see all of you,” declared Suma
“Suma, it is not your fault, you invited us to request the hand of this girl for you,” Sewugha, Suma’s paternal uncle started as he pointed to Saratu who was seated beside her husband. The old man continued “most people in the village obliged you by trooping to where you worked in Aluju. We were on our knees while the girl was handed over to you. Then we prayed to God to give both of you and your children abundance in life. Now we hear that you work in rice plantations from morning till night without any thought for your wife, you hardly talk to her, you do not touch her, what sort of behaviour is that,?” Sewugha enquired with enormous curiosity.
“I did not really report my husband, my step mother noticed the situation and reported to my husband’s uncle who decided to visit Aluju and he secretly traveled with me to Osimapa,” Saratu quickly interjected with palpitation.
“But did any bad thing happen to you in the house. Were you going through horrible and frightening dreams, did your husband beat you, was he not leaving money for you to care of yourself and the children?” Ndegi, an older man reputed for settling disputes in the compound intervened.
While Sarutu cleared her throat in reply she was interrupted by a chorus of laughter from eavesdropping teenage girls.
“You these spoiled village girls. This is what you will giggle at. Let us listen to Saratu. You may have much to learn from her,” commented Nna Rabi,? an old traditional midwife.
Saratu needed to understand the question clearly.
“We also hear that sometime Suma will not eat his wife’s food. And Suma is not a drunkard” Sewugha interjected.
“The husband and wife do not really talk much to each other, at least when they sit in the lounge. Often, Suma, whenever he is at home, he will be seen reading newspapers or watching television, he does one thing or the other around the house,” Mama Naratu stated
“Now let us listen again to Saratu, the wife” directed old Ishaku Benu, Suma’s father. With much impatience, the old man continued, “if work needs all our body, would I have married two wives,” Ishaku Benu was visibly angry, “we have the right to take away your wife from you so that you can attend to your work. Two persons, in a row must not slump into the rubbish dump, the first will proclaim his ordeal while the second will take caution, if you will kill yourself with day and night work, we have to save your wife from anxiety, loneliness and sickness.” Ishaku Benu concluded without giving Saratu the opportunity to talk further.
"Suma, you must allow your beautiful wife to comfort you always. She complains that she does not enjoy close love, real touch and soft words from you. She says you are always talking to yourself about work,” Ishaku Benu further explained.
Isaku Benu, a tall, slim and agile man was about 75 years old. He was a dedicated plantation farmer, growing multiple fruits, bananas, pineapples, papaya, coconuts and tending numerous wild forests of tall palm trees. Around his house were calico overalls, other costumes and high boots worn during harvesting of thorny pineapples. There were also palm front twines for ascending tall palm trees, a special skill that was difficult to pass onto the younger generation of urban dwellers. Ishiaku Benu’s form of instruments included sharp machetes, knives, sickles, curved blades, wooden rods of varied length. The farmer had two wives and nine surviving children. Suma Benu was the second son.
“We are going into the heart of the matter. I thank you father, my uncle, the elders, men and women. I will talk to all of you about the real problem. When we were young, we were told that the night has ears, whatever we say this night may become hearsay. Saratu has no problem. I will follow your own example in the village to love her, doing it exactly as men do it in this village, come home early, eat all her meals, talk to her gently and touch her” Suma declared with remorse. The crowd burst into laughter as Suma concluded his speech.
“You, Saratu, do not be shy of your husband, Do what modern ladies do. Cook good food for him and do more, you know better,“ Mama Naratu advised Saratu. The evening was well spent in the compound and in the village.
The following morning was cool as the village wore serene atmosphere. However Osimapa was alive again, most people exchanged early morning salutations, enquiring about health, commenting about the weather and debating prospects of proceeding to farms early. Downpour of rain and appearance of heavy cloud would delay departure to the farms.
Suma Benu and Saratu were already on their way to Aluju. The visit to Osimapa was short and rather interesting for Suma and his wife in spite of lack of planning. Saratu was optimistic that Suma’s individualistic lifestyle would be reasonably compatible with her expectations provided her husband did not persist in overzealous career pursuit.
There was no doubt that career ambition was healthy for young and highly mobile people. Professionals pursue opportunities by method of bull fight, often fairly forceful through clandestine maneuvers. Nonetheless family interests and values would require scrupulous and consistent protection.
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CHAPTER 7
“Why for Allah sake, were you not on duty last
night”? The manager asked the night watchman attached to his house. “Mai gida, wa lai, tafiya ta kama ni”, replied Mallam Abdullahi. He said he had to go on an unexpected journey.
“But you cannot say that. You were supposed to take casual leave so that relief can be arranged by your supervisor”, insisted the manager.
“Sorry oga”, pleaded Abdullahi.
Abdullahi regarded his contract of employment to be very simple. He voluntarily decided to work for wages and since he would forfeit a day’s pay for an absence of one day he could not understand how his employer could not comply by the arrangement. Instead Abdullahi was queried for the absence. He was incapable of understanding how absence by a worker was disruptive to work arrangement.
And many of the unskilled workers were incapable of adjusting to industrial work which required punctuality and consistent attendance of reasonable duration. Often unskilled workers reacted spontaneously to urgent family problems by absence from work.
“From your experience, why do unskilled workers absent themselves from work very frequently” a field foreman was asked by a manager.
“During the raining season, unskilled workers who are also farmers prefer to shift to their own farms in the villages so that they can plant maize, sorghum or yams and also carry out one or two essential farm activities necessitated by fresh downpour. Illness of workers or members of their families, bereavement and naming ceremonies are some of other reasons adduced for unauthorized absence from duty”, replied the foreman.
It would be most difficult for a worker to achieve 100% attendance record during the year.
During a performance review, the labour supervisor reported as follows:
“My office is always besieged with casual leave requests, when I read the application letters, many reasons were adduced, telegram invitation for distant travel, domestic problems, sick relatives, marriage, burial ceremonies and a few other frivolous reasons”.
“Who pays for all this absenteeism?” The supervisor was asked.
“There is provision for casual leave without pay. Employees realize that the company cannot pay for their casual leave. It is however important to note that frequent absence by workers in large number makes work scheduling very difficult. “, stated the labor supervisor.
“Culture has a lot of negative impact on the industrialization of this country. How do you achieve the best from people when their minds are not totally committed to work”, the manager wondered aloud.
“We need to adjust to the rat race. I observe that absenteeism is not only a reaction to the condition of work but a manifestation of general indulgence in certain social norms that are not conducive to rapid development,” stated a man who appeared to be a visitor.
Resignation and retirement were hardly planned by most long term workers. The death of a parent could force the working son to quit his job. At a resignation interview, a worker said to his manager.
“My father died last month. I am the eldest son so I am going home to take care of the family,” Fidelis Mofa confided to his manager.
“But you have a good job here. Why don’t you continue with your job and send money to your relations regularly,?” Yusuf Yagi, the manager asked.
“All my brothers are in school. If I stay here, there will be no man in our compound. It is not good to leave the compound with a woman to look after it”, Fidelis insisted on his decision to resign. The manager’s argument fell on deaf ears.
While frequent authorized casual leave was indeed disruptive to operations, high absenteeism rate in the company was damaging to productivity. Often requests for absence would be supported by sick leave certificate issued by a recognized medical practitioner. Absenteeism was punishable if it was unauthorized.
Gender analysis of occurrence would be useful to management. The policy of gender equality in the company implies that circumstances peculiar to the female workforce must be recognized. Women were often absent from work for reasons of maternity, illness and for reasons of numerous family conditions.
Generally days for which unauthorized absence occurred betrayed the culture of the workforce. Highest incidences would be recorded on a Friday to prolong the weekend. Intolerable absence rate would be high on Monday to account for hangover from weekend excesses. Some noticeable occurrences were associated to Wednesday when workers break the week.
“Some of the employees avoid work randomly to contain stress and conserve energy,” a participant observed at a management meeting.
“A worker had confided in me that the supervisor drives workers to nuts. A day’s absence is medicinal,” Suma Benu reacted to the complaint of a worker’s who had given notice of resignation. The worker had been operating a milling machine enthusiastically for over ten years. There were other operators but the outgoing worker was the most experienced.
On one occasion, a worker confronted the Welfare officer.
“This is horrifying. Do you mean that the company cannot grant me a special loan to enable me settle my father’s medical bills,” Ilya Saidu pleaded in the human resource department.
“Regret, all special loans have been stopped by management,” replied the Welfare supervisor.
“I think this management can go to hell. They want m father to die. This is not the right place for me,” Ilya denounced his employer. The following day, Ilya resigned his appointment with the company giving one month notice as required.
“I prefer to be unemployed than work in an organization that cannot save my father’s life”, he retorted. No fruitful conversation could be held with him thereafter.
Many employees derived financial benefits by practicing their skills outside their main job environment.
“Why do you spend so much time at the riverside? I see that you always come home with a lot of fish,” Usman Baru, a supervisor asked a field worker, Garba Damisa
“You know, people like fresh fish in this community. My wives sell the fish which I catch. We save the money so that we can buy useful wares after the water has dried up. According to our village custom, the money collected from fish sales has to be saved. It must not be mixed with daily household purchases,” Garba replied.
“But do you catch fish because your salary is not sufficient?” the supervisor.
“Partly,” Garba replied immediately and continued, “I was brought up on fishing,”
“But will you stop fishing if the company can pay you attractive salary and overtime?”
“Why not? Who does not like to enjoy,” Garba replied with continuous laugh.
“So you are not fishing because you enjoy it” the supervisor asked.
“Who enjoys wahala?”, Garba Damisa asked in return. They both laughed.
Garba also claimed that for four years, he had not used his salary to purchase guinea corn, maize and rice. He grew all these crops in his farm.
“Will you stop farming if you are given sufficient salary by the company?” the supervisor asked.
“I will pay people to farm for me. If I am a big man in the company, I know I will not have the time to farm. Big men travel too much,” Garba concluded.
Throughout Aluju industrial settlement, many small scale furniture, mechanic and electronic workshops were managed by artisans while employees’ wives were often occupied in corner shops and on hand operated corn grinding machines. After working hours, whenever an employee was not staying at home or on a private farm, he was likely to be found in his wife’s shop or engaged seeking services in artisan shops.
It was the harvesting season. From a pale sky, the sun poured burning vapour into Aluju plain. In the plantations where rice plants browned and the stalks were laden with grains still in husks, nothing else moved except the guinea fowl which ran in the undergrowth picking up grubs or flew heavily two or three yards on its way back to its underground nest. In the village, yam slabs and akara mash were tardy in the plastic bowl waiting to be fried for the milling artisans and field workers who were dependable buyers from day to day. Eager buyers milled around stove fire during early hours of the day, From the engine room lying five kilometres from the villages, the deep stutter of generators could be heard as they powered water into drainages for irrigation.
Suma was already dressed for the day’s work when Mallan Paro and Isa Mani called at his bungalow to summon him for the review of all work stations. Paro a tall bandy legged ruin of a man with several broken teeth was Suma’s assistant. At fifty three years, he had spent nearly half of his life in the plantations which he joined as a labourer on the very first day when the burly Englishman Mr John Fowler brought his team of rice planters in motorized caravans into Aluju valley. Just barely literate, Paro is in the habit of saying that growing upland or paddy rice does not need long grammar. “ Rice stalk and husks do not speak English. They are not alive to know who has a degree and who hasn’t.” He was however right when he affirmed that rice plant required consistent monitoring. He confirmed that he learned everything about modern agriculture from experience. Mallam Paro’s personality and ideas were a moving force in the field. His men respected him and followed the routine he showed them. He was in the field at dawn and had never been taken ill throughout his almost thirty years with the company. He knew every worker by name and often went to Apata and Idoru across the river to visit the families of workers in the plantations. If Suma was able to control his workforce, it was because Mallam Paro used his influence with every man in that workforce to ensure that Suma’s word was law.
Isa Mani, on the other hand, did not understand rice. Three years degree programme in an unidentified institute and completing the national service did not confer experience for successful rice nurturing on Mani whose fingers were still soft while his nails were unbroken. Tall, light-complexioned and well-spoken, Isa fitted in his corner of the office like a bug in a crack. But he was a fine subordinate who took good care of his bosses’ affaires. He would tract the diseases prevalent in rice fields and he prepared elaborate reports. However Isa Mani demonstrated two weaknesses. He despised people who he rated as unintelligent. He would not disclose his favoured factors for his rating but he was often confident of his judgment about people. Mani was quick with laughter at whatever amused him, otherwise he maintained serious countenance even when other people found issues funny. In the world of the office and the club, he was a very competent person. He was, on account of his sensitive nature, very responsive to situations and able to fit into the need of his companions.
Nonetheless, Isa Mani was often nervous since his mind did not relax all the time. He was on his guard, sitting as it were at the edge of the stool in the Staff Club, waiting for the touch of a loving body and the call of a soft voice to make him feel good. He always expected to meet people who would easily relate to him, a desire he pursued with apparent desperation. The emotion explained Isa’s reserved comportment in Aluju where the existence of his predetermined character type was an exception to the average lifestyle of people who were sociable. It was significant that Isa Mani would participate in the party arranged to mark the end of the harvesting season. Plan for the party was in top gear on a sunny Saturday. The Senior Staff Club, the traditional venue of similar activities lacked basic factors to attract fascinating social scenario. It was isolated from urban centres and access roads were substantially cracked and dusty. Nonetheless an unplanned circumstance placed Isa Mani in the midst of what appeared to be a boisterous group of Senior Staff who shared their table with three busty girls wearing identical faded jeans and baggy American shirts. The ladies had earlier walked into the club and stood uncertainly at the entrance but the instinct to belong to a good company directed them to the staff table. The visitors had no sooner positioned themselves comfortably on chairs than, like lightning, Isa Mani readjusted his chair and sat by their side. The ladies simultaneously shrugged their shoulders but remained mute as they observed the suspicious relocation of a man to their immediate territory. Before anybody else knew what was happening, with unusual salutations, Isa had established his proprietary rights over the visitors. No colleague confronted Isa because he was rather reputed for introducing complicated logic to defend his actions. The group readily accommodated the new scenario. Nobody predicted Isa Mani’s subsequent actions. As activities progressed during the evening, Isa was observed locked in chit chat with one of the daintiest of the girls, a dark- skinned beauty with sparkling eyes.
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“The medical examination of the workers to be engaged in manual harvesting did not go well yesterday. In any case, I still expect more people from outlying villages. So there will be some delay at the field station,” Suma informed the mill manager.
Turning left at the junction, Suma’s team went past the mill yard and the improvised airstrip. Then they plunged into a path in the untidy grass flanked by fields of rice on both sides with the land rover swaying from side to side and bouncing heavily until it came to a stop at the quarantine station where supervisors, foremen and workers waited to receive their briefing for the harvest. Malam Paro spoke to the men.
“Rice,” he told them, “is now sufficiently matured for harvesting. You had your hands full of soil for months during the nurturing season. You were stung by insects, bees and probably scorpions while you encountered reptiles. This is time for results and reward,” Paro disclosed. Indeed, Malam Paro liked talking. It was the only wealth he had to make up for his wasted body, his bandy legs and his apparent degeneration which aging visited on him.
So early in the day the sun was already as hot as fire. But the supervisors were used to the sun. During harvest, sun would be preferred to rain or whirlwind. The workers had earlier been advised to procure sickles for manual operations in rice fields. Malam Paro hoped that the sickles had been sharpened for faster harvest. It was expected that the workers had food ready in pouches or money to buy from hawkers as well as water stored in plastic containers.
“You have your food ready, or your money. You have your calabash of water. The doctor saw you and confirmed you strong for the harvest,” Paro addressed the workers who listened with rapt attention. Mallam Paro was always humorous, often seeming to get far away from his topic only to return to it from the rear. With twinkling eyes and a clown’s part, serious but fake frown on his face, he often trotted out one bizarre proverb after another, and good sense often jostled with absurdity. He liked to hear his audience snigger in appreciation of his inventions. But he was a good man who knew what he was doing. The men had to be made to feel good. They had to be drawn to the official point of view of management without the rigidity which made officials so unfriendly. He might jest and clown but it was in a good cause. Indeed some of the younger employees of the plantations regarded Paro as a paid jester whom management used to cheat them of their rights. Whenever they could, they challenged Paro, asking him how much he was paid, and they told him that he should have retired with his friends, the white men. Especially at harvest time, the younger workers wanted to extract a higher pay and better working conditions from plantation management. So Paro was not surprised when he heard Gratuity, an eccentric field worker nicknamed for his total confidence in his future earning power based on overtime payment and severance benefits. Suma Benu asked Gratuity to speak up.
“We are happy that our oga patapata is here with us today,” Gratuity started and continued. “so we tell you, this life here ,this work no easy, see family man like us with chi’ren. What can N60 buy?even N100 no go far, like here’, oga, if man no chop bellyful, how he fit work from morning till night? For God’s sake, oga, make you help us . Put something’ for we allowance. We no say make it reach your own. God forbid bad thin’. We know say our oga go school. We no go school. You big man. We no be big men. But we dey chop too. Our wives no dey walk naked like mad women. Make you give us money.” Gratuity was known to be a man with a grudge. He owned his nickname to the fact that he often said that he had nothing to look forward to in the plantations except the lump sum bonus at the end of his career. He had been a labourer for thirteen years without being up- graded even once. Superiors believed that Gratuity “could neither exercise higher responsibilities nor profit from exposure to new knowledge. “ In revenge, Gratuity found ways of stirring things up whenever his superiors were present. He was however only looking for attention. Suma was able to calm him down with a general promise of good days ahead for everybody who helped to make the harvest a success. Then Gratuity turned round to tease Suma.
“Oga, I for give you roast yam. But you no fit chop am. Big man need China food, he need knife and fork. He no fit chop from leaves and wash his mouth for the river over there. We never get chicken here. We no get milk. No fry egg. You fit chop roast yam?”
To the amazement of the workers who were listening to this charade with interest, Suma replied,
“If you want to offer me yam, do so. If you want to eat your yam alone, don’t start looking for stories to tell about it. I was not born in a hospital. I was born on my mother’s mat and was brought up on herbs. Where is the yam? Perhaps you are greedy and have gulped it down.”
Gratuity was able to give Suma only a small piece of yam which the field manager ate with relish. And after that gesture of solidarity with the workers, everybody was ready to begin the days work with enthusiasm.
At the power station, Suma was met by Mr Duro Kayode the pump engineer, and Latif Gata the irrigation engineer. Kayode was a feeble man with a flabby face and belly. He leaned slightly backward as he walked. But the keen light in his eyes gave the impression of an alert mind and this impression was strengthened by what remained of a clipped accent he acquired at a polytechnic in England in the 1970’s. He had worked in rice plantations for many years and he bore his exile from his native home in Lagos badly, speaking very often that he had chosen to work in “this bush”. But he used his exile well. He was admired for his readiness to find a spare for any defective engine parts in the pump house, the generating plant, the mill and the process house. Although the part he brought often proved more defective than the original, he created relief for the mills. Duro was always traveling for purpose of this type of procurement. His wife sold soft drinks, school uniforms, second hand clothes and palm oil and also ran a grocery shop at the camp. It was a busy family which turned every moment of life into something profitable. Kayode planned to become a millionaire. The environment in Aluju rice plantation had created opportunity for Duro to fulfill his ambition. And if the prosperity of the plantations was slowed it would mean that Duro and his ilk were not sufficiently positive on common good.
Latif Gata, for his part, had very little to do with the harvest. As rice harvest began, irrigation virtually stopped. So Suma spoke to Gata only jestingly.
“How is the suit this morning, engineer?”
“The suit is very well, thank you. But I don’t expect peasants to appreciate it. They are more used to lain cloth.”
“Oh yea? But peasant loin cloth would do just as well as any suit,” Suma suggested.
Gata’s daily outfit consisted of a jacket and a bow tie. Since his return from a brief visit to the United Kingdom, he had insisted on appearing every morning like a London city businessman except that he lacked the rolled umbrella and the bowler hat. For a working engineer who should be in overalls, his dressing was incongruous. He could not walk into the water-logged fields to inspect his workmen. He checked irrigation lines on the chart in his office, often depending on the information from supervisors for his subsequent decisions. Gata naturally did not inspire confidence in his subordinates who recognized in him the congenital boss who was at home at his desk but could take no action in the real world. Prim, circumscribed and logical in thought, he was at his best in saying what should have been done long after the time for action had passed. Suma enjoyed talking with him. Gata kept himself well-informed. He listened to the radio, read overseas periodicals and was up to date in his field. As he sipped black tea, or ate pounded yam with a knife and fork, he would lecture Suma and other friends on the latest developments according to Newsweek, on irrigation technology as it was practiced in the rice fields of Taiwan or South Korea. He knew to the last whisker what should be done in Aluju to make the plantations and the mills profitable. But his knowledge was, like his suit something made for a different pace and a different time. His subordinates found him ridiculous.
Suma and Gata exchanged banters but spoke only briefly about irrigation. Then Gata moved on to one of his favourite themes, the mechanization of harvesting. Mobilizing all the peasants from mills and around plantations was, in his opinion, costly and wasteful. It prevented more men from working on their personal rice, corn, cassava and yam farms. “People must be supported to engage agriculture on private initiative,” Gata proposed.
“At the same time these farmers need to raise fund to improve farming method, enhance productivity and increase revenue from harvest,” Suma suggested but continued “how would you like it if all manual jobs were taken up by wonderful machines?” Mechanization was not really considered an immediate option in the plantations. Infact, Suma, after that speech, was able to turn round and laugh in Gata’s face.
Indeed Latif Gata maintained nostalgic sentiment about his favourite spots in Lagos. He was however determined to utilize skills and experience to create positive impact in his environment at Aluju. As dedicated irrigation engineer Gata rose to significant position and enjoyed recognition and compensation for diligence. In some ways he loved Aluju. Gata knew most of the company’s five thousand workers, many of them by name. Friendly and eminently knowledgeable Gata was, without doubt, esteemed by his name. Generally, he exchanged jokes freely. The Managing Director, Alhaji Ando often teased him. On one occasion Alhaji Ando expressed surprise when he saw Gata coming out of Honeymoon Hotel during working hours. The boss was aware that Gata loved pepper soup. Alhaji Ando looked at him unsmilingly and said:
“What are you doing here at this hour, engineer?”
“Just visiting a friend, sir. “
“A friend of yours, or a friend of the company’s?” and he added “we are not growing pot bellies here.”
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