New People in Rice Farms 9 &10

New People in Rice
Farms

Hammid Taju
© Hammid Taju 2017
PUBLISHER
Lomar Ethan Nigeria Limited
Hamdala Plaza
Jimmy Carter Street
P. O. Box 11877, Garki
ABUJA, NIGERIA
e-mail lomarethan@yahoo.com
NATIONAL LIBRARY OF NIGERIA
CATALOGUING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

ISBN: 978-080-210-X

HAMMID, Taju 1947-

PRINTED IN ABUJA, NIGERIA, 2017
Mixed draft

PREFACE

The Author undertook the revival of “From Fadama with Cane Sugar” in response to popular demand, not unconnected to the curiosity of readers in the intelligentsia group. The story unfolds into the evolving commercial development of massive hectares of rice farms along with other agro allied projects in Bacita-Shonga-Lafiagi-Pategi axis of Kwara State in Central Nigeria. Agricultural revolution in realization that could be clogged by policy defects and institutional constraints apparently associated with investors’ fatigue. Nonetheless industrial advancement persisted in the communities.

Hammid Taju

CHAPTER 1

Suma Benu couldn’t believe his ears. Never could he have thought, not even in a bad dream, that Ando Kajere, his patron, his friend, and his father, could speak such words to him. Did Ando really call him a fool? The words were like acid which burnt and hissed through his ears, his heart and his bowels. When an hour later he stumbled down the creaking staircase, hardly hearing Fatimah the receptionist wish him good evening, sir, he was unsteady on his feet like a man who had narrowly escaped drowning.

Suma had begun to feel uneasy as he waited in the managing director’s office. Meanwhile he passed the time flirting with the Executive Secretary. Kajere’s Ando had been the Managing Director of Aluju General Cereals Company for seven years. Suma Benu had counted the passing time which had been so vexingly long. When at last he was called in, the usual day of smiling welcome did not light up Ando’s face as Suma crashed through the door and raised his fist in royal but familiar greeting. Nor did Alhaji Ando begin with teasing and happy familiarities as was his habit. The man who lived behind that door had a heart which may jump in unpredictable direction. He was nonetheless resplendent in a freshly laundered blue buban riga and a beautiful hand woven dipcherima cap to match.

Ando sat motionless, his jet black face bent over a file as Suma walked down the dark green carpet of the executive office.

“I have read your seminar paper but I do not understand it” Ando reacted to the younger man’s unexpected thrust on the door. Suma Benu was locating a chair to adjust himself“ You know that I am not too clever. I did not go to America.” Ando was unduly sarcastic.

Educated at the School of Agriculture, Kabba, Kogi State, Alhaji Ando later earned Bachelor of Science (Honours) at the Faculty of Agriculture, Ahmadu Bello University, Samaru, Zaria, Nigeria. Furthermore, he studied and practiced surveying in addition to many top management programmes he attended at home and abroad.
Alhaji Ando was contented, attaching prime value to experience but rather suspicious about multiple university degrees earned outside the shores of Nigeria.

Thirty four year old Suma Benu paraded with confidence, multidisciplinary higher degrees earned in the United States of America, England and Sweden. He was an agricultural scientist and an economist who was returning from Michigan. Alhaji Ando Kajere had taken the unheard of step of going to meet the young man at Murtala Muhammed airport and returning with him to Aluju in the company’s Dornier. A colleague in Kaduna from Suma’s home village had put in a good word for the young graduate. From that moment, the managing director had taken Suma as his protégé, quartered him officially in the Karaworo guesthouse. Suma lived to all intents and purposes in Alhaji Ando’s home.

“For a successful person, what education was better than native wisdom supplemented by practical learning?” Ando often surmised, beating his chest that there was he as Managing Director while Suma Benu with his Master of Science degree in agronomy would develop a career under his supervision. Suma Benu was an aggressive intellectual who would stir controversy by method of radical propositions in seminar papers that would clearly hurt Alhaji Ando. But the Chief Executive realized the need for urgent injection of competences for strategic growth of agro industry in the part of the country.

Life had not been the same since the General Cereals Company came on stream and Kajere and Suma Benu were sadly aware. Neither research staff nor money for rapid development of rice plantations could be raised. Equipment for irrigation of the plantations was also in a state of disrepair. In several fields, especially those near the factory and the warehouse, the sprinklers had cased to work. And although sack full of fertilizers still filled sheds they were just any fertilizers and not the special nutrients which the alluvial sand of river bed needed to make it nourishing to greedy rice. In the mills, de stoning machines which were a part of the original factory design were never installed. Poor yield and deteriorating marketing environment compounded the problem.

“Our rice is not competing with imported long grain variety. Domestic producers have always been vulnerable.” Ando lamented that the political environment was unfavorable. Importers manipulated the market. Nigerian food wholesalers preferred imported rice to cheaper domestic production.

Suma Benu reminded Alhaji Ando of conversations they had over the short sightedness of bigwigs in Lagos who were ruining the commercial network of the nation. Ando himself had wondered how policy supported continuous importation of rice which diminished capacity for self sufficiency and pauperized rural producers. The two men had identical concern about the capacity of the nation to feed itself and institutionalize food security. Suma Benu had enjoyed Ando’s confidence. It became Ando’s habit to draw Suma into discussion on critical official matters. Suma became instantly a power in the establishment. He was knowledgeable and he controlled information on global agriculture, food prices, shortages and trends in the production of survival crops. As an agronomist who robbed shoulders with men who had rice production in their blood, a compulsive searcher of the written word, Suma Benue had delved into the history of Aluju rice fields and perused the politics of global production of the crop.

Having settled in operations, what did Suma not owe Alhaji Ando? His commanding position in the company, the lovely bungalow he occupied which was originally intended to be the chairman’s lodge, a chain of contacts in Ilorin, Kaduna and Lagos and load of expensive gifts. One year after his arrival in Aluju, Suma was promoted to take the place of the foreign consultant, Dr Robin Banks who had been chief agronomist since the beginning. The following year Suma became field manager. It seemed as if it was only a question of time before Alhaji Ando himself would move into a higher orbit leaving the managing directorship to Suma.

Suma was fully conscious of his debts although he did not ask himself what the ultimate cost of these good things would be. Not to acknowledge Alhaji Ando’s abounding love would have been most rascally attitude to take. But relationship had not been continuously smooth in view of erupting occasional skirmish which arose from Suma’s interpretation of change strategy. His expectations of subordinates’ output were rather ambitious for the workforce that must be carried along. During a visit to the office of the managing director and seeing how angry and distressed his patron was, Suma rose from his chair and would have thrown himself prostrate on the floor in remorse before the chief executive. Alhaji Ando observed the antics in restraint but proceeded to advise Suma to review his tactics in handling relationships at work. The message did not quite register but Suma accommodated the admonishment.

Indeed Suma did not know for how long he stood speechless before his boss who, after mopping his sweat soaked face with a handkerchief, returned to his file. Perhaps Suma stood there only a moment. Perhaps he stood there for an hour. From the secretary’s room, the chatter of the typewriter was like the barking of a mad baboon. Staring with difficulty as if he had been in a drugged sleep, Suma walked unsteadily out of the room. The shimmering heat of the September midday subsequently beat upon him repetitively.

Furthermore it had become obvious that technical and strategic discussions between Suma Benu and Alhaji Ando had leaked to the consultants’ base in India.

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CHAPTER 2

Suma was not a handsome man and he knew it. He wore big black scars around his forehead. But God rewarded him by an encounter in Alhaji Ando’s house. Saratu, a light skinned, beautiful, lanky and shy niece of the head of the household would always rise from the chair in which she stationed herself and left the room whenever Suma Benu entered during his frequent visits. In her silence and childlike graces, Suma saw the refinement which American women, with all their cleverness and noise, had forfeited. But Suma had no chance of talking to Saratu.

When Saratu’s first arrived in Aluju on completion of the National Youth Corps programme, life was not easy. She studied Botany in University of Maiduguri and worked in a palm fruit plantation in Edo state during her service. Her mother shared parentage with Alhaji Ado. At first Saratu had nothing to occupy her mind in the solemn environment in Aluju. She was indeed bored to tears. But after one agonizing month during which she was practically alone in the house from morning till evening, she told herself that being an unemployed university graduate did not mean that she had lost her poise. The stepmother, Hajiya Rakiya, her domineering uncle’s wife had after all treated her as a daughter. So Saratu began to spend her mornings following Hajiya Rakiya from room to room learning the secrets of wife craft and womanhood. Hajiya Rakiya teased her for being so sleepy in the morning. Nonetheless Saratu turned Hajiya’s two daughters Bilkisu and Safiya into pets. They were eight and six years old respectively. Saratu showered them with care and affection.

Suma Benu eventually worked into Saratu’s mind through Hajiya Rakiya’s observation that Suma’s frequent visits to their house was not strictly for official purpose.

“I am sure you have something like a pending agenda with us in this villa,” Hajiya teased Suma during one of frequent unannounced visits.

Suma pretended to be shocked but rather amused and encouraged to open up.

“Hajiya, you have always been my mother, I am sure you know that I did not return alone from America for nothing”

“You mean your eyes do not deceive you”

The brief interchange was loaded.

Suddenly, Suma saw the possibility of sharing his heart with a loved one, an occurrence he had not hitherto imagined. Up to the moment he had conceptualized an inaccessible relationship between him and Saratu.
Suma Benu assessed himself as tough, skillful and well-educated. He identified Saratu as a rather weak young lady who needed masculine protection. Suma imagined himself toiling day and night, even abandoning his vocation, to give security and position in society to a wife of his dream who could be beautiful Saratu. In return he expected the love of his life to cling to him because she needed him. But while Saratu thought of future dependable relationship, she clearly understood the matter differently. In fact developing a concept about Suma Benu the young lady had consistently classified the agronomist as subordinate of her uncle, indeed the appendage and parasite? She mentally defined Suma as a hustler, some drowning man who had to cling to her as the niece of the managing director to save himself from the open sea? Unknown to Suma, in spite of the lady’s silence and her flirtatious shyness, Saratu seemed to nurse a consciousness of the strength of her position. Nonetheless Suma was overtly conscious of his status as Field Manager, the passport he intended to use to win the lady’s heart.

It came to pass that love blossomed between Suma and Saratu. Hajiya Rakiya, her husband and Saratu’s parents had accommodated the entreaties from Suma’s immediate family who trooped into Aluju from Osimapa along the confluence of the Rivers Niger and Benue. Suma’s kith and kin asked for Saratu’s hands in marriage. The birth of three lovely girls in quick succession and Saratu’s staying in the house all time had filled, smoothed and polished Suma’s rugged life. Saratu’s eyes were deep pools which radiated a cooling light like the mist raising from mountain brooks at midday. Her walk was a lazy swagger which was at the same time proud, weak and sensual. Suma Benu was full of joy.

CHAPTER 9

In accordance with standard practice, David Faya, the factory supervisor undertook an inspection of all machinists operating on lathes. He particularly affronted Moses Abara who crouched over his lathe machine. On intensive inspection of Abara’s finished products, the supervisor was astonished at the quantity of rejects generated by Abara.

Subsequently events unfolded in on extra-ordinarily rapid succession. Moses received an immediate suspension order from his supervisor followed by a written confirmation of the disciplinary, action.

Other machinists on the lathes, in sympathy with their colleague made a swift attempt to intervene to forestall the suspension. Their action was abortive. Verbal confrontation ensued between Moses Abara and his supervisor, David Faya.

The shop steward Saliu Funde was immediately attracted to the scene. His attempt to settle the argument was aggressively rebuffed by David Faya. Unfolding scenarios included plant Unions dramatic reaction in defense of their member known to be consistently diligent but subjected to agonizing family problems. The grievance was further compounded by other related incidents which apparently reinforced workers resolve to organize a strike action. Issues in dispute were rendered elastic to contain existing unresolved matters in the prevailing collective bargaining and negotiation exercise in the company.

Mustapha Dauda had been the Human Resource Manager of Global cereals Limited for about five years. He had grown on the managerial ladder with the company and had benefited from nine months training programme in a Management College in United Kingdom. On return to the company, Mustapha worked briefly in salary administration and subsequently in the training unit. He had been Personnel manager for six months. Though Mustapha maintained cordial relationship with the labour union , he was considered to be excessively inclined toward managerial thinking. He had consistently argued that his orientation was not based on the concept of the piper dictating the ton as alleged by the union member but rather based on his training on strategic human resource management and its implication for competition.

“You cannot call your members on strike since you have not declared a trade dispute. Disciplinary action by management against your member does not provide you with sufficient reason to embark on what seems to be wild cat strike” Mustapha patiently explained to Funde.

“The Union in the branch has forwarded other grievances to management. You are aware that the issues have neither been discussed nor resolved,” Funde suggested.

Mustapha made some effort to recollect some collective bargaining matters that had been outstanding since management formally recognized the union.

“Negotiation is in progress” he indicated

Analysing trade disputes in the civil service and industries often created obstacles in socio-economic context in Nigeria. A number of conflicts in the work environment could not be classified as industrial disputes. It had been observed that disputes procedures could be circumvented in view of the requirement to secure the support of the Minister of Employment for conciliation services. The method of proclaiming an intention to undertake warning strike and eventually implementing the action would breach appropriate provisions of the Trade Disputes Act.

Organization of general strikes in Nigeria by main umbrella unions has seldom been aligned to the philosophy and definition of trade dispute. Industrial and service members of umbrella unions would be compelled to withdraw labour from their employer without formal declaration of trade disputes. Often picketing would be utilized as instrument for coercing members to comply with directive on work stoppage. Disputes that could otherwise be classified as political would acquire industrial connotation.

At the factory level union, shop stewards seldom understood the implications of illegal and unconstitutional strikes. It is useful to clarify that an unconstitutional strike breaches procedural agreement between management and the workers’ union while an illegal strike is often wild cat adducing reasons that are unrelated with the operations of the employer. Work stoppage arising from intra union conflict would be an illegal strike action.

Mustapha Dauda was determined to nip the impending strike action in the bud. It was not justifiable for employees to embark on strike action for the reason that a member of the union had been disciplined by a supervisor. Industrial action based on this premise would constitute interference in the management of the company. Enlarging the scope of adduced reasons for the dispute by imputing outstanding unresolved matters in the collective agreement gave the impression that the union was insincere and disruptive.

Mustapha consulted Ando Kajere on immediate cause of the grievance, poor output by Moses Abara, the suspension letter issued to him on the advice of his supervisor, David Faya, the ensuing with representatives of the union and threat of a strike action.

“We cannot condone the action of the present executives of the union who use whim and caprices to instigate frequent stoppage,” Ando was furious.

“ Saliu Funde and other union leaders also want management to settle unresolved matters at the suspension of the negotiation but----

“Mustapha, I am not entertaining that type of talk, let them not prevent anybody from working, I do not feel the union enjoys support for a strike action” Ando could not contain his anger.

Paul Duro, the factory manger, Mallam Paro and Suma Benu had joined the discussion.

“We are beginning to see reluctance of some workers to take instruction from their supervisors,” Duro informed Ando who stared bemused

“Some union executives seem to be wandering around the fields,” Paro insinuated.

“Gentlemen, we cannot run our fields and factory operations in a lackadaisical manner,” Ando boomed and continued,”workers must be more committed,” he uttered with tone of frustration.

CHAPTER 10

Suma Benu remembered his early childhood at Osimapa. The environment was mountainous, bordering the River Niger at the Confluence point. Oshimapa and the immediate communities spoke Oworo language. The ethnic group had sustained its unique identity for centuries. The River Niger created the natural boundary between Oworo and Igbira (KotonKarfe) in the North. In other hemispheres, Oworo had been sharing boundaries with Kakanda, Lokoja, Ebira and Bunu.

One of the greatest benefits enjoyed by Oworo communities was early Western education facilitated by the urge of British explorers to settle in Lokoja during 1860. Indeed Western explorers had been in contact with the confluence area since 1830’s. Agbaja plateau, situated in Oworo land provided the explorers with numerous advantages including the existence of near temperate climate throughout the year and availability of spring water. In addition varieties of fruits grew widely in the adjacent valley. The explorers built mud houses by the edge of the mountain in Agbaja. In findings during 2009, a group of journalists confirmed that the Anglican All Saints’ Church in Agbaja was built in 1912. It was also ascertained by the journalists that the first Primary School in Oworo was built in Agbaja in 1920. Western enlightenment and literacy were introduced to Oworo communities during the early period.

Suma Benu recollected the story of the King of Osimapa who was a zealot in the spread of Western education. Osimapa communities were already exposed to European influence. A public school had already opened in Osimapa. The King was under colonial pressure to encourage families to enrol children and wards in the school. Some families complied while others out rightly disobeyed.

Ako had enrolled all his own children who had attained school age. Enrolment directive must be enforced.

The king insisted that all families in Osimapa must show representation in the newly established school in the community. He directed a father must enrol at least one child who has attained school age.

The Ako of Osimapa, the great king of his domain was six foot tall, slender and strong. At the age of 35 years the Ako was a despotic ruler.

His domain comprised Osimapa, Ilahere, Opomi, Agadagba and other settlements in the valley of the mountainous area. Few traditional titled holders conferred with King in his palace. Petu, Ndegi, Ilujumika and Badero were the King’s loyalists. He consulted them randomly, individually and collectively. The Ako upheld the traditional religion but he was also a strong Muslim. He had a firm grip on his people. The Ako decreed punishment for men who ignored the newly introduced white man’s education.

The Ako of Osimapa maintained a small mud hut which he used as prison. The hut had capacity for five people. The king could sentence an offender to fourteen days in jail to be spent in the hut. Minor offences attracted manual labour requiring the transgressor to clean areas of the village by weeding. Often men were seen mopping up grasses in various locations in the village.

Other punitive measures included banishment, market parades and penitence on the Ako’s numerous farms. Female offenders drew water from valleys and streams for the benefit of titled holders. Ako of Osimapa’s reign was supreme but based on principle of instilling discipline, eliminating evil concurrencies, vice, greed, avarice and rampant malpractices in communities.

The Ako Osimapa sent for Bajemi, the famous farmer, hunter and warrior. The King and instructed the old man to send his seven male children aged between four and eight years to school in the new year.

“Osipo Okoigi, “ Bajemi prostrated and praised the king. Subjects used the appellation for their King. It would translate into, “if you remove the bark of a tree you will meet the bare trunk.” Bajemi expressed anxiety over the king’s instruction and proceeded to explain his position,

“A hunter cannot encounter a hyena and shoot the air” Bayemi declared in firm voice

“When I send all my young male children to idle around all day, who cultivates the heaps, who weeds, who reaps the crop and what will l

eat? I should die because we have entered the age when children must abandon farms. My ancestors will not forgive me.

“I have given you instructions, I will see what happens,” the king reaffirmed.

“Osipo Okoigi, If your majesty instructs me to put my finger in fire, will I do that at my age?, I must act wisely,” Bajemi staggered away.

Ako of Osimapa summoned his titled holders to the palace. Petu, Ndegi, Ilujumika and Badero were all present. Some other persons were also in attendance since the town crier had alerted the community about a crucial meeting the previous night.

The king instructed all the titled holders to enroll their male children in school. He added that daughters must benefit too. The titled chiefs looked askance, staring at each other rather bewildered.

“This new order will bring famine to this land,” decried Petu

“Our children will become lazy and disobedient,” Ilujumika added

“Except you carry me dead to the school I have nobody to contribute,” Badero was adamant.

Ndegi was stunned and pensive while he placed his two palms on his cheeks. He envisaged enormous trouble with Ako who was uncompromising on many issues.

Petu was a strong stout titled holder. He was the main custodian of the culture in the community. Conservative and rather dogmatic on traditional matters, Petu was the king’s confidant. Indeed the king relied on Petu’s judgment and once the two agreed on an issue, the king would enforce the order arising from it. Most subjects maintained the traditional concept that the king was infallible. Petu would not tow the line of the King on the current order

Petu was 63 years old. All his children were on the farm. He believed none of his children had expressed desire to attend school. Five of the children were aged 4 to 9 years.

Ikusemoro, a 50 year old manual tailor was a cynic. He had two male children, they were twins, Hassan and Hussein, aged six years. Kusemoro had taught the art of dress making to the chldren. The twins were highly dexterous on cutting traditional clothing materials and sewing to fit customers. Most of the time Hassan and Hussein worked on calico materials which they cut and sewed into dresses for home use and also for customers who were mainly hunters and farmers. It was inconceivable to Ikusemoro that his twins would abandon sewing for school.

“I have been sewing all my life and these children have already mastered the trade. The king cannot make me do the wrong thing,” lamented Ikusemoro

Ilujumika was tall, outspoken and arrogant. He did not always sit in court with the king but frequented the palace. When the school issue was raised, llujumika exclaimed.

“Oh my ancestors save the king who has gone astray,” Ilujumika whispered and declared while facing the king, “Osipo Okoigi, we must preserve the sanctity of this land, we cannot throw our children into the wilderness and leave our farms for birds, rodents and other predators.”

“Ilujumika, there was no school when you were growing up, now the gates are open for your children,” the king advised.

“My, children will not enter those gates,” llujumika was obstinate. Ako of Osimapa was infuriated by Ilujumika’s open confrontation. The King commanded his guards to raid other settlements and villages for compulsory enrolment of children, boys and girls into the school.

Osimapa, the small mountain village was rather shaken by the turn of events. Hitherto the community existed as a peaceful traditional society. Suma Benu was born there to a gentle couple Benu Iyorisase and his wife Wonibare. Men preoccupied themselves with subsistence farming while women assisted their husbands during harvests. Young and adolescent boys supported their fathers and guardians in all farm operations until they attained full adulthood when they married and settled independently. Suma Benu grew up in the community but at his birth, parents had started voluntarily to support their children and wards in school. Suma Benu attended the only school in the community. Subsequently he traveled to the United States of America for long term study. Suma was pondering on what might have happened to the community in the early days.

Ako of Osimapa observed that he was gradually losing the control of the traditional titled holders who had been consistently loyal to him. The king had already demonstrated exemplary behavior. He had enrolled seven of his own children in the school, four boys and three girls.

Ako of Osimapa, the king of kings made frantic attempt to secure wide support on school enrolment. He instructed the town crier to issue stern warning to his subjects to comply with his order by sending children to school with emphasis on age range. All children between the ages of six and fifteen years must be enrolled in the village school without further delay.

“There would be no sacred cow on this order,” the king insisted while he wondered about the behaviour of the titled holders. “People who inhabit the palace on long duration dine with the King, my titled holders are taking advantage of the privilege. I have to assert my authority,” the king affirmed.

A highly respected hunter in the community, Ikubanje implored the king to grant him time to reassess the capacity of his family to survive without his two sons engaging in farm work. The King realized the strength and charisma of Ikubanje in the ommunity.

Ikubanje, heavily built man was indeed famous in the community. His reputation based on successful hunting escapades. Particlarly he was feared for his ability to wade off nocturnal attacks in the jungle.

“Ikubanje, I spoke to you several times on this matter, you have no intention of complying with the order,” the king observed and abruptly instructed the Dongari (the King’s guard) to detain Ikubanje in the mud cell referred to by members of the community as “ïledu” for the reason that the room was always in permanent darkness.

Ikubanje repeated his appeal for time extension but the king would not change his mind.

“Cell is not fire, if your majesty cast me into fire, my ashes will haunt you.” Ikubanje demonstrated his characteristic for boasting even as he stood the risk of spending many nights in the claustrophobic cell.

Tongues wagged as young men lamented on the fate of their hero, Ikubanje,.

School enrolment was the springboard for Ako’s atrocities. The strange news of Ikubanje’s incarceration was spreading rapidly throughout communities, Ilahere, Opomi, Oduka, Okegbo, Ilegboka and Alehin as a warning on pending danger that might disturb their peaceful life.

‘’What spell has the school authority cast on the king that induced him to indulge in the disgrace of his reputable subjects,” Saidu Balema wondered aloud

After about one hour, with much curiosity, the crowd in the palace dispersed and people drifted toward the cell to gaze at Ikubanje sweating and staring aimlessly through the narrow window. At this stage the Dorgari unlocked the key, throwing the door open but leaving the Iron Gate bolted. Powerful Ikubanje was in distress, living with humiliation in a claustrophobic cell in front of people who recognized his social status.

“Don’t underestimate Ako whose ancestors originated from far beyond in the high heaven. I know that great danger lies ahead but I have no choice but to confront the King headlong on this matter,” Badero confided in his wife, Balkisu.

Indeed Badero expected that Ako would inflict the most inhuman treatment on him.

“We do not wish to leave this compound for somebody else who will reap the fruit of our labour. We have two children, one male and one female who must attend this school. Let us cooperate with the king, we will not die,” Balkisu advised her husband, She was worried about the safety and health of her devoted husband, ‘’

Ako of Osimapa summoned two titled holders Ilujumika and Badero to the palace. They had not complied with the king’s order.

“You are entering the cell today,” the king scowled at the two men and continued “Dongari, let them join Ikubanje in the cell.” He commanded.

“You all understand the message I have passed through the town crier,” the king continued in furious mood. Other titled holders from neighbouring communities who were visiting the palace prostrated to appease the king. Praise singers hailed Ako Osimapa’s by chanting his Oriki. The talking drum was used in profusion for the king’s commendation. The king enjoyed the praise but he was undaunted.

The curious and anxious crowd built up to watch important community leaders in the cell. The king contemplated banishment for the incarcerated notable people in the mud cell.

“These are people I have trusted in the community and the same persons flaunting my authority with impunity,” the king was visibly angry.

In the community, banishment had been meted out to people who had committed gross misconduct or outright sacrilege.

Young men in the community were restive as a result of the king’s unilateral action on school enrolment. Dissent was also noticed from the women cultural group in Osimapa. Indeed Ojorunkun, the spiritual leader of Pankasi mobilized her members for purpose of dialoguing with the King on the detention of three community leaders as well as sensitizing Ako about the horrifying news that the detainees would be banished from the community.

Indeed other subjects in Osimapa reacted differently. Young people went into voluntary exile. A twenty one year old Orunda and his seventeen year old brother Lonse, sons of Aseni, the village blacksmith, sneaked out of Osimapa during a breezing night, traveling through high forests within Ikoro Emu traversing the two valleys and accessing Bunu land by early morning. The young people proceeded to South West of Nigeria where they hoped they would enjoy the advantage of taking liberal decisions about their own future.

‘’I have no obligation to obey the king’s order, ‘’ Bajemi a reputable farmer in Osimapa confided in his friend, Kabinu. Bajemi had three adolescent sons.

“This king is high handed. He may banish you with some of your kith and kin,” Kabinu advised

“The king knows that he cannot banish a hunter of Ikubanje’s status from this community without extreme revenge from our ancestors, The village and indeed the community must be defended, We are armed to do that at all times,” Bajemi was indignant

,Ako, king of Osimapa, indeed, controlled the children of most widows in his extended family; the girls were married according to the king’s wish. Young boys worked in the king’s farms until they gained full manhood, married, raised a family and thereby enjoyed independence. The king had consistently drafted the orphans into the school.

“Osipo Okoigi, your subjects, my two male children, under my care have all vanished. I cannot tell their where about,” Aseni informed the king. Aseni was a tall and slim 63 year old man who was conscientious in farm work while he also worked at home in the evening as black smith.

‘’Aseni, you have my empathy,” the king nodded in pensive mood, analyzing the true meaning of the name.

“Aseni banidaro,” the king understood that the name signified that the same person who inflicts mischief on another person sympathizes with his victim.

The king stated, ”Aseni, you do not possess the character implied by your name”

“My children who disappeared were planning to marry beautiful girls in this village, they could not understand how they will go and assemble in the same rooms with the girls, receiving same instructions from strange people” Aseni lamented.

‘’Aseni, I give you seven days to produce these children. You will be responsible for your actions. You can now disappear from sight,” the king was aggressive.

Osimapa community was by now tense. Young men were planning to confront the king with all the courage that they could summon.

Ako, king of Osimapa was not really born and reared within the communities. His parents had voluntarily migrated to escape similar authoritarian rule.

Ako’s father Kusika married Tingbale and Temole at three years interval. They were both lankly beautiful women. Kusika became an object of envy. The ruling king Medaiyese was not comfortable to have Kusika as his immediate successor. The King made subterranean attempts to throw Kusika and his lineage into oblivion. Kusika moved his two wives into unknown distant destinations where he raised a large family. Temole was Ako’s mother. Kusika’s two wives had eleven children between them six men and 5 women. Tingbale eventually died. Kusika eventually returned to Osimapa with Temole, along with some of his children including twenty six year old Ako, who by providence succeeded Medaiyese. During his father’s self exile, Ako witnessed royalty elsewhere, in Nupe and Hausa land. He would inject dignity and grace into royalty. Justice and fairly play would be instituted and subjects were required to revere and obey authority. Ako, the king of Osimapa enjoyed controversy, especially on issues he attached greatest value, He had identified some benefits in education that was different from the traditional pattern and he would sacrifice his subjects for the cause.

‘’The Pankasi female group, headed by their spiritual, Ojorunkun sent an emissary to the King requested for urgent audience with the king. It was unusual request by the women. The king sent for Petu for purpose of fixing the day and time for the meeting. Meanwhile Ilujumika, Badero and Kubanje were still detained in the mud hut cell. Nonetheless the meeting was fixed for10:00am the following day.

As s the sun rose the following morning, branches of trees scattered, the village was still but full of anxiety, the dry leaves dropped randomly responding to the gentle wind. The king’s palace was decorated in black and white calico cloth. On the walls of the palace were hung leather sheaths and arrows as reminiscences of old warring days.

Ojorunkun, a lanky, beautiful, 50 year old woman maintained a shrine. About fifty women were adherents and they owed loyalty to Ojorunkun and the goddess. Men had no role to play whatsoever except as observers during processions and ceremonial sessions. The shrine supported peace in the community; there were four female priestesses, , Merobe and Membeya. Ojorunkun and her priestesses were powerful women, highly influential in the communities. Ojorunkun was not married but the priestesses had families. These women who worshipped the goddess in the shrine were domineering. They stood up gaunt, confident and talked straight unto other peoples eyes. Priestesses and adherents were recruited from communities in Osimapa and the neighbourhood.

Ojorukun was the head of the delegation from the shrine. The team made up by only women appeared sober thereby depicting the mood of the community during the early morning. The king was obliged to have granted the women’s request to engage in dialogue because Ojorunkun had always honoured all major invitations by Ako, king of Osimapa.

Preceded by Sewughabu, who usually forewarned the appearance of the king by scudding the gong and pronouncing eulogies for the royalty, the Ako of Osimapa was resplendently attired as he chose his steps majestically to sit on his throne. All traditional titled holders were already seated.

“The king salutes you all, Ojorunkun and the priestesses as you represent the goddess” Sewughabu announced.

“Bagodoji” the women bowed and saluted the Ako in unison.

The king returned the salutation.

“Bogodoji, our king” Ojorunkun saluted and continued “we have come to plead with the king to douse the tension in our communities. We cannot sit back and see our respected titled holders thrown into the dark room because they objected to your order compelling them to withdraw their children from the farm. We implore your majesty to tread with caution. We are worried since we foresee calamity,” Ojorunkun was emphatic.

All the women heaved a sigh in support of their head of delegation, Ojorunkun.

Ako wondered why Ojorunkun had developed into such a powerful alternative authority in the kingdom. Although the relationship between Ojorunkun and Ako had been most cordial, the king was stupefied that the head of the shrine had the temerity to confront him verbally on an issue that he assessed to be of enormous benefit to the people of Osimapa.

Ako of Osimapa pondered and declared:

“Too many women are under the spell of your shrine and the goddess. The women in the shrine are no longer subservient to their husband. We can not sit back and watch our daughters and housewives hypnotized and placed in a state of trance form day to day. We must return the women to their matrimonial homes,‘’ the king rebuked the shrine and issued a forthright instruction.

‘’I will consult the goddess,” Ogorunkun appeared rather remorseful and she assured the king.

Indeed Ojorunkun’s admonition fell on deaf ears; rather the opprobrium of the king was visited on the spiritual queen. Was the king of Osimapa ignorant of feminine mystique or was he prejudiced against women thereby undermining Ojorunkun’s influence in the community?

The dialogue between Ako of Osimapa and Ojorunkun along with the representatives of the goddess collapsed. Ojorunkun proceeded to consult with the goddess in the shrine. Thereafter Ojorunkun had premonition of death, the disappearance of the goddess and the irreversible calamity that would befall Osimapa.

Three weaks after the encounter with Ako ofOsimapa the head of the shrine Ojorunkun died in her sleep. The shrine was in contrition. The news of the sudden demise of the head of the shrine had spread like harmattan fire. The priestesses and the women in the shrine were in disarray as tears poured freely down their faces.

‘’Ojorunkun, the representative of the goddess on earth,“ Tingbale lamented a woman

‘’Ojorunkun has gone to the market in the other world” another woman interpreted the deceased woman’s name

‘’Ojorunkun, the mother of mothers,” a priestess screamed

All adherents sang praises of Ojorunkun while they continued to swear by the names of numerous shrines. Mourning, funeral rites, wake keeping, grotesque celebration of life continued on daily basis

“The king pursued the shrine and dared the goddess,” a prietess surmised

The younger priestesses and adherents believed that they grew up on Ojorunkun,s breast milk.

‘’We sucked Ojorunkun’s breast, she did not deny us anything,” an adherent affirmed.

The period of mourning witnessed sinister apparitions; frightening omens of pending social upheaval in the community. The most outrageous occurrence was the mysterious disappearance of the symbol of the goddess. The incident sent some hysteria into the spine of bewildered priestesses and worshippers. The absence of the unifying force of the goddess and perceived implication created a sense of foreboding amongst the distressed women.

‘’We must organize to prevail on the king to release Ikubanje, how can a traditional titled holder stay in this type of cell that is reserved for petty thieves” Garuba Kusemoro lamented.

Ako, king of Osimapa was already reading the mood of the community; indeed men in the age group 17-30 years were surreptitiously mobilizing to stage a protest before the king. In spite of the awareness that Aku of Osimapa was predictable with penchant for revenge and draconian reprisal against subjects who confronted his authority the young men were undaunted. The generation had never witnessed liberal rule since the history of the community was replete with ruthlessness of kings. Word of mouth left stories of previous kings who banished recalcitrant subjects into slavery. Aku, the king of Osimapa was living in history, in complete dissonance with his subjects. Ikubanje, the charismatic hunter was forcefully dragged into a small prison cell, with a tiny window which was shut almost permanently barn caved.

The young men sought the cooperation of radical older men in the community to confront the king of Osimapa. The first step taken by groups of men in different compounds was to demonstrate with audacity high degree of civil disobedience. These groups of men walked in front of the palace without bowing in reverence to the king who would be seated in council. Furious, the king exclaimed:

“Are these men indigenes of this land” and he boomed, “all Dogaris must drag these men before me”

The group proceeded to force the gate of the cell open from where Kubanje, Ilujumika and Badero were immediately released from captivity.

The serene community was plunged into utter commotion whereby the fiendish youth and their collaborators thronged the palace, insisting on being granted audience by the king. The astonished paramount ruler had never imagined the nature of assault on the authority of king.

Ako of Osimapa would not tolerate intransigence and he considered it inconceivable that he would entertain dialogue with a mob.

The days of the king were numbered as events unfolded rapidly. The aggrieved groups of men and the liberated titled holders devised a new stratagem. The mood of the groups suddenly deteriorated into complete repudiation of the king’s authority. Ako of Osimapa must be deposed. The belligerent groups strengthened their ranks, besieged the palce and forcefully abducted the king to an unknown destination. While it was the end of tyranny, Ako survived his ordeal but abdicated the throne. He pursued his private life in a different community outside his homeland for about thirty years.

CHCHAPTER 1

Ando sat motionless, his jet black face bent over a file as Suma walked down the dark green carpet of the executive office.

Furthermore it had become obvious that technical and strategic discussions between Suma Benu and Alhaji Ando had leaked to the consultants’ base in India.

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CHAPTER 2

Suma Benu eventually worked into Saratu’s mind through Hajiya Rakiya’s observation that Suma’s frequent visits to their house was not strictly for official purpose.

“I am sure you have something like a pending agenda with us in this villa,” Hajiya teased Suma during one of frequent unannounced visits.

Suma pretended to be shocked but rather amused and encouraged to open up.

“Hajiya, you have always been my mother, I am sure you know that I did not return alone from America for nothing”

“You mean your eyes do not deceive you”

The brief interchange was loaded.

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 Ilorin. Some relief had been obtained, but it was only for a time. A month later, the lower abdominal pain of which she complained had returned now accompanied by a giant odour.
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 America, he had written to his mother regularly. He had told her about his hope and attainments. He had talked over everything with her. But now that she was much closer, the distance between them had widened. Suma’s uncle had apparently gone home without waiting to see his nephew. He expected Suma in the village in the course of the week.

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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 Lagos any time you like. My uncle never stops you. So what do you want then?” Suma now saw clearly that the earthquake which shook his official life earlier would also bring down the timber of the household. The foundation on which he built his life was indeed crumbling. It was not even clear any more that he was the builder and not just a tenant. As the mists surged round him Saratu got up and without further hesitation left the room.
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 N1, 000.00 every month. So you will receive N10, 000.00 during your turn” Yekini advised
“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 N7500 per month.
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 Europe came here and told me that if I was doing my type of job in his country, I should be riding a car by now. But here nobody cares about those of us who did not go to school”, stated Lasi.
“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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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.
“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 Lagos. You must have been hearing about my name. Let me introduce Mr. Alfred Etuk to you. He is the Treasurer in my office. Let us strike an agreement so that your union can be affiliated to the Nigeria Trade Union Congress. We will resolve your entire teething problem since you have a difficult employer”, stated Louis Papa.
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 6
Early 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.

________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 8

Suma and his two subordinates on leaving his bungalow and driving swiftly toward the plantations, they perceived almost everyone of the twenty thousand people emerging from residential quarters and proceeding along the road leading to the station from which they would take part in the ultimate event of the year, the rice harvest. The car cut through the crowd of pedestrians, cyclists and over the mud-caked bumpy road while a stone hauled into the air and frightened flight of locusts. At the junction of the Workers Club Road and Sir Kashim Ibrahim Road, Suma stopped briefly to exchange greetings with the mill manager and to tell him that the inspection of his station would be a little delayed.
“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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