Wardrobe Love

(The Benefits of Marrying a Governor’s Daughter)

(C)asm 2015

It was me inside bathroom, naked before a bucketful of water, preoccupied with the thought of the attire I was going to use. The wardrobe was in bad shape.

I came out and bungled into my wardrobe to find some nice clothes to wear. My hands up in the armholes, head buried midway in the kaftan when my phone rang. Wishing it was a governor’s daughter, I sang “one nation under Lords,” feeling excited.  I was going to cease to be one of those one-eighty million serfs whose lives and struggle were meant to enrich the lives of the select few.   

I prayed hard to find a new girl, rich and supportive, to carry me up under her wing. I met this girl who did not give me her number but collected mine and promised to call me later. She had never called. I grew anxious, waking up each day expecting her call and with every ring from someone else, my heart hoped it was the girl. I didn’t know who she was, but the car she was driving seemed to betray her status.

When I looked at the screen, I was disappointed by the caller’s ID. I was under enormous pressure from my sister in love these past times, asking for money day in day out, left right and centre. She called yesterday to ask for what she was used to asking. I refused to pick Hanna’s call because I didn’t know the next lie to tell her.

“Tomorrow,” I promised all the time. Every today was tomorrow and she got tired. 

I was dumb when I picked the phone at last. All my tricks had been exhausted and to tell her what I had been telling her for months now would clearly let down my shallowness. My brain made an emergency whir that had planted an idea into my head. I told her what the President said, “I belong to everybody and I belong to nobody,” hoping she could get the message.

What was very awesome was the quote from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. I heard the book was selling massively; copies were soon to be finished on the market.  I checked the play again and after reading it, I felt the need to translate it to Hausa Language so that our kids would be aware what the president was saying. I didn’t want to mislead anybody by wrong translation. So, I had to rehearse over and again to make sure I could do a good job.

I started practicing with “I called Hanna and she did not pick.”

Then I tried translating it to Hausa as “Hanna ta bani haushi, na kirata bata dauka ba.”

You know women, they were sly and deceptive.  A lot of manufacturing and pretentions. Lovers could have serious quarrel and may even break away in the end. But they could not withstand to live apart. Hanna went to her room and fell ill after we exchanged bitter words. I was also ill. She was taken to the hospital and all the medications and prescriptions were ineffective to cure her ailment. Doctors were treating her on wrong diagnosis administered on false information. She and I alone knew the truth. When I heard what was happening and visited her, the illness miraculously disappeared. We wanted to pick from where our relation left off, but propriety required we should wait for a while. Such is the magic of love!

Hanna was a good girl. It was only my fault that, I lied to her by omission, allowed her to believe in something false. I met her in Eleganty Park, paid her bill and went back home and wept.

Outside, on the street, was a girl waiting for a rickshaw. We called it Adai-daita-Sahu in kano.  Her name Chi-Bodo, her smile inviting. When I looked her in the face, she was dazzling like a star. I moved closer intent to declare my love. But instead of baring my mind, the purpose that made me go to her, confusion and fear consumed me and I flung into babbling incoherent phatic words. “How are things? How is school?  Are you waiting for a vehicle?”

She must have seen through me by now. She cast contemptuous sideways glance at me, sizing me up with her judgmental eyes. “Coward,” the look said.

Why couldn’t I just say I love her?

I felt like Kano girls her size were too big for me. Their large breasts, fleshy body, big hip and curvy waist intimidated me. They would swallow me up on bed.  Also, their plump appearance made me often thought that they were smarter or older than me.

On the other hand, I had feeling for skinny girls. I pity them. I always thought that they would suffer in bed. I won’t like it to be scraping bones in bed.

Hanna was at the middle, slim, attractive, and when I saw her, I was spontaneously obeying the law of gravity.

Kamal came to me the other time, saying that we should, at least, let one girl  know that we had been in love with her to relieve the burden that was tormenting our hearts for long. She was getting married next month and there was no point continuing hiding our love. The seven of us, if Ahmad and Sani did not back down after our last meeting, would go to see her when we were in college and only to get intimidated by her charisma, ending up just greeting her like that. She would roll her eyes and pretended that she did not understand the reason we visited her.  She refused to acknowledge the fact that even if mere greeting; there were other girls we did not stop to greet.

Everyone seemed to love her in some way. They said she was perfect person for marriage. She was the only girl who was not part of the shokoro community and did not attend parties. Among the circle of men, there was a notion of categorization, at least two which I could now recall: those who were for shokoro and those who were for marriage. I did not know if ladies also had their own categorization for men.

I told Kamal to remove me from their group of cowards. He thought I was also going to see her with the same feeling as their own.  He should use ‘they’ not ‘we’ to let her know they had been in love with her. My relation with her was kindness and mutual respect and he mistook that for love. One of them even pestered me behind the scene to give him her cellphone number. When I asked him what was the matter, he said that nothing.

It‘s no easy living with poor folks. I advised myself to marry a governor’s daughter. Someone said I was too materialistic.  But I knew what I knew and I saw what I saw. I lived with my reality and really needed a girl who would have me rest by giving me some wardrobe allowances to make me feel like a Nigerian senator.

I met a girl.

Her father was a one-time governor in my state. Considering that politicians were important, it would be unwise to approach your future in-law directly especially a governor.  I quickly put out public announcements everywhere to get someone who knew somebody who knew someone who had contact with her father to ask for me the marriage of his daughter. 

But actually, the fact was that I feared his eyes, they scared me. They were swollen, red and charged from something which I did not know exactly its name. I saw Kaura on our way to school sell it to the thugs in an uncompleted building when we were young. They put it in white sheet, rolled it to a cone, and held it between their fingers like a cigarette. It turned their eyes red when they used it. Some of them used a bottle like the medicine we bought from a pharmacy shop when our youngest brother was ill with coughing.  But red eyes meant nothing unless if one was originally hovering mischief.  Lack of sleeping could cause that.

My future in-law’s only one problem was that he usually turned aggressive, mean and cruel, and with this, had gone his fragile respect. He had allowed his personal grudge to stand in his way of reasoning abilities. He replaced the original candidate for State Assembly with his boy Babangida to reward his unalloyed loyalty. Babangida was a good boy. He licked the governor’s ass and said that it was sweeter than sugar and abused anybody who doubted his claim.

Her father became a senator, they moved to Abuja after election. I had been carefully observing every step of an elder brother in Buachi for years.  I wanted to be like him when I grew up and started developing my own political capital from the grassroots.

Like every politician sensing an impending danger, I rejigged, reshaped and then took a giant leap to another destination. In case something untoward would happen to my love, I  switched half of my love to a new governor’s daughter as a backup like my elder brother in Bauchi who’s now advancing for the daughter of the new president. 

Chambers

Distinguished senators and members of the House of Representative were exchanging pleasantries and were about to begin discussion on how to run the 8^th National Assembly. The excitement was clear, new members were smiling from ear to ear. Old members congratulated themselves for returning to the House and commiserated with their colleagues behind their back who were defeated at the poll. The small man in the House of Representative did not return after heading a panel to investigate fuel subsidy scam and was dragged to the gutter – where most of the politicians have had home advantage. It could not have possibly happened to a leader of the Integrity Group. His colleagues conspired against him.

The sun was not yet up. It was midnight in Abuja but Whitemen said we Africans were foolish – we didn’t really know how this world was working. It’s morning already if a clock showed 12:00 am, and distinguished senators and members of the House of Representatives understood that.  The darkest hour was a perfect choice. Things were best organized at night while those jobless people were sleeping before they woke up to make noise on twitter.

 It’s very dangerous to get into such meeting without having adequate measures, you just started a meeting and before you finished opening prayer someone has leaked that you’re in a meeting, and before you knew it, it had gone viral on social media. We, the legislatures found a secret venue, deep inside the building of the State Assembly, to hold the joint session.

I was a new member from Kano, and was still nursing a huge wound the election caused to my pocket. Although I could read and write, but was not up-to-date in arithmetic and book-keeping aspect of my campaign funds. Politicians worked for me a great deal.

I was looking ways to recover my money. I felt grateful by the way to be a politician in this country. Like other politicians, I feared I had to quickly find a deal, now that the new president was deliberately raising high stake to make things difficult for us. How would he possibly cut his salary simply because he was old? Anybody who did not follow his example would have a struggle with the masses. There were various ways and ways and I knew which way to follow. 

I spent a lot of money to get my candidacy, visiting party leaders, chieftain, Imams and traditional rulers. But I knew what guaranteed my candidacy was not my qualification and the amount of money I spent. I couldn’t get the ticket if I wasn’t a commissioner in the immediate past regime headed by the father of the woman I was marrying.  When my father in-law went to contest for the presidential nomination at the party primary, I was assigned to stand in as a candidate for Senator Kano Central on the governor’s behalf. The governor lost the ticket, returned home and reclaimed his senatorial seat. He then sent me to contest as member House of Representative in my constituency.

Honourable Chief Dr. Mr. Sunday felt that I should be grateful, my case was nothing compared to the huddle he overcame for his re-election.  Apart from seeing party leaders, party thugs and Pastors, he had delivered a pot of fresh blood of the newborn baby to the witch doctor in his village. He was nearly arrested that night when his car was stopped at a check point.

No security man would have stopped him if he was using his official car and did not color his face. His face was darkened a bit. He used a wig, beard, goatee and a hoaxed twisted moustache at either end round his mouth. He looked funny, like Santa Clause. 

The police man began circling the car, crept his head inside the window and was about to ask the driver to open the trunk. The chilly midnight air was blowing. Hon Sunday broke into profuse sweating.

A politician issued public statement the following morning condemning the ‘heinous and dastardly act’ and warmly sympathized with the grieving mother. Knowing full well that nobody could win, he offered a reward worth millions Naira to anybody who gave information that would lead to the arrest of the perpetrators who stole a two-day-old baby last night in a hospital.

The legislator, Mr Sunday, was compassionate, people said. He shed tears in full view of the public in a live interview he granted to the state television station shortly after the sad news broke. The community felt touched, and the mother, her eyes sullen and red from weeping, thanked him and promised her vote to him for his compassionate feeling.

“I will personally handle the matter in my capacity to make sure those evils are brought to book and just get their dessert,” he promised.

Hon Sunday lost peace of mind since that day.  The scene of that night kept haunting him. He became restless and nervous, glancing over his shoulder at the slightest hearing of movement despite the peaceful mood of the place and the number of security men scattered all over the meeting room.  Why are you so restless, be calm, he reassured himself. Nothing would happen to you, you’re in one of the prestigious and most secure places in Nigeria. You can abuse Boko Haram and live without fear.

************

“The glossy life history of the men and women who were heading to the chambers to make laws is horrible. Bank robbers, money launderers, drug pushers, killers; people who failed in many respects. They could not stand on their feet and have to suck the blood of others. People who supposed to be in jail have become emboldened to head to legislative chambers to make laws for the land instead.

“With bank robbers as team leaders to head our National Assemblies, Presidency and MDAs became lesser evils. It is dangerous putting criminals in one place. Amateur criminals are going to meet professional ones to drill and perfect their skills.”  

Those were the feelings of some folks I was reading from an online paper from my gadget.

Anyway, I couldn’t trust someone who has no sense of humor. People took everything too seriously. Take for example this oil business, there’s a lot of money to make but start doing something and the fools would start shouting slogan at you.

Why would they start shouting and calling us thieves for wardrobe allowance? Life isn’t always serious.  We’re the most prestigious people on earth. Life’s extremely hard outside the chamber and we must do everything to retain our position. Everything’s paid for you, a lot of benefits, you and your children. We felt it’s time now people we served had to pay us back in cash and in kind. The allowances we received were part of the debt the society owed us and the public acceptance was a way of showing gratitude.

Wardrobe allowance, phone allowance, newspaper allowance, sitting allowance, standing allowance, idleness allowance, laziness allowance, sleeping allowance, stealing allowance, allowance allowance,  wives allowance, sex allowance and above all the allowance for doing the society a great favour to be the law makers of the land.

To say the least, people were ungrateful. It’s only in this country a person would serve his people and they would hate him and complain. People should learn one thing now when one of us granted interview and thanked his people for giving him opportunity to serve this country. 

Members were still coming in, to the chamber, taking their seats and some began forming groups. Politicians were always at work, strategizing. The whole life was evolving around one thing: politics.

Hush whispers were emanating, senators speaking to their colleagues in a low polished tone. The slow humming of the air-conditioners, dim lightening, soft carpet, lush and luxuriant lifestyle of people exuding power and wealth created a kind of exceptionally relaxed atmosphere. Some of us have plump body, necks disappearing into the layer of flesh. Me? I kept fit deliberately because of the occasional fights that would break in the chambers. I took caution from the past experiences I watched on tv screen.

A new excitement broke, entourage of fellow legislatures and a team of security operatives were surging behind the Speaker. He came in, sat and ordered one of us to open the session with prayer. The member opened his hands, stretched it forth, palms upward and began intoning Muslim prayer.

The house instantly fell into rancor, divided, one faction arguing for Christian prayer also to be observed and the other faction was saying it didn’t matter what prayer was recited in as much as the meeting remained focused on the agenda. Chaos ensued, mixture of angry voices filled the atmosphere, people shouting down each other to make one’s opinion supreme. Row nearly broke out, rowdy people everywhere.

You see my fears, how could I survive if I were fat or too thin, especially in matters of scaling the fence of the Assembly building whenever there was fracas. Dialogue? – no. Here it was the norm; we picked out guns, rods and machetes to resolve our issues.

“Distinguished senators and members of the House of Representative,” one senator tried to intervene, 

“it is disgraceful we are shouting and yelling at each other.”

Nobody cared, yelling, barracking and the exchange of abuses continued.   He strained hard to make himself heard above the din.

“We shouldn’t be behaving like poor folks out there,” his voice louder, “dividing on religious and ethnic lines. We are here on one purpose and we should be more concerned with that.”

One Honorable member suggested both Muslim and Christian prayers be considered since it was both Muslims and Christians that were the major  electorates, and the national anthem would be recited for those who were neither Christians nor Muslims to show their appreciation for the country.

“Remember we are people united by common interest.” He concluded and that settled the matter once and for all.

The senate President and the Speaker announced to the House that they decided to budget nine billion Naira as the law makers annual allowances. Some new members were shocked and protested against it. Some of us argued that the amount was too high and should be cut. A middle-height senator with light skin vowed that he won’t collect the money for the first year and promised to donate his share to one of those states that were nearly six months unable to pay workers salaries. He said that he cared for the suffering civil servants. And how would we curve 25% of the nation’s annual budget to ourselves as a tiny clique of only 469 people at the expanse of 180 million citizens?  It’s scandalous, the protesting senator argued! But I have my fears, I did not agree with him entirely.

The Speaker of the House assigned one of his veteran members to educate the house more clearly.

“We know our people” he began. “We have a bargaining power strategy”.

Overshooting.

The entire room was swallowed in silence; the swish of air-conditioners was audible.  I could feel the cold in my hand from the air-conditioners, my clothes also had the effect. The House was suspended and the man took his time before he spoke again.

And what did that mean, the question hung in my mind. I was restless to know how I could recover my money.

“We know it is outrageous to bargain for nine billion. But we still have to insist. We need to drag the issue even if we would make concession. You can’t treat people with consideration. They would think you’re afraid. If we ask for something like five billion Naira, they will still make noise and insist we should cut it.  Concede to them so quickly and you will see everybody staging protest tomorrow the next time you want to do something. If we allow them they will continue pushing and pushing until we are dispossessed of any allowance.” He adjusted the edges of his flowing gown slipping off his shoulders from demonstration.

I was there, sitting, in silence.

He continued.

“How can you retain party leaders and all those people that will be coming to see you like they are seeing God?”  He asked rhetorically and the idea began making sense to us, including the protesting senator.

By now Honorable Benjamin, another new member, realized that he really needed the money.  And I too.

“What do you think would happen  if we told people the other time straightforward that now some portion of fuel subsidy would go and the new price would be, say, 98 naira? They would still scream and shout and kick against it to insist the price should remain 65 Naira.  So you see, if we do not raise a high stake, the little we demand would be snatched away. The same will apply to this scenario and instead of fighting strongly for the abolishment of the allowances entirely, people will now begin to beg and lobby us to reduce the money. They will feel grateful in the end when we reduce the money after a hard bargain.”  Members nodded approval, we were seeing reason and sense.

I had only one problem, that I was a novice and didn’t know how to deal with people in my constituency. My eyes were filled with concern, I wanted to ask question. I was only impatient, my father in-law would educate me about everything, he was also a senator.

The speaker’s voice interrupted me as if he was reading my thoughts process. He must have done so, the way he was looking me.

 “I hope you were in the country the other time.” The man said, like he was singling me out, training his gaze particularly at me.  “Smart people kept low and made like we were not part of the deal.  We even threatened to remove the president.”

But you still did not mention any meaningful strategy. Benjamin, Sunday, myself and many other members became anxious and were eager to hear what the speaker had to say. 

Members sipping  juice from  glass cups; there was a muffled thud when the many  cups were put back on the table.

“It is simple, keep low and silent about the issue. If the pressure persists, gauge the situation and strike quickly in the media against such figures as wardrobe allowance.” I was dumbstruck. I knew some other ways at my local level but this has introduced me into the new realm.

“These people,” I said in an extreme joy, shook my head, smiled and pictured myself speaking to my constituency.