12 Jul 2008 |
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We were waiting for the presiding judge to put up an appearance in his elevated seat in the courtroom. We waited impatiently for over an hour. When his Lordship eventually showed up he resorted to slipping into the courtroom and cleverly did away with the traditional three knocks on the door leading to his chambers followed by a shout of COU -- RT by a clerk, to which every one present would have bowed to him. His Lordship’s lateness coupled with his unannounced entry into the courtroom were much to the discomfiture ,surprise, relief and even bemusement to both members of the Bar and the public. There was a sudden and swift commotion among those unwigged barristers who had left their battle helmets of varied colours nestling on top of the desks at which they were seated, whilst chatting away without a care in the world. I was seated at a privileged position on a very low and aggressively uncomfortable bench of the type I understand was reserved for lawyer/observers attending court that have no matter for the day. This privileged position afforded me with a bird’s eye view of the robed learned colleagues. Soon, my thoughts settled on scrutinizing their ‘attire’. First to catch my roving eyes were the motley colour of the wigs of grey, snowy grey, snowy white, cream white, butter white, two long tassels, two medium tassels, two short tassels, one long tassel, one short tassel, one very short tassel and no tassel at all. What ever happened to the tassels to the wigs, I wondered, while suppressing my thoughts with great effort. It had perhaps been eaten up by rodents or suffered the fate of wear and tear of aging and simply loped off? Oh, well, good riddance to horsetail hair which seldom settles on the centre of the nape of the neck was what I thought and wanted to say but I did not. I also took a mental calculation of those who had taken the trouble of wearing well-ironed gowns in the fold and realized that there were few indeed. What does it matter? Lawyers are not fashionistas and once they have earned their wigs and gowns they can jolly well shove them into carrier bags and shake the greases off them when needed which is usually right in front of the courtroom. I imagined a finger painted in red and pointing to NEPA in my mind’s eye. My train of thoughts transcended from the mundane on to a business idea there and then, and I am offering it to you dear reader for a commission Would you care to establish a dry-cleaning salon for barrister’s wigs and gowns in close proximity to the courts across Nigeria? The wigs “shall” be shampooed, rolled and tonged and the gowns dry-cleaned so that every fold would be in it’s place as it should be for a small fee? The alternative solution to this small problem would be if you asked me, to call in the marshals from across the four campuses in Abuja, Kano, Enugu and Lagos of the Nigerian Law School to continue with their duties of inspection of the ‘attires ‘of their former students at the entrance to the courts. A marshal’s job is never done! Where was I? Aha? Penny for their thoughts! Thinking of a further adjournment maybe, silently rehearsing their lines for the final kill or even thinking of what to have for lunch? Oh, some may even be hoping to find one clean OKADA rider to get them home. It is indeed a tourist attraction, to behold a lawyer in his stripped black and white trousers, broad collar bands, white winged collaret holding on tightly to his piece of horsehair, (for fear that the wind could blow it into some cluttered gutter) riding on Okada as a passenger. Hey, look that’s a lawyer on GOING! A nice postcard from Nigeria. Back in the courtroom, the presiding judge took his seat, presumably had a bit of a suppressed giggle from watching the commotion his lateness had caused and on sighting the judge slip in, members of the Bar made a beeline for their wigs and quickly put them on. Needless to mention here that without the convenience of a mirror nor the assistance of a colleague to check whether the wig was sitting pretty well and properly placed on the head, the exercise was chaotic. I saw before me a spectacular head -dress of sorts pleading for adjustment. And I am telling the truth. The offending judge had barely cleared his throat when a senior counsel bellowed in utter familiarity with his lordship whether anything was the matter—wrong, was his precise word. The judge showed neither an appreciation of this unrestrained caring anxiety suffered by the senior counsel nor honoured the honourable court with a reply as to the cause of his lateness. Rather, he kept clam with a frown as it were permanently on his face, which I interpreted to mean that it was his court and he can come in when he pleases and equally do away with the archaic traditions and protocols except the subdued language of the court. What do you expect from someone who is being bowed to each working day? As the judge pleases.
Maudlyn Park, widely-known at home as one of our more successful broadcasters, but gave it up to train as a lawyer. This is her debut article for NVS
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