13 Sep 2009 |
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Gani's Death And Ribadu's Return By Reuben Abati There have been many remarkable even timeless moments in the lying-in-state ceremonies that have been organised in honour of the late Chief Gani Fawehinmi. In a piece titled "Gani: Radical to the End" (Friday, September 11), I have already drawn attention to some lessons that can be learnt from Gani's death and the manner of his exit, noting in the closing paragraph the truly moving visit to the departed's residence by a group of mendicants who described him as their friend and the champion of their interests. Since then, there have been equally moving tributes and reports, all so powerfully couched that they draw attention to the purpose of life, the nature of dying and bereavement, and what a man should die for. I have just read one particularly engaging interview in The Saturday Champion (September 12) granted by 76-year old Joseph Ekpo, who was Gani's barber for 38 years. Their last encounter was on August 7. The interviewer had asked Ekpo: "What was your last moment with Gani like?" Hear Ekpo: "The last time I was with him was last August, on the 7th to be precise. I went to do his hair-cut and he looked at me in the eyes and said, "I have tried." When I finished, he held my right hand in his two hands, slapped the back and said "goodbye." When he was about entering, he looked back again and looked at my eyes, shook his head and went in. That day my spirit told me I may not see or barb him again. When I stepped out, I told his wife who had brought my money that she should be patient to look after her husband. She nodded while I walked away and when I got to the gate, Daniel (Gani's receptionist) saw my wet eyes and asked what the matter was and I told him that I doubted if I would ever see or barb Gani again. True to my prediction, few days ago, they called and informed me of his death." It is possible to conceptualise grief, but long before the bereaved begin the process of detachment from the dead and the necessary illusion that the dead may remain alive, grief is first experienced by the dying. Existing literature on death and dying offer glimpses into the psychology and sociology of dying, at the core of it all is the dying man or woman's own gradual adjustment to the fact of death. Death being the end of physical existence draws upon the individual's full emotions. In Leo Tolstoy's The Death of Ivan Ilych, a strong mimetic representation of thanatos, the final moment of that process is the dying man's acceptance of the fact of mortality, after a period of doubt, uncertainty, hope, and a struggle to cling to life. The Lord Jesus Christ on the Cross, after one of the most celebrated final moments in history, declared: "It is finished... Father unto thy hands I commit my spirit." Gani, when his illness became public knowledge had vowed to fight cancer with all the energy at his disposal. In the end, he told his barber: "I have tried...Goodbye." The barber's reporting of their last encounter may not fully capture the weight of the moment but we get a sense of it. Death is the debt that all living things owe. The dying often worry about how they will be remembered and whether they have done the best with their lives. Victor Marshall calls it, "the writing of the last chapter." The celebration of Gani's life and times in the past few days, has confirmed the truthfulness of his own declaration: "I have tried." In this is contained a sense of fulfilment, contentment and joy. In the expression of our grief, there has been an equal acceptance that Gani lived a meaningful life. There is something called "the way of death," and although there has been much confused theorizing about this, so much clarity has attended the grieving over Gani. There has been a frank telling of feelings and reactions. It is normal in African culture to celebrate good men and women in death and so has it been in Gani's case. Already, the manner of his exit has been successful. What is signposted is not our change of status: one of the byproducts of bereavement: wife to widow, child to orphan, end of association, loss of access, the severance of umbilical cords, but Gani's identity, our own identities, and Gani's role and his place in our national biography. His family has also had the opportunity of both internal dialogues with the deceased: following his corpse about, dressing him up nicely at every ocassion, suggesting even a possible commentary on Gani's fashion on the death-bed, and external dialogues with Gani's friends and associates. Sudden deaths present a different kind of challenge and the dialogue process may be somewhat complicated requiring more tears and counselling but Gani's death does not project the notion of death as an embarrassment but as triumph and conversation. More importantly, it confirms Chris Rawlings's contention that "Death is identity's gatekeeper." In mourning Gani, identities have been under close scrutiny in the last week; even more so, every other person is compelled to ask the questions: "What is death? What is life? What would you die for?" To cite just one example in this regard, Chief Alex Akinyele, Gani's best man at his first wedding and a notable man in his own right, had, in commenting on Gani, asked one interviewer: "how do you think I too will be remembered?" And the young man had said something about Aleco being remembered for his humour. This is not a soft issue. It is part of the meaning of death that is, its capacity to inspire internal dialogues. By forcing such personal reflection on the part of the living, Gani's burial is serving a great purpose. Heroic death confronts us with our own failings and encourages us on the path of adjustment and redemption. The gain of living heroically and dying gloriously is that the living in mourning the dead may even find themselves envying the dead. But the more important part of it all is how other deaths mirror not just our own mortality, our humanism as well. In this regard, perhaps an additional telling example has been that of Nuhu Ribadu, former Chairman of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) who visited gani's home on Thursday. Ribadu has not been declared wanted by the Yar'çdua government but he is treated as an enemy and as a wanted man. They have forced him out of the police, and the man has chosen the option of voluntary exile. But still, he is accussed of undermining the government abroad and the Attorney-General and Minister of Justice has threatened that Ribadu could be charged for treasonable felony. If anyone were to advise Ribadu, given the fact that he had to proceed on exile when an attempt was made on his life, the appropriate thing to say would have been to ask him to remain in exile for now, and avoid being shot in the back by the powerful enemies he made in the course of his duties as Nigeria's anti-corruption czar. "I'm afraid but I'm not reckless," Ribadu said. He certainly knows that whistleblowers are very unpopular with the corrupt elite; in other parts of the world, a bullet in the heart has been the gift for such persons. And yet in spite of all this, Ribadu came into the country last Thursday to pay tribute to the late Chief Gani Fawehinmi. He risked his life to honour the dead. Humanism. Friendship. The power of mentorship. This is also in part my point about identity. In mourning Gani, Ribadu teaches us newer lessons about courage and friendship and the likely continuity of Gani's heroism. Also the question: what would you die for? One evening newspaper soon carried a headline: Manhunt for Ribadu. If indeed the Security Services were planning to arrest Ribadu, they only succeeded in advertisng their incompetence. Ribadu did not disguise as a woman to come into the country. He did not steal to the Gani home under the cover of the night. He addressed the press and even left Ikeja GRA to go to the mortuary to see Gani all of which took more than one hour. They didn't need to look for him. They just couldn't do anything to him. What has been played out is one simple moral tale: Ribadu in the course of his brief visit had the best protection: the protection of the ordinary people of Nigeria. At Gani's home and at the mortuary, the people hailed him, they wanted to touch him, they wanted to hear his voice. They mobbed his car damaging it in the process. They gave him a hero's reception. If anyone had tried to arrest him under such circusmtances, ordinary people would have resisted such nonsense. The people know their leaders: not the pretenders in the corridors of power but those who are committed to the transformation of Nigeria into a great country, As far as we can see, Nuhu Ribadu is counted among this progressive kind. Gani would be pleased with the manner and drama of Ribadu's brief return.
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