- In BLOGS
- October 21, 2015
- Pat Utomi
Prof. Pat Utomi
The
news came in trickles. First, it was said a Nigerian may have been lost
in the stampede at a Holy site during the pilgrimage. It was one
professor. Then, it seemed some judges had also been lost. At some
point, when I called a friend to ask how the Sallah celebration was
going, I was told the joy of the day had been dampened by news that a
veteran Northern journalist, Bilikisu Yussuf, was among the dead. Oh no,
I screamed, not her. Not long after I heard that the professor was not
just some professor it was Tijani El Miskin who along with several
others I had a fabulous time as graduate student in the United States
from 1979 through 1982.
The Saudi tragedy had gone from statistics of the unfortunate to a personal tragedy that diminished me personally.
That moment brought me to a time of introspection. There was much
violent death all around, from the Boko Haram killing fields in the
North-East to the community clashes in Anambra State and oil pipeline
thieves created infernos, and flood victims. Often, the statistics are
reeled out. A shrug of disbelief is let go as another 39 human beings go
before what may have been a span of life which could be their due.
Behind every statistic are flesh, blood, brain, brawn and emotions that
brought joy to some, laughter to many and reason for being to others.
Yet, like the words of wisdom of the Ibusa people of Delta State affirm,
the body in that casket in a funeral cottage escorted by wailing
friends and relatives is just a piece of log to the stranger.
Surely, our lives must gain greater meaning and rise in value when we
are diminished by the unwholesome squashing of human life no matter
whose, and where it happens. This shared humanity should breed
solidarity that drives man to cooperating to ward off every assault on
the dignity of the human person. Such cooperation and collaboration
should fuel cooperative efforts, in multilateral institutions, for
example, to fight poverty, threats to the environment which fight back
with consequences from global warming, and terrorism which mindlessly
targets the innocent.
As I wrote this, the breaking news came that bombs had gone off in
Kuje market and a police station, in Abuja, the Federal Capital
Territory, an unwelcome return after a hiatus during which the United
Nations Secretary General, Ban Ki Moon, came calling to mark the sad
anniversary of the earlier journey of bombs of death from the bowels of
hell. That time it took down the UN building in Abuja. It would not be
about how many people died in Kuje and Nyanya. This was a colour
commentary on these people I knew so well.
How would I forget el-Miskin? The summer of 1980 was the high point
of our paths crossing. A group of us, African graduate students, got
together in the evening to play recreational volleyball in mixed teams
of men and women, just across from Evermann Apartments in the Married
Students Housing area in Bloomington, Indiana. As many of us were not
married but more mature postgraduate students at different stages of
working on the PhD degrees, the Apartments would probably have been
better called Graduate Apartments than Married Housing.
A small group of African students formed a neat social web that had
late evening volleyball in summer as a central recreation. Among us were
Aminu Kano Zaria, Gidado Tahir, Tijani el Miskin, Jonah Ifegwu, Collins
Ajiniran and a small squad of good looking Ethiopian women.
Tijani was the ultimate Bohemian, I used to say. Hardly the athletic
type, he would suddenly wonder past and call out to one of the
Ethiopians, not by her name but the name of her tribe. Tigre, he would
call as he passed, and we knew we would soon lose the company of one
whose looks could account for several of the men being of good behaviour
during the game. I would typically look at Gidado, who as Professor
Tahir, many years later, would serve as the Executive Secretary of the
Universal Basic Education scheme, we would smile and fall into
consolation of a depleted stock of the other gender on the teams. Had
Tom Adaba and Matt Mogekwu not left just before that long hot summer, I
could have imagined them running colour commentary on the game and
dragging Tijani into that part of the sport.
Tijani was likeable, revolutionary and determined to see a better
world. In the 35 years since those fun summers, I have spoken with him
only about four times on the telephone, the last being nearly two years
ago. Still a huge part of what meaning I have for patriotic commitment
to changing society for the common good had to have died with him.
Then, there is the case of Bilikisu Yussuf. Beyond being a pioneer as
a woman in editorial chair positions and a social enterprise
pacesetter, Yussuf was comfortable with a strong voice. I still remember
the eve of October 1, 1998. Gen. Olusegun Obasanjo, just released from
prison, had called together the cream of the Nigerian political and
civil society elite. Most were of an older generation, the dominant
players of the 1960s and 1970s. A sprinkling were the 1980s and 1990s
people.
As with natural selection, those few sat together for lunch that
afternoon at the Gateway Hotel in Ota. There was Clem Nwankwo, Bilikisu
Yusuf, Olisa Agbakoba and I. Her views on the issues were firm and fair.
She had won my respect long before that for her work at the New
Nigerian Newspapers but the small banter that afternoon made her voice
even more important to lend an ear to.
Her passing surely had to diminish my sense of mission and purpose.
As our world turns on axis of discontent and violent expression and
the death of many gets expressed in the gruesome statistic of many more
killed today, it helps to place faces, habits, loves found and lost,
dreams dreamt and abandoned, in that statistical maze. As I see the
manners and moods of el-Miskin and Yussuf, I wish so deeply that a
civilisation of love could govern our times and deaths of this nature
affect every man and not attract blame like it’s the Africans who took
the wrong turn or “it is that party that failed with procedure.”
When people stop being statistic, human solidarity becomes an anchor
of culture. It is then it becomes easier, in empathy with the dignity of
the human person for collective action to get to the roots of these
challenges.
As we pay tribute to the memories of two remarkable people who were
leaders who had no need for title (LWT) to lead, Hadjia Bilkisu Yussuf
and Professor Tijani el-Miskin, we must come to terms that no life is
just a statistic and that our being is enriched by the lives of others.
– Utomi, political economist and professor of entrepreneurship, is founder of the Centre for Values in Leadership.
