“My June 12 experience” – Opinion by Nseobong Okon-Ekong

Opinion by Nseobong Okon-Ekong

I was on the editorial team of Punch Newspapers in 1993. I had just been re-depolyed to the sub-desk. And since I lived right across the road from my office, at Mongoro (along the New Abeokuta Express Road), I was used to requests from colleagues who came to work from a farther distance asking me to round-off their work.

In my neighbourhood was a failed NRC presidential aspirant, Chief Obijiaku. He had put up a brave challenge against Chief Ologunde who eventually carried the NRC presidential flag for Lagos State. Obijiaku was an Igbo man but this did not dissuade him from taking part in IBB’s mad political chess game called Option A4. I had become friendly with Obijiaku whose ability to mobilise his immediate community around Agege was admirable.

I was single at the time, but I had a female friend, Cordelia Iweze, a Delta-Igbo lady who spoke fluent Hausa. She previously lived in Kano. Somehow, she had become an acquaintance or friend to one of Chief MKO Abiola’s wives. She visited the Abiola home frequently. Every night when I returned from work, she would regale me with some of the drama going on there. She wanted me to come see things for myself.

One day, I went with her to Abiola’s home. From the mouth of the street, lots of people were milling around. It was like a market-banners announcing different persons and groups in solidarity with Abiola. Cordelia was known to the security men at the gate.

They let her through, but they gently insisted she get ‘Madam’s’ authorisation to let me in. A few persons tried to lobby her to take them in, but if she couldn’t immediately secure access for me, how was she supposed to help them? But these were desperate people who saw an opportunity every time the gate opened before it was slammed shut in their face. Madam had to call the Gatehouse to allow me in.

As I was being singled out of the throng of people, a couple of them reminded me to put in a good word for them. It made me wonder how big the Abiola cake was. Everyone was convinced they could have a piece of this cake.

Cordelia was more interested that I should not let the opportunity to make some cash from the Abiola campaign slip. She kept pressing that I come up with ideas she could sell to her friend. I shared the thought with my friend, Biodun Taiwo. I came up with the idea of a unique, never-been-seen, campaign cards. I wrote the messages in the cards and conceptualised the designs. We needed to make a few samples to show Mrs. Abiola, but Biodun and I could not gather the needed funds. He enlisted two other friends, Sule, an artist and Wale Obisesan, who had the funds.

We made four different designs. With Cordelia’s help, we had no problem meeting with Mrs. Abiola. She bought the idea immediately. Among Abiola’s many wives and other members of his household, there was stiff contest for who could present the best form of support for his presidential ambition. Each wife tried to outdo the other. This Mrs Abiola immediately saw our campaign card as her trump card. She was willing to pay for all four designs. That day, she made a generous advance for the work.

Wale took the money from her-tens of thousands of Naira in crisp N20 notes! We were not prepared for it. Our immediate challenge was how to get home with the cash. We shared it among ourselves. The security men at the gate had an uncanny way of knowing whose bread had just been buttered. We understood their boisterous salutations. It was not for nothing. It demanded some gratification. And we paid. We went back to my place to share the money. All the running cost incurred by Wale was sorted out. Sule was given monies to produce the cards. Cordelia was rewarded, as well. The rest was shared equally among the four of us.

A few days after, the cards were ready. I had to be at work. I couldn’t go with my friends to see Mrs. Abiola. Cordelia went with Biodun, Wale and Sule. She came back very late. I knew something had gone wrong when I saw her. She was not smiling.

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“Did you say those guys are your friends.”?

Without waiting for my response, she told me what had happened. Mrs. Abiola was happy with the work. The balance was paid in full. Cordelia wanted all of them to come back to my place, but Wale and Sule had other plans. They said they would see me the next day. By now, Cordelia was not only seething with anger, she was full of regrets. She suddenly remembered other trustworthy persons she could have involved in the transaction.

The next day, Wale, Sule and Biodun were at my place. Apparently, Wale and Sule had resolved to keep a bigger chunk of the money. They came with the ‘change’ they thought Biodun and I should have. A heated argument followed and a struggle ensued in an attempt to stop Wale and Sule from leaving. It wasn’t a fight, but we were not in our gentlemen mode. Things got really rough and the back of my head hit the door frame.

Blood from the cut was, perhaps, the caution we needed. It brought us to our senses (or so I thought). I let go of them. They apologised. There was a show of remorse, even if superficial. They even offered to get medical care for me, but Cordelia would have none of it. I was too shell-shocked to do anything else. Of course, they kept all the money.

This was one of my vivid June 12 experiences. The day itself just rolled by. I performed my civic responsibility at Sule street, Mongoro, Agege-Lagos. The voting process was peaceful, and perhaps, uneventful, as it has been widely adjudged a landmark free and fair election in Nigeria. The drama that surrounded June 12, like the one narrated here, happened before or after that day.