Paradigm Shift

PARADIGM SHIFT

   “Kareem, my brother,” Bello called while seated opposite the supposed recipient of the call in his blue caftan.

    Kareem looked at him attentively.

   “I have in several occasions pleaded with you to kindly step down for me.” said Bello.

    Alhaji Bello Ahmed, the immediate elder and only brother to Hon Kareem, was aspiring for a Federal House of Representatives seat of his constituency in Kano State, North-West zone of Nigeria, and incidentally and coincidentally the latter happened to be his closest rival for the said ambition. Hon Kareem Ahmed who was vying under a different political party had vowed never to step down for his elder brother despite the countless importunities coming from him (Bello), and he (Kareem) ostensibly had greater chances of winning the awaited election which was fast approaching.

    Having emerged victoriously as the flag-bearers of their respective parties, Alhaji Bello was relentlessly making a frantic effort toward ensuring that his younger brother’s name wouldn’t appear on the same ballot paper with his, and he was employing every amicable means to actualize his genuine motive. For the umpteenth time, he had thought it wise to pay him a visit at his place of residence, and therein they were seated in Kareem’s parlour; he had earlier sought an audience with him prior to the meeting.

    “Bro,” the 46-year-old Kareem responded. “If you have been sleeping, I think it’s high time you woke up.”

    Bello got struck by the gravity of the words, astonished.

    “Yes,” Kareem who sensed how shocked his sibling was, rode on. “Because I have made it clear to you that I can never step down for anybody.”

    “Why are you doing this to me?” the 50-year-old Bello lamented.

    “Come to think of it,” said Kareem. “Why not consider stepping down for me?”

    Bello cast an abrupt glance at him, depressed.

    “Of course,” Kareem continued. “Since it’s obvious I have greater chances than you.” He asserted.

    The debate lasted for over an hour to no avail. The depressed guest left Kareem’s home at 7:45pm disappointedly.

    The brouhaha between the two related politicians lingered unabated that it triggered the optimum concern of all and sundry that thought good of their family name (Ahmed), not until their entire relatives including their aged parents intervened into the matter which almost became bloody; thus Kareem finally agreed to step down for the sake of brotherhood. The unanimous agreement between the family members, which was duly signed by the lawyers of the tussling brothers, was that having stepped down for him as requested, Alhaji Bello would go for only 4-year term if he eventually won the election after which he would amicably relinquish the position for his younger brother.

    Thereafter, everyone who heard of the story, which was only imaginable considering how Hon Kareem was making waves towards the awaited polls, sincerely commended him for the unbelievable step he had taken to save his family’s name.

    Luckily for Alhaji Bello, he emerged victoriously at the polls which took place in two months time. His victory, which was anticipated, ushered in merriment not just to his immediate family but to his overall extended family. Few weeks later, he was successfully sworn in.

    Truly, power intoxicates. The moment the legislator assumed duty, everything about him, including his personal and public life, automatically changed as if his entire person was transformed into something else. He hardly paid attention to the concern of his only brother, Hon Kareem who obviously sacrificed a lot to ensure he got to that position. According to him, his sibling gave him an unbearable tough time before he accepted to step down which was even occasioned by the unanimous efforts of his relatives in spite of his initial innumerable pleas in that regard; this was one of the unreasonable reasons that made him turned his back on him.

     It would fascinate you to note that Hon Kareem Ahmed was the immediate past Executive Chairman of their Local Government Council, and while in office he performed marvelously well. In view of this, virtually the entire concerned electorate had him as their only choice for that Federal House of Reps seat. So, anyone who was in his shoes would rather ask his elder brother to step down for him. To say the least, Alj Bello got that very political post as a result of his (Kareem’s) fame. Though Bello who was a successful industrialist was wealthier than him, but most times good name is far better and intimidating than affluence.

    Aside the aforementioned change of lifestyle, among others, that was directly affecting the family members, his (Bello’s) attitude in the public sphere was nothing to write home about. He hardly attended organized events he was duly invited to, totally unlike what it used to be prior to his victory at the just concluded polls. Funnily enough, before he won the election, he was attending occasions in which his presence wasn’t even needed, just like a street beggar. The abrupt and uncalled lifestyle persisted endlessly.

    Four years on toward the end of his tenure, like Oliver Twist, he nurtured interest to vie for a second term in office as if he had forgotten so soon the peaceful agreement jointly reached between him and his sibling. When confronted by his brother for such irrational step, he snubbed him. He further let him realized that that agreement was duly signed by their respective solicitors; rather than seeing reason with him, he asked him to go to court if he so wished. To this end, his brother, Hon Kareem decided to ignore his highfalutin behaviour and face his dream squarely.

    Subsequently, both of them emerged as the flag bearers of their various parties. Anyone who won the primaries of the both political parties had greater chances of emerging victoriously during the election proper owing to the prominence of the parties in question. Alj Bello was able to scale through the primary election having influenced the leaders of his party with his wealth.

    Three months after, the awaited election came on board. Consequently, Alj Bello the incumbent legislator got lost at the polls; he was overwhelmingly knocked out by his kid brother, the indomitable Hon Kareem.

    The defeat which was foreseen by every dick and harry due to the glaring popularity of the victor, kept the victim unconscious for a whole calendar month. In fact, the outcome of the election dawned the awful reality on him that power had finally been shifted to the electorate, contrary to the previous mentality or tradition that with one’s money or power of incumbency as the case might be, he/she could gain power at ease.

    Indeed, it was a paradigm shift. Or, what do you think? Think about it!

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The Untold Story

THE UNTOLD STORY

    “It’s a great day, indeed!” Mr Sule exclaimed right in a prison yard.

    Mr Sule Bala who was sentenced to the prison five years back for a crime he knew nothing about had just exhausted his 5-year jail term, hence he would be headed for his country home on the so-called great day having been discharged and ‘acquitted’.

    On their part, his wife, Risi and only child, Kazim who was barely 2-year-old when he was imprisoned, but now seven, could not wait to embrace the long-awaited moment having been notified on his proposed return. The little Kazim who had been intimated by his lovely mum that his ‘ghost’ father would be home that very day, had been excitedly busy going around the neighbourhood informing every dick and harry that they were awaiting his dad’s arrival.

     Finally, Sule was out of the prison yard as expected at about 11:15am, and he was meant to cover about 25-kilometre distance prior to reuniting with his family which was supposed to last for at least 80 minutes as a result of bad road. While in the commercial bus, though petrifying due to fear of the unknown, the journey was the best experience that could be felt by anyone in his shoes; roughly 260 weeks away from home was enough reason for his mindset that was in tatters to be preoccupied with escapism.

    There and behold, the millennium odyssey was over in about one hour and ten minutes as anticipated. Sule hesitantly stepped down from the bus, filled with scepticism, “Could this be my place?” He thought.

    Obviously, a lot had really changed; his country home Abasi in Kwara State, North-Central zone of Nigeria, which was a rural settlement, was actually wearing a new look. Most of the trees had been brought down, several new houses and lock-up shops erected, and most significantly every old feature that was still present was appearing totally differently. “So, development has finally come to the Ancient Abasi Kingdom?” Sule murmured as he stepped down from the bus.

    He needn’t to board any other cab or bike that would take him home; his house was barely a stone’s throw from the bus-stop. He hurriedly transferred the polythene bag containing his belongings from his left hand to the other, and was set for a pleasurable trek that would eventually usher in his lovely home comprising his wife and kid.

    As soon as he walked into the narrow path that led to his house, so many thoughts came over him. ‘Who knows how my boy would look like?’ and ‘My wife had really missed me’ were a few of the paramount thoughts that ran across his medulla oblongata. While he kept moving, the continued chorus whispers of the bush birds, as usual, made him filled with enormous nostalgia; no doubt, the seemingly forgotten memories of the past were gradually finding their way back to his heart, body and soul. As he moved in his good for nothing dress that could best be described as ‘rags’, he was relentlessly and cheerfully waving to passersby, whom were mainly his kinsmen, that were passing intermittently. He was taking his precious time to walk along the sparingly lonely pathway so could observe every content of the ancient heritage.

    The endurance trek lasted for approximately twelve minutes. At last, the purported ex-convict arrived home, “Home has changed too.” He observed aloud, loaded with unquantifiable gladness.

    Everywhere was absolutely tranquil exactly not unlike a graveyard. The goats and domestic birds in the house just variously but simultaneously greeted his presence with an abrupt unprecedented stare. It appeared they knew a stranger just joined them.

    “Is anyone here?” Sule added immediately.

    His darling wife, Risi who got a glimpse of the exclamation as she was busy in the kitchen, adjusted herself so she could comprehend fully where the sound was actually migrating from.

    “Is anyone home?” Sule reiterated with alacrity.

    “That’s my husband!” Risi exclaimed aloud elatedly, dashed out of the kitchen only to see a young man, though seemed old, who wasn’t just looking tatteredly and hungrily but pathetically. She hastily ran to him and frantically hugged him.

    Sule reciprocated in a more tightly manner. The nylon bag slipped from his hand and fell to the floor helplessly.

    Ever since he was transferred to a farther prison yard two years back, she had been unable to visit him unlike before.

    Her face was instantly covered with fathomless tears; Sule followed suit unconditional.

    It was conspicuously a scene of real pathos.

    While they were still holding each other at the house’s balcony, the 7-year-old Kazim who had been in the bedroom rushed out on hearing some unwonted noises. His mum who was facing where he (Kazim) stood couldn’t observe his presence, neither did his dad who was backing him noticed any sound behind, although the couple was standing very close to him. The little Kazim who had seen the uncontrollable tears on his mother’s face stood aloof while observing the highly emotional drama with keen interest.

    Since he was yet to see the face of the man that seriously and unusually held his mum, he was of the view that Sule, his father was Mr Ali. His mum had earlier told him that his dad would be back probably at night, so he never imagined having his dad’s presence at noon.

    Mr Ali was Risi’s concubine who had been coming to her matrimonial home from time to time ever since her husband was imprisoned. Perhaps, she couldn’t cope with her hubby’s prolonged absence.

    “Uncle Ali, what is it?” Kazim eventually broke the silence.

    Risi was very shocked over the exclamation, particularly as regards the name mentioned.

    Sule turned instantly on hearing the sound that came behind him, “Oh, my boy!” he exclaimed, stretched out his hands for a pleasant hug.

    The brilliant kazim who was able to recognize the face owing to the various pictures he had been glancing at all long, rushed his dad and hugged him emotionally.

    After the hug, Sule quickly turned to his wife, “So, who’s Ali?” He queried calmly.

    The wife gushed out tears again uncontrollably, “Honey, I’m so sorry…!” She managed to utter, fell to the ground.

    “Oh, my God!” Sule who had understood the scenario shouted. “So, you couldn’t wait for me?” He added furiously, left the arena for their bedroom.

    She remained on the ground helplessly and pitiably. Her unfaithful lifestyle was reoccurring to her senses just like a mere daydream. She couldn’t believe it. Therein, she stood up and followed him to the room. Kazim joined her.

    As Sule got to the room, he noticed a female kid who was about 3-year-old that was lying in their matrimonial bed, “Who’s she?” He asked the wife who was coming behind him.

    She was speechless, felt like taking sips of an acidic solution to enable her join her ancestors in a grand style.

    Unbelievably, the kid in question was a product of her infidelity. She alongside Mr Ali mistakenly gave birth to the kid while her hubby was observing his second year in the prison. The moment Sule informed her that he would be home soonest while still in the prison, she was profoundly worried over how best she would handle the ugly situation when he returned.

    Having psychologically comprehended every bit of the untold story, Sule felt like strangling Risi; consequently he madly ran out of the room to an unknown destination, leaving her untouched.

    Subsequently, he couldn’t withstand the ignominy, thus he divorced her and got married to another woman.

   

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Power of Destiny

POWER OF DESTINY

    “Sir, you were spotted in Canada few weeks ago,” quoth Miss Vanessa amidst the interview. “Please, can you tell us what prompted the trip?”

    “I was invited to deliver a public lecture,” the interviewee, Prof. Nkrumah responded. “In the University of Alberta.”

    “What was the theme of the lecture, Sir?”

    “The role of a leader in continental development,” Prof Nkrumah said. “The Ghanaian perspective.” He landed.

    Prof. G.O. Nkrumah, an astute and veteran 53-year-old Ghanaian professor of the Department of International Relations in the University of Accra, Ghana, was indeed the dream of every young and focused Ghanaian student that he was widely celebrated in every nook and cranny of the country. Everybody wanted to hear him speak whenever he was being interviewed on the radio or watch him speak in the case of a television broadcast. The young and agile academic was to say the least highly adored owing to his exemplary proficiency in issues relating to public sphere. There and behold, he was, as usual, being interviewed on one of the most reputable Ghanaian television broadcasting firms – StarCool TV.

    “Sorry for deviating,” the anchor Lady Vanessa proceeded. “Can you tell us a bit about your family?”

    “Well, I have a loving and lovely woman as a wife,” the renowned professor began his family analysis. “Dr Mrs Ann Nkrumah, of course everyone knows her.” He exaggerated.

    The presenter nodded pleasantly.

    Though his wife, Dr Mrs. A.D. Nkrumah who was also an academic, in Psychology precisely, was a famous personality but her popularity could not be equated with his (Prof’s) that could be attested to by even a-day-old child.

    “I would say,” Prof Nkrumah rode on. “I’m that imperfect man that got married to a perfect woman.” He boasted.

    The chocolate skinned Lady Vanessa who clad in ash suit, ash plain trousers, coupled with black shoes couldn’t hold her smile. “How many children?” She enquired.

    “By His grace, I’m blessed with three wonderful children,” he replied. “My last child who is the only male among them is 18 at the moment.”

    “Do you mind talking about them?” She said cheerfully, hastily adjusted her transparent specs.

    “My first daughter at 22 is presently on her Master’s degree programme in London Graduate School; her younger sister who’s 20 will conclude her first degree this year in Dundee University, Scotland,” the dark complexioned academic who dressed in black suit, black plain trousers alongside black shoes answered. “My son Dennis who is studying Law in the Manchester University, also in the UK, is currently in 200 Level.”         

    “At 18?”

    “Of course,” he said. “He left secondary school at the age of 16.”

    “Interesting.” The 33-year-old spinster applauded.

    “What you have to know is that children of nowadays are very fast academically,” the notable Prof asserted. “It’s not like during our time.”

    “Apart from Law,” Vanessa continued. “Would you have allowed him to go for any other profession?”

    “Sure,” he said succinctly, nodding. “The choice is his.”

    “As your only son,” the Ghanaian trained journalist punched again. “Would you have allowed him to venture into acting?”

    “Why not?” He replied. “Actors are great people in the society today.” He added, paused. “Even as a Lawyer, he can still become an actor tomorrow.”

    “But you and I know that there are so many distractions in the movie industry,” Vanessa went on. “And I’m of the view you would like him to be addressed as a Professor someday.”

    Prof Nkrumah smiled.

    His hands seemed tied going by the nature of the logic being utilized by the seasoned mass communicator.

    Obviously, the interview was gradually arriving at a hot zone unannounced.

    “Even at that,” he managed to utter. “All I know is that, he can still attain to that height even as an actor.”

    “So, in other words,” she hinted. “Any profession is okay by you?”

    “Definitely,” the bearded Prof said. “It’s a matter of choice.” He reiterated sceptically.

    The weekly programme entitled ‘Meet your role model’ which invariably came up every Saturday on StarCool TV lasted for an hour as the tradition requested.

    “Beautiful outing,” the Prof’s beautiful wife applauded, kissed his cheeks the moment he arrived home. “Darling, you spoke very well as usual.”

    “Thank you, my dear.” Prof Nkrumah appreciated.

    Dennis, their only son was meant to be in his Ghanaian home that very day. The Manchester University undergraduate had earlier called home to notify his parents – Prof & Dr (Mrs.) Nkrumah. It was in March, 2003.

    Within a twinkle of an eye, the awaited chap finally arrived home as expected at about 6:45pm (GMT), “Oh Dad and Mum,” he exclaimed as he was about separately hugging his parents who had stepped out of the house to welcome him. “You are all looking good.” He added frantically.

    “Welcome son.” His mum said as they hug each other.

    “Welcome, my boy!” the ever vibrant Prof reiterated as he grabbed his own hug instantly after his wife received hers.

    The three hurriedly moved to the sitting room and had their seats while the house-help took the luggage to the apt quarter. The couple sat very close to each other on the only three-in-one upholstery chair in the room whilst, their son Dennis sat directly adjacent to them on a separate single upholstery chair.

    “I know the semester hasn’t ended,” the Prof hastily said. “So, why are you home?”

    The wife assented via a nod.

    “Dad, you’re right,” quoth Dennis. “We’re still in second semester.”

    “So?” the anxious academic interrupted inquisitively.

    “Dad and Mum,” the chap called. “I have something very crucial to discuss with you.”

    “We are listening, my son.” said the Prof, wondered what could be the matter that he couldn’t discuss on phone.

    “I want to go to a seminary school,” the 18-year-old Dennis informed hesitantly. “I want to be a Priest.”

    “You would like to become a Priest?” the renowned academic who was also a devoted Catholic uttered confusedly.

    The wife shook her head, which bore long plaited hairs, with dismay, seemed depressed.

    “Yes Dad,” Dennis responded calmly. “I’ve already made up my mind.”

    “Meaning?” His parents chorused.

    “I’m done with the University.”

    “What!” the Prof shouted.

    Mrs Nkrumah looked at him (Dennis) in awe.

    It was as if the female journalist, Vanessa who hosted the Prof few minutes back foresaw the incident.

    “Are you out of your mind?” the Prof ranted. “Do you realize you are my only son?”

    “Dad,” the chap called. “I never said I’m about to die…”

    “Dennis…,” his mother interrupted loudly. “What has come over you?”

    “You must be mad.” The Prof overreacted.

    Perhaps, he had abruptly forgotten so soon what he told the TV presenter awhile ago as regards choosing a career.

    “Besides, who says a University graduate can’t become a Reverend Father?” He rode on furiously. “Where did you cull that from?”

    The wife calmly clapped her hands, indicating her optimum surprise.

    Thereafter, the altercation continued for several days to no avail until Prof G.O. Nkrumah decided to give the thought-provoking issue a second thought owing to his wife’s importunities. Consequently, Dennis left the University for a Senior Seminary School in Ghana unconditionally.

    Ceteris paribus, many years later, in 2013 to be precise, Dennis Nkrumah was ordained as a Holy Ghost Catholic Priest (CSSP) at 28 having successfully undergone rigorous missionary trainings as the ethics demanded.

    On that fateful and remarkable day, his beloved parents felt fulfilled for having sacrificed their only son.

    Immediately after the ordination, the young and handsome priest - Rev Fr Dennis Nkrumah promised his parents that he would surely become a professor someday.

    Sincerely, if you were in the shoes of the academics, would you have allowed Dennis to proceed to the seminary school? Think about it!

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