Adejoh Momoh is responding to Gimba Kakanda's 'Memoirs of a Political Scam Artist' published on Sahara Reporters on the 22nd February, 2013.
First
off, I must start writing this by admitting a fact: I am a fan of the man,
Nasir Ahmad El- Rufai. Not only do I think he is extremely brilliant, I also
think he is one man who truly has the good of Nigeria at heart. I began to hear
of the man when his brother Bashir El-Rufai ran Intercellular, and I have
admired him since. Referring to him in our home simply as 'my uncle', the fact
that he graduated from the Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria a few years after my
mother, helped to bolster the belief that we were family. I had the pleasure of
first seeing the man in full flesh in 2007.
Funny
story; my elder brother, my mum and I had embarked on the holy pilgrimage
through the Pilgrims Board of the Federal Capital Territory. If you've ever
travelled via state, you would know that this is no easy feat: after relocating
to the Hajj camp in Gwagwalada where we didn't have immediate access to
amenities we ordinarily would access at home, we were squeezed into a 'Mangal'
aircraft some 3 days later that took us to Jeddah. I complained to my elder
brother who sat beside me all through the flight. He would just look at me and
smile, he was only too grateful to be able to fulfill his religious rites.
After
changing into our 'Ihram' at Jeddah- a piece of white cloth firmly tied to your
waist, and another lazily flung across your upper body, my mother pointed at
someone in the distance and said, 'see your uncle'. At this point, I was getting
familiar with walking in what to me felt like a skirt, all the same, I looked,
and I whispered 'El-Rufai'. A memory I wouldn't hastily forget. We went on to
have a conversation with him, very pleasant. He would later go on to demolish
what was a major income earner for my family, our 'Corner Shops' but I admired
him nonetheless.
I first
encountered Gimba’s writing in his ‘Safari Pants’ anthology, and have admired
his ease with rhythm and imagery ever since. As someone who has come to expect
objectivity as I have seen in the many articles that have run on his blog www.gimbakakanda.blogspot.com, I approached his
review with similar hopes, I was disappointed. Not only did his analysis reek of
resentment, it also was not a representation of the book.
The
opening of Gimba's review reads 'Malam Nasir El-Rufai is a saint. El-Rufai’s
intellectual and managerial wisdom is unmatched by any living thing that has
ever been in power in Nigeria.' he would then go ahead to describe the
Accidental Public Servant as a 'revelation of the destructive elitism on
whose back this polarized nation suffers'.
To a
large extent, this is correct, one would even think that this is what the
author sets out to accomplish in writing the book. After all, the book is a
personal account of his nearly one decade in public service: the belief in the
restoration of a public sector which has suffered systemic breakdown over years
as a result of the very same elitism Gimba speaks of, and is doomed to suffer
future breakdown due to deliberate policy reversals, amongst other ills. Having
read the book wholly, I come from it with a lot more respect for El-Rufai, I
come from it, challenged and inspired. Most importantly, I come from it with
the surprising knowledge that with courage and confidence, it is possible to
live a life of public service without being compromised.
Gimba is
quoted as saying 'One, though, hears a man too angry'. When I read this
statement I found it funny, amusing even. Reading Gimba's review, it is easy to
imagine that the man is angered at the author: from El-Rufai's intellect which
he describes as 'illusory' to his academic exploits which in his opinion makes
everyone around the former minister dumb, it is not hard to question therefore
if Gimba's anger got in the way of his objectivity during his review.
Gimba's
description of how El-Rufai portrays President Yar’Adua cannot be farther from
the truth, and to objective readers, would constitute selective interpretation.
He chooses to only mention that the author sees the former president 'as an
unserious student and chain-smoker', and chooses to leave out the portion
of the book where the author describes his relationship with the ex- president
as 'decent, professional, sort of brotherly' or where the author
describes the ex President as 'modest and humble, both qualities he
considers endearing', or where he describes his respect for Yaradua at par
with his respect for Bashir El- Rufai - one of the only people who according to
Gimba, the author considers saintly.
Gimba
alleges that the author, 'never lets you forget he graduated with a first
class honours degree; perhaps that is because he is the only one who has ever
done so?' One would wonder what this statement demonstrates besides the
ranting of someone obviously embittered over the accomplishments of another. Is
he suggesting that the author keeps numb on his educational attainment in his
own memoir? Or belittle his accomplishments to service the ego of a few
insecure people?
Evidence
of Gimba's deliberate misinterpretation of the author's words is evident in his
attempt to explain the 'accident' in the book title, he states that 'there
was no accident in El-Rufai’s public service career;' explaining that 'what
he (the author) optimistically calls an accident was in fact an invitation from
his elder brother’s friend to serve as a member of the advisory council in
General Abdulsalam’s transition government'. What people like Gimba fail to
understand is that you underestimate the understanding of the reading public
when you deliberately misconstrue words to suit purpose.
El-Rufai's
accident is in fact justified by the fact that nominees for ministerial
appointment are simply recommended by certain people who are in the inner
circle or are confidants of present leadership. Often, these recommendations
are not based on known experience or qualifications.
I
remember my sister making the joke when I first offered her the book, she
asked, 'Why did he have to write 12 epistles?' and we both laughed. When I
started out reading the 625 paged book, I thought I would find it a difficult
read and would probably abandon it half way, but as I read, every page led to
the other: the language is simplistic and refreshing, the humor of the book is
genuine.
The
Accidental Public Servant is the most gripping and insightful analysis of
Nigeria’s political decay I have read of recent. I recommend the book wholly to
every Nigerian and to anyone who has the interest of Nigeria at heart. Read it
objectively, then decide who to believe: one who saw it happen, or a roadside
book reviewer.
