“Right Time Response”
AFTER retirement, I decided to start a small advertising and publicity agency in order to make ends meet.
I had three wives and 16 children to feed. There were other dependers as well who relied on me to survive the era of unemployment and hardship confronting this country then.
My grand father brought me up because my parents were living abroad. He was strict and a disciplined 129-year-old ex-serviceman.
He served in the second world war and became a special advisor on military combat during the Nigerian civil war.
Grandpa was also jovial, hard-working and very religious. It would take you a decade to provoke him but don’t ever allow yourself to fall into his unique traps. You may live to regret it for the rest of your life.
I used to call my Grandpa Malam Aboki, meaning my friend. We were very close as he became my best friend and mentor.
Grandpa helped me tremendously to set up my company. He introduced me to several individuals that helped me expand my company within a short period of time. The company became popular and very productive.
Three years after setting up my company, I extended my services to a neighbouring state and before a count of ten, I was in 12 states of the federation.
One rainy Saturday afternoon, my Grandpa called me and showed me an advertisement in one of the foreign magazines.
“If you can arrange something like this here, you’ll be able to grab some hard currency”, he told me, his finger pointing at the classified ad.
I took the magazine and drew it closer to my eyes. I went through the advert almost ten times in less than a minute.
“Malam Aboki, this idea is great”. I began, though truly not fully convincing myself that what I was saying, came from the bottom of my heart.
“If you invite those Ph.D holders, who wish to become professors by writing about the second world war, and with me around, you’ll make easy money”. As no reply came from me, Grandpa continued. “I wouldn’t mind telling them about my experience at the battle field. How brave men sacrificed their lives to save others and how Adolf Hitler made soap out of the flesh and bones of fellow humans.”
I saw his face gradually being over-taken by a very dismal look. He might be remembering the better experience he encountered during the war time, where many men, women and children lost their lives.
My grandfather got carried away I had to shake his lanky body to jeer him back to reality.
He waved his hand down, his eyes full of tears and got to his feet.
“If I should voice out my feelings about wars, especially the ones I fought, it would make my jumpy nerves relax for awhile. I need rest of mind more than anything”.
One week after seeing the advert, I sat with Grandpa to calculate the amount of money to be expanded on the project.
The idea was to invite the Ph.D holders, about 200 of them, from all over the world, to come down for a five-hour special lecture to be delivered by Grandpa so as to guide them obtain their professorship.
A total of 634 individuals would be expected to grace the occasion. Journalists, elites, businessmen and women, the force and audience would be expected to attend the special occasion as well.
It took me and Grandpa nearly two days to put everything in shape. We calculated that nearly $200,000 would be spent on the activities with regards to lodging, transport, entertainment, gifts and other essentials.
“But where shall I get that huge amount of money?” I asked Grandpa.
He shook his head and released that teasing smile. “You’ve your car, your house and few other belongings to either sell or mortgage. I…”
“But Grandpa, what about my family and the consequences? I mean it’s not going to be comfortable with me.” I cut him short.
“You’re counting the loss. What about the gain? You could make over a million Dollars out of that initiative. Besides”, Grandpa released another teasing smile, “I’m not going to charge you for my contribution.”
After exchanging several letters and over 100 phone calls. I fixed the lecture day to be held on the birthday of Grandpa, just to give him a special gift.
Two days to the special occasion, I asked Grandpa if he shouldn’t rehearse or something. The look on his face was enough to shun any repetition of even a similar question.
“I fought first and second world wars, and contributed during the Biafran civil war. Nothing happened to me. Neither my body nor my soul was affected by the trauma of war. So confronting elites and to lecture them on real experience wouldn’t be a problem. “He pats me gently on my shoulder and added,” take it easy and go ahead with your plan.” He took some steps towards the door, stopped, turned around and almost shouted. “Good luck my boy. Good luck”.
Just like Grandpa advised, I went ahead with my plans. With all my belongings, including my company being mortgaged, I shouldn’t be a fool to be at the receiving end.
I made my contacts, briefed the press, paid for both TV and Radio advertisements, paid for the Hetel bills in advance and spared some amount of money, fat enough to cater for those miscellaneous requirements.
Guests started arriving 24 hours to the D-Day. Having planned everything in advance, I experienced no hardship in accommodating the arrivals as well as those I personally employed to give me a helping hand. I got to make my mission a very successful one or I shall be in for a big surprise.
I personally invited the few friends I had, my neighbours, colleagues in the advertising and printing business and some individuals who thought they shouldn’t be left behind in the unique show.
My GSM became engaged I had to employ an extra hand to help me answer some social calls.
I checked my register some few hours to the special lecture that could change my entire life – for good.
I conducted the last minute inspection of the big and well-decorated hall. Every little thing was in order. The tables and chairs were well arranged one would mistake them for salable things. The flowers were everywhere while the various colours used to paint the hall were not only attractive but they added glory to the occasion.
Ushers, dressed in a complete black suit began ushering guests into the hall. Men, women and employees, dressed in the most sophisticated attairs, quickly changed the hall into a small world full of goodies.
The high table was full of very important dignitaries most of whom were either government officials, business tycoons or elites. The hall was so full of VIPs one would think that our country was celebrating one of its independence anniversaries.
Soft music from the famous traditional singers could be heard from the extreme end of the hall. To cut the long story short, everything was in order. I felt on the top of the world.
The Master of Ceremony (MC), who was one of the most experienced and popular journalists, retired professional journalist I should say, suddenly appeared behind the microphone.
“Ladies and Gentlemen…” and bla-bla-bla he went on and on and on until everyone was fully aware of the importance of the occasion. At the end of his speech, he introduced Malam Aboki, my Grandpa, whose idea and initiative resulted into what we were experiencing that very hour.
He began by saying that he had no right words to express his feelings about the honour bestowed on him by the dignitaries who left their busy schedule to attend the lecture he was delivering.
He said he was going to begin his lecture in the reverse form.
“Let’s start with the Nigerian Civil War”, he began, his eyes full of tears of either joy or sorrow.
Though he spent about 40 minutes talking, most of what he said was neither ever read in the papers nor heard in the news.
He said no government in the world would ever reveal the exact happenings during civil wars. The hall became so silent one could hear the ticking of the wall clock above my head.
Grandpa called for a five minutes’ break before the real reason why everyone was assembled there could be revealed. That five-minute break nearly cost me $2,000. The break wasn’t on the agenda, so the extra drinks and served really affected my budget very seriously – and I whispered that to Malam Aboki.
“Never mind,” he began, wearing that funny smile that always sent shivers across my spine.
“How much are you getting out of this – am – project or whatever you call it?” He patted me gently on the shoulder and nodded, then exposed another funny smile.
Grandpa, after nearly 15 minutes of entertainment, drew the attention of the guests by saying that he was fully prepared to expose what the governments of the world kept mute about.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to let the cat out of the bag. I’m going to shake the governments of the United States, Britain and Germany.” He inhaled deeply, the polluted air that tobacco and perfume had disfigured in the hall, his large eyes changing colour, his fingers trembling slightly and he took time to clear his choaked voice.
“My friends, my good friends,” he continued, “I am going to tell you something that I can swear would puzzle you. Lend me your eyes, Ladies and gentlemen, to tell you what would surprise you and something you could bear in your busy minds for the rest of your precious lives.”
Malam Aboki squeezed his hands, looked at me and then got hold of my hand. I got to my feet when I realized that that was what he wanted me to do.
“This is my grandson, brilliant and a gentleman”. He then took a foolscap size paper from his jacket pocket, straightened it and held it high for the assembled guests to see.
“This paper is full of dates, time and day when a particular event that had overwhelmed me with either joy or sorrow but because of tradition and culture, because of the inability to take action or expose my happiness or anger, all I could do was to write what happened and cross my fingers.”
Grandpa wipped tears from his well-shaved face and once more exposed that funny smile. I felt my heartbeat tripled and for the first time since I decided to live under the same roof with Malam Aboki, I knew something was going to happen. Something very, very funny. So I began to pray.
“Dear friends, my grandson”, Grandpa continued, pointing at me, “is always fond of pulling my legs because I’m his Grandpa. I told him an several occasions that if I should pull his leg only once, he might be taken for a ride for the rest of his life but he refused to listen. My boy even went to the extent of betting with me. He asked me to go to any extent to fool him if I could because he wouldn’t mind.”
While I was listening to Grandpa, even when he was halfway into his speech, I felt somewhat dizzy and my throat was going dry. I also felt that my feet were becoming too weak to hold my shaking body.
After a very serious effort, I was able to voice out, “Grandpa, do you mean—?
“Yes, Grandpa-grandson traditional joke?” He asked and when I did not reply him as I was too shocked to move, he exposed that funny smile again and nodded triumphantly. “I have pulled your leg and I’ve fooled you. You may be well-educated, sophisticated, rich, everything and even 65 years younger than me, but today what have I made out of you? I paid for that advert you initially saw.”
I didn’t see him leave the hall because while my eyes were tailing him, my mouth wide-opened, I fell into the hands on my MC and Director of Programmes. I might have fainted.
My thoughts were interrupted by someone knocking on my door. It was then that I realized that I was only looking at the photograph of my late Grandpa and my mind went ahead and cook up the story you’ve just read. Funny, right?