I wanted to see Buhari in London…
THE time was a little before midnight on Friday, May 22, 2015. The place was a small, quiet, almost rural city in the British East Midlands.
Apart from a brief stroll to the university library to pay some fines and renew some long over-due school books, and the inevitable cross-over to the nearby Morrisons’ Supermarket to buy a few groceries, I had been sitting up in my apartment all day, and all night, battling with a chapter in a long overdue PhD thesis.
Adult education is, indeed, a very difficult thing to do. You can understand why people like me envy people like Professor Pat Utomi – who obtained a PhD at 24. Those who send their children to school bright and early did not make a mistake.
When I found that my mind was beginning to wander off the topic of my chapter, “the challenges faced by Nigerian journalists in covering general elections,” I went to the kitchen, unpacked the few groceries I bought at the supermarket and took a couple of bananas – my favourite fruit. I looked around the fully-fitted kitchen in the self-catering apartment.
What a waste – I sighed ruefully. Yes, the kitchen was a veritable waste. In nearly a week now, I had not as much as boiled a kettle of water for tea, much less put a pot on the burner.
This is very strange indeed: I am normally a very enthusiastic, home-grown chef who is quick, even in the UK, to cook up a storm of jollof rice, spaghetti bolognaise and improvised “ofe Owerre” for semolina – with chicken drumsticks and spinach purchased at Morrisons.
But this time around, because of the Sword of Damocles dangling over my head because of an overdue thesis, I was simply looking at the kitchen – and the kitchen was looking back at me.
I sighed again ruefully, went back to the room and continued battling with my thesis, eating some chocolates, nursing a glass of cheap Spanish red wine – and thinking about the family I left behind in Nigeria. Adult education is not something you would wish on your worst enemy…
When I felt I had had enough for the night, I closed the chapter and, before unplugging the laptop, I went to the Internet to read Nigerian newspapers online – a veritable companion when you are out of the country, and out of reach of hard newspaper copies. Then, as I browsed leisurely through the papers, I saw an interesting piece of news: “Buhari Jets Out on Private Visit to Britain”.
The story went on to say that: “The President-elect, Muhammadu Buhari, on Friday left for Britain on a private visit, his first such trip outside the country since winning the March 28th presidential election.
“In a statement issued in Abuja on Friday by its head, Mallam Garba Shehu, the Media Team of the President-elect said General Muhammadu Buhari will use the opportunity of the visit to take a much-deserved rest ahead of his inauguration on May 29th.
He is expected back in the country a few days before the inauguration, refreshed and ready to hit the ground running once he is sworn into office,’’ he said.
Suddenly, my lethargy was gone. The journalist in me kicked in quickly. As they say, “once a journalist, always a journalist”. As a soldier and a politician, General Muhammadu Buhari was news, any day, any night.
And now, as the President-Elect of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, Mr. Buhari is news, any day, any night – at home or abroad. Would he have any public engagements in the UK? Would he make another appearance at the Chatham House – to make a post election speech? I wanted to be there – to report it.
My desire to see the newly-minted President-to-be in London was not for any frivolous purpose like organized visits and courtesy calls. The Taciturn One does not suffer frivolities gladly.
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