“Don’t fight Man,” said Lion to his Cub, but the Cub didn’t listen. The Cub went looking for Man.
He saw a Bull. “Are you Man?”
“No, I bear Man’s yoke.”
Next he saw a Horse. “Are you Man?”
“No, Man rides me.”
Then he saw someone splitting logs with wedges: a Man!
“Fight me, Man!” said the Cub.
“I will! But first, help me split this log.”
When the Cub put his paws in the crack, Man knocked out the wedge, trapping the Cub’s paws.
The Cub finally pulled loose and went home with bloody paws. Lesson learnt.
The author of that story is ancient storyteller, Aesop. He is believed to have lived in ancient Greece between 620 and 564 BCE. Thousands of years, yet his wisdom endures. American writer and writing instructor, Laura Gibbs, curates and retells the stories in uncountable numbers. If you like to fight, read the above story again. It is from Aesop via Gibbs.
When you saw ‘war’ in the headline above, you probably thought I was taking a long excursion into the latest theatre of the absurd: drama starring a minister and a soldier dragging an expensive land in Abuja. No.
There was a Yoruba musician called Ayinla Omowura. He was very popular and was rich and ‘powerful’. One day in May 1980, he drove his Mercedes Benz car to a beer parlour in Abeokuta in hot pursuit of his defected band manager. The jilted big man in a big car wanted back an old motorcycle from the ex-manager. There was a push, then a shove; and a fight. A tumbler, hurled in rage, struck the strongman on the head. The rich musician died in that barroom brawl and was buried that day; his place others took in music, in his hometown, and in his home.
Big people take big risks. Sometimes they drag all of us into their trouble. Home and abroad, tired, retired, unretired, almost all Generals, Colonels, Majors, captains and sergeants and corporals lined up behind a ramrod naval Lieutenant. The drill was scary. Think about this: What do you think would have happened to our country if any of the key actors had suffered what Omowura suffered in that moment of anger and banger? And all because of land; earth which belongs to no one. Even Elephant knows that the earth only lends space to those who walk gently upon it. Fragile Chameleon is asked why he walks gingerly. He answers: “So that the ground will not cave in.”
There is another lesson in power and contest for space, this one pure, carefully recorded history:
One hundred and sixty five years ago, Bishop Samuel Ajayi Crowther’s son, Dr. Samuel Crowther Junior, had just returned to Abeokuta from medical school in London. Abeokuta’s native doctors who thought themselves ‘physicians’ were hostile to what he brought. They said no to him practising his alien art in their sphere of influence. There was a face-off, followed by a standoff. They said their power was mightier than the power of the foreign medicine man. When iron strikes iron, one must bend. A contest of powers was agreed upon between the two sides.
Details of that war of ‘medicine’ is told by an eyewitness, Robert Campbell, in his ‘A Pilgrimage to My Motherland’ (1861); the story was reproduced a hundred years later by A. H. M. Kirk-Greene in his ‘America in the Niger Valley: A Colonization Centenary’. So, how did the battle go? Listen to Campbell:
“Time was given for preparation on both sides. In the afternoon, the regulars appeared, clothed in their most costly garments, and well provided with orishas or charms attached to all of their persons and dress. In the meantime Mr. Crowther had also prepared to receive them. A table was placed in the middle of the room, and on it a dish in which were a few drops of sulphuric acid, so placed that a slight motion of the table would cause it to flow into a mixture of chlorate of potassa and white sugar. A clock was also in the room, from which a small bird issued every hour, and announced the time by cooing. This was arranged so as to coo while they were present.
“Mr. Crowther then made a brief harangue, and requested them to say who would lead off in the contest. This privilege they accorded to him. The door was closed, the curtains drawn down. All waited in breathless expectation. Presently the bird (in the clock) came out, and to their astonishment cooed twelve times, and suddenly from the midst of the dish burst forth flame and a terrible explosion. The scene that followed was indescribable: one fellow rushed through the window and scampered; another in his consternation took refuge in the bedroom, under the bed, from which he was with difficulty afterwards removed.”
I took the script of that 1860 ‘drama’ to my friend, the scientist. The clock, the cock and the chemistry cocktail. What really happened? My friend said a people that cannot grasp scientific concepts becomes vulnerable to fear and superstition. Dr. Crowther simply staged a drama, essentially a controlled chemical explosion: sulphuric acid (dehydrator and acid catalyst); sugar (fuel), and potassium chlorate (oxidizer). From my friend I learnt that “the mixture reacts violently when combined, producing flame, smoke, and noise.”
Crowther did not shout, boast, or brandish charms and amulets; there was no incantation. No abuse. No insults. He simply applied science; chemistry: sulphuric acid, sugar, and potassium chlorate; an elegant, potent sequence of oxidiser, fuel, and catalyst. With a clock-bird timed to coo and trigger panic, and with a well-placed chemical reaction prepared to ignite and explode, the young doctor used knowledge (not noise) to demonstrate and assert superiority.
Curses, threats and abuse are pollutants. We had more than enough last week. But enough has been said already about the Abuja land war since it unfolded last week. The raw lesson there is that real, unleavened authority easily defeats loud, raw hubris.
Central to the Abuja land drama of last week is anger and the use of language. It may be too late to bend our dry fishes. But, how do we avoid it in the next set of leaders? I end with this 170-year-old quote:
“Do all in your power to teach your children self-government. If a child is passionate, teach him by gentle and patient means to curb his temper. If he is greedy, cultivate liberality in him.
If he is selfish, promote generosity.
If he is sulky, charm him out of it,
by encouraging frank good humor…”(‘How to teach Children’ published in ‘The R. I. Schoolmaster’, Vol. 1, No. 5 JULY, 1855).