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1.
Mace
(definition): A symbolic Instrument marking the Head at political gatherings
When
I was in the University, my roommate Emelie was Sergeant-at-Arms in the Student
Legislative Body. He kept the Mace in our room behind the narrow wardrobe we
shared with two other roommates. I always admired the finely woven patterns on
the heavy polished wood. One evening, as I strolled back to the room, I heard
sounds of a violent quarrel. It turns out Emelie’s friend who was visiting had
engaged him in an argument which sadly degenerated to physical levels. I walked
in to see Emelie in tears, understandably.
He was barely past his teens (a world of difference from the steely
paramedic he has become today).
The
Mace was in fractured fragments on the floor. His friend had swung at his head with it but
it broke against the wall when he ducked. His tears were not reflective of
bodily harm, but an inward bitterness at the sacrilege. A weighty bitterness akin
to that felt by Achebe’s Akukalia in “Arrow of God” when an opponent had broken
his family Ikenga into bits.
Fortunately, in this case, there were no guns, no further tragedies. We simply
ejected the defaulter, after emptying his pockets pursuant to procuring a new
Mace. Justice was served, the way I knew best as a 3rd Year Law
Student.
Back
to the present. Surely, the collective shock we felt at seeing that Rivers
State legislator smack his colleague again and again with heavy wood or metal
has somewhat worn off. As usual, the whole
episode will melt away, leaving us expectant for the next drama. The internet
assures that tragedies and near-misses speedily become old gist. Now, there is even an online Music-mix synchronizing
that deathly experience to Terry G’s knack you akpako. Yes, I followed the rest to laugh at the video as the event winds
to a comical dénouement. This Age of sensational Internet imposes a limitation
period to everything, even criminal acts.
As a distracted 3rd
Year Law student, I could have been a bit muddled up on the scope of legislative
privilege; in which case the Reporters and Camera crew would be rightly liable
for publishing a state-classified event. The nosy fellows! Is there any
demarcation between them and that despicable Snowden? The integrity of a nation
is preserved if the dirt of governance is kept off public view. (Context: Same
way my grandmother’s emotional balance was disrupted when she saw a film showing
a white priest smoking cigarettes!)
In any case, the Law
must find a victim and I have identified one:
WIKIPEDIA-(definition):
A Mace is a highly ornamented staff of metal or wood, carried before a
sovereign or other high official in civic ceremonies by a mace-bearer
WIKIPEDIA-(definition): A Mace is a weapon with a heavy head on a solid shaft used to bludgeon
See what Wikipedia caused? It jumbled definitions and led that guy to a literal interpretation.
So, have papers been filed yet?...against Wikipedia?
WIKIPEDIA-(definition): A Mace is a weapon with a heavy head on a solid shaft used to bludgeon
See what Wikipedia caused? It jumbled definitions and led that guy to a literal interpretation.
So, have papers been filed yet?...against Wikipedia?
2.
Licensed
to Kill: Abuja’s Park-and-Pay Brigade
You
can see them mouthing silent prayers when a car slows to a halt. The prayer is
unanswered if the driver seeks them and pays the stipulated amount. But then,
there is still a leeway; he may overstay his time by a couple of seconds
(amounting logically to an additional fifty Naira); and voila! He has contravened! The heavy chain-clamps
circle the front-tyres and some hefty gentlemen take strategic positions
nearby.
The
poor driver arrives and gets frantic. He insists that he is ready and willing
to pay the balance of the ticket time. Every attempt to demonstrate that since
he is identifiable in sight and hearing, he hasn’t contravened, falls flat on
its face. It is strict liability. If he is schooled and articulates his points
well; one of the enforcers will be obliged to growl “oga, ignorance of the Law does not excuse” and he brandishes a
folded piece of paper at the driver’s face. The paper is an excerpt from the
private license-document issued by the FCTA. That is their Law.
If
he is not just schooled, but enlightened; the driver will attempt the next
lawful step: abatement of the nuisance. And that is when the hefty ones swing
to action. They lift him bodily and dump him to the ground. He jumps up to save
his bruised pride, and then you notice a third category of enforcers: armed
policemen. They cock their guns and threaten to shoot him for obstructing a
lawful process. The man quietens down. The gathering crowd makes sympathetic
noises. The options are clear and non-negotiable: either the five thousand or
the tow-van. The license is absolute.
Only
the Judiciary can make a sweeping ruling on its illegality.
But,
have papers been filed yet..?
3.
“My
Daddy is a Doctor; I don’t know about yours.”
Bless
Mamman Vatsa for those memorable verses.
Context:
My neighbour’s six-year old boy whispered to me that his parents said every
lawyer is a liar and a trouble-maker.
I
am the only lawyer in the compound. I am the one that writes the complaint
letters when the bore-hole stops working, when the sewage is blocked, when the
power voltage is low. I charge no fees, I use my gadgets to print and transmit
the letters. If they had not sufficed to lead the landlord into action; I would
have filed court processes at my expense. I am the compound’s voice, not
because the rest are dummies; but because, as a lawyer, I am unable to nurse
inconveniences with equal graceful complacency. However, the sometimes
exaggerated consequences I depict in my letters do not escape my neighbours.
So, at dinner, they joke and tell their six-year olds that Mr. Okafor is a liar
and a trouble-maker.
If
we still live here when my daughter grows, this boy will someday tell her that
she was sired by a liar and a trouble-maker. And I will affirm that notion by
forgetting her birthdays, sometimes.
So,
I have made a rule in the house, my daughter should be raised to call me Doctor. I heal society of its timidity.
Let my neighbours defame me however they wished; I will be patient and nurse no
grudges. Moreso it’s only their ward
against mine.
4.
Law
is like Poetry...full of profound sounds; leading nowhere.
“...They
make their living dramatizing mere words. Empty and inane speeches. What I see is a
collection of delicate egos desperate to justify their unmerited social status
by weaving lengthy colourful phrases of limited practical application. They
sing of glories and victories of the law, of fine jurisprudential arguments
aimed at refining younger legal minds. But in reality; they are simple business
men, and horrible bosses.”
-
Culled from my friend’s disturbing summary
of a recent Lawyers’ Business gathering in Lagos. (Context: My friend is a
qualified lawyer, formerly practising under a SAN. In his 3 years serving the
silky one; he never went for any Law event. But shortly after his resignation, he was
invited by the event-organisers. He is currently a music-writer).