LAWYERS HAVE GONE OUT OF FASHION

He sat poker faced, an older man, methodically sipping from his glass, not speaking.  I had his full attention and maximized the moment. Speaking in slow, tailored tones I struggled with the alcohol which was threatening to inspire me to more spirited and less dignified submissions. I cloaked my opinions with a generous dose of legalese, and the phrases resounded, weighty, sage-like. This little trick has never failed to work when I’m baiting a potential client. 
Furtive, sideway glances always revealed their lips slightly agape, eyes swimming in the advanced stages of hypnotic awe.  How come so much knowledge is reposited in such a young lad! I would suddenly pause in mid-sentence and knot my brows, shaking my head slightly as if silently debating with an inner instructor. At such moments, the catch in their breaths is almost audible, they would hang onto the silence, and when I spoke again, it would be in whispers. They would strain forward, not daring to interrupt, desperate to catch every syllable. Then with a bored expression, I would mention my fee. Enveloped in the aura of my erudition, they never haggled…


But I seemed to have landed an uncommon fish today. The gentleman kept an unwavering stare on my face.  My punch-lines did not even elicit a nod, my wise-cracks sounded hollow. I started feeling slightly ridiculous and quickly blurted out my fee without the attendant rituals. That was when he smiled…He smiled with all the warmth of an air-conditioned igloo, and the frozen words rolled off his tongue, briefly: ‘Don’t be silly, boy’. This affront stung some heat into me, and I unleashed a withering denunciation on people so bloated by their own ignorance, they do not appreciate the enormity of a lawyer’s job. I waited for a reaction, none. 
He curled his lips downwards in another of those ghastly smiles and condescendingly breathed ‘I am a lawyer too, my boy…don’t look so combative. I have practised law for years, here and outside the country, but overcome by the sham of it all, I left, and veered into business, occasionally lifting young lawyers from the starvation line by offering them jobs I don’t really need done.’

He must have read the retort bubbling in my chest… ‘I admire your enthusiasm, but my boy (why does this Siberian keep calling me that!) save up your energies for some worthy ideal, lawyers are going out of fashion. Forget about the bright colors of our speech and language, these merely disguise our shadowy grasp of the tools of modern living.


Who is the corporate lawyer today? Those charlatans at CAC? Lugging multiple files and purporting to: (He made his voice squeaky in mimicry) “Not just incorporate your company sir, we shall also advise on the best strategy for share-holding and directorship.” I humor them most times, acting like a layman. I would say… “No, no don’t worry, I don’t really need the company for anything serious, it’s just to chase contracts.”  

Then you hear their Ohs and Ahs… “But sir, you will still need to clearly enunciate your Objects clause in a manner that would clearly communicate your adeptness”… abeg abeg abeg, like that fellow, Uti would say. Yes! I watch Big Brother Africa! Those guys are more real than this charade we call a profession. Which adeptness?, Do you not know that unschooled Business Centre operators have grown more adept at crafting MEMOS and ARTICLES, while the corporate lawyer remains stagnated in his big words, ignorant even of how to format documents on Microsoft Word.

And the so-called Estate Lawyers? How do their job details differ from the ‘agents-on-the-hustle’ which this town is festooned with? One of them came to my newly completed house at Maitama the other day. Of course I kept a straight face, though I recognized him as one of those always loitering around while work was in progress. He looked different of course, a new jacket, a borrowed car, and crispy Call-cards. Yes sir? “I wish to introduce our dynamic law practice to you sir. Our special practice focus is on Property management and …” 
“Ok, so what services would you offer me?” ‘He instantly grew breathless.’ “A myriad sir, Further to ensuring that you are not cheated out of the aesthetics of this choice location, we would utilize our best efforts to generate the most suitable clientele in the likely event that you would wish to place the accommodation on the public domain…” and ‘they’ proceeded to mention a preposterous amount as Legal fees. “Ok, you mean you want to help me and look for tenants?” ‘I asked. He looked taken aback.’ “Sir, we don’t put it so crudely” 


“How crude do you want it? Is it not percentage you want? You want to be my caretaker, not so? Do you bear in mind that your competitors, the self trained estate agents are asking for a mere tenth of the amount you mention? And they would even help me enforce payment from my tenants the street-way if need be” ‘Of course he slunk off, he met the wrong mugu. Yes! Mugu, the Law is a fraud. Wetin Lawyers dey do sef?’ He suddenly switched to pidgin. ‘Nothing! That’s what lawyers do. They simply position themselves around every transaction and trumpet that none can be completed without their aid. Lies!

They propose to draft an agreement for you, carrying on like they will lose a minute’s sleep over it, and charge you millions. Millions! For the mechanical routine of rifling through their antique volumes, duplicating time-worn principles, with their unique vocabulary as the only original input. Some daft SAN came the other day (I gasped at the blasphemy) and asked for tens of millions to file my Motion on Notice. In his arrogance he scribbled an invoice, winking conspiratorially that every smart business man had to be silky. I found it hilarious, because even if I lost that case, the plaintiff’s claim is not up to half of what the swaggering clown charged.’ I caught myself nodding.

‘When I go to a hospital, the medical personnel manipulate machines, concoct medication and invariably fetch me actual relief (as opposed to Legal relief, which is largely imaginary). The engineer builds a bridge; I walk on it and marvel. Have you ever seen the engine of a ship? That, to me is the climax of human thinking. Using the brain to make creations, and effect practical changes.

So, my boy, before you get to those millions, you have to wait till next year, when the election petitions will open the floodgates. Make the most of it while you can, because very soon, even the politicians will grow wiser and understand that the outcome remains a gamble nonetheless, unaffected by the drama you guys bring to the courts.

You people have even lost your footing on the practice of Charge and Bail. Detainees now pay directly to DPOs…’

I immediately had to interrupt…

He smiled again and lifted his drink. This time, his eyes actually glinted.  He signaled the waiter… ‘One more bottle for Mr. Okafor, please.’ Leaning forward he whispered, ‘At least, lets both make the best of the Bar tonight.’

- published in Thisday Newspapers: October 5, 2010- http://www.thisdaylive.com/articles/lawyers-have-gone-out-of-fashion-/77338/

The High-tech Lawyer: an Oxymoron

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Not a few Lawyers (and Judges) look at the persistent incursion of modern technology in our unique lives and wish that the whole rubbish will fast-track on a self destruct mode and burn itself out entirely! The age-long mystery of our profession is fast being deleted. These days, a random lay man inserts a phrase on Google search for five minutes and proceeds to engage you in a discourse on interlocutory injunctions. 
Tragically, he may even come up with better points, complete with international jurisdictional comparisons! So much then for the decade of legal training, largely spent lugging tower-high ancient texts. The ultimate reward of the Bar, which consists exclusively of holding sway with words and befuddling awestruck lesser minds, painfully slips off our grasp. Now, as if these irritations are not enough, some members of our own flock have even gone ahead to brand themselves IT Lawyers!

I think this puts Justice Onwuzurumba’s wrath earlier this morning in its proper context.

We were in court enduring his particularly tremulous monotone, while our respective clients literally slept on their various rights.  Then a loud beep! That unmistakable ping signaling a Blackberry notification. The accompanying silence was deafening, as the bespectacled eyes of M’Lord were instantly lit with raging flames. ‘That was a phone that rang, wasn’t it?’ he drawled with glacial calm. We all sat mute, except of course for the few SANs that looked back with theatrically shocked expressions at this sacrilege from the Bar’s pedestrian section. They proceeded to mutter their disapproval but M’Lord screamed them down, (storms certainly have their bright spots) repeating his question in a more Siberian intonation. 
Surely, the ice in his voice must have been the cause of such terrible quivering in every young lawyer in the room. ‘I will not hesitate to dock the lot of you for contempt, if the owner of the device that just disturbed my court is not immediately brought to my notice’. Who could question his powers to wield such a stick, considering that current legislation on contempt is as long (or short) as the Judge’s temper. Well, everyone was spared testing that possibility as a trembling young wig staggered up and in a strangled voice admitted guilt in a flurry of bows. So much for having a Bold .

M’Lord fixed him with a stare and motioned him towards the bench.

‘You dare to keep your phone on in my court?!’(If the circumstances were friendlier, it would have been reassuring to know that his Lordship’s voice was capable of some form of animation after all.)

‘Yes my Lord, I mean, sorry my Lord’ Mr. all-a-quiver blurted out.

‘You RECEIVE phone calls while I sit!!!

‘No my Lord, I would do no such thing my Lord, it was merely my Facebook notification, my Lord…’

‘And that means…?’

“My client, sir…your Lordship…I just received notification on my Blackberry that my client has sent in a list of documents relevant to the present suit sir…my Lord, sir.’

‘I see.’ M’Lord let drop a wry smile. ‘You are able to browse with your phone?’

Unsure of the import of the query, the poor counsel could only nod weakly. The rest of the lawyers sucked in their breaths, dreading to exhale. The old Justice never failed to suffer fools. Whether he did so gladly, his perpetually dour visage would never reveal.

‘A young wig and already grown so irreverent of the law to go on Facebook while my court holds!’

‘No my Lord, I was not on the network… I just received notification when he sent it…Regrettably I forgot to switch it on silent mode.’ (There was suddenly a subtle scent of soiled pants)

‘Listen to how much of a serious lawyer you paint yourself to be.’ The Justice hissed. ‘You build your case from a social network?’

‘No my Lord, what he posted me on Facebook is a link that leads to another web page where I can get the materials’ It must have been the flames in his eyes, but I noticed that here, His Lordship’s face grew slightly beclouded.

‘You see…’ He swung a rigid fore-finger at the court. ‘I keep saying it, the standard is falling! Every day it is falling! In our time we stayed awake devouring volumes of books. Books, well researched and written by verifiable professionals. These days you all flee to the internet bringing in quotes from dubious sources. The law has never been a profession of convenience; it requires the most painstaking efforts. What do we have now? A situation where a man professed to the nobility of it all chooses to bring the junk of a teenage past-time into our temple!’

‘But My Lord…’ the counsel began, but a collective gasp instantly smothered the rest of his protest.

‘And the impudence! He talks back at me! He feels so ahead-of-the-times, he forgets his place! Let me tell you, I was a lawyer for 20 years before ascending to the Bench, where I have conscientiously given another 25 years to this profession. I have seen technologies come and go, each seeking to outdo the other in rattling the law. But here we have stood firmly against the bandwagon effect, the few amendments to our laws being unnecessary concessions by alarmist legislators. You sit here, an untested greenhorn feeling technology savvy and bristling with flimsy modernity…The law is not a modern profession! It is the most ancient and conservative of orders. We have no need for the likes of you, and I will not fail to precipitate your ignonimous route to the exit. All cases for today are hereby stood down, and counsel shall immediately proceed to the dock to satisfy this court with reasons why he should not suffer a conviction for contempt in my court!

………………..                   ………………………….                 ……………………….

In cases like this, the camaraderie of lawyers is exceptional. Pleas and entreaties…Chastisement and reproach were fervently recommended over the shame of conviction. My Lord, mercy… he is just a first offender...and the noose eventually lifted over the counsel’s neck.

I was initially shocked by the Judge’s negative passion, not that one expects civil treatment from a person bent on creating a criminal. But on further reflection, I guess he did what he should. He performed his role, the Law’s defender against the impetuous kicks of technology. If the law compromises just a bit, the wave of further revolutionary intrusions would be limitless.  

Well, for the time being, I breathe easier, having only been deprived the use of my Blackberry as a lesser punishment. But for as long as I live, I will keep trying to unravel the silent plea behind the judge’s anger as I stood before him.

In the meanwhile, let’s go post a new comment on Facebook: TODAY, I WAS ALMOST CONVICTED FOR CONTEMPT!


END.

Published in Thisday Newspapers: July 27, 2010- http://www.thisdaylive.com/articles/is-the-high-tech-lawyer-an-oxymoron-/82405/

IF IT IS NOT LITIGATION, IT IS NOT LAW…?

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My mind’s made up; I am going back to litigation! I was at one of those ‘Legal’ conferences where the only thing that kept you awake was the very struggle to keep your eyes open amidst the bland, jargon-ridden chunks of verbosity. The massive attendance showed the extents lawyers can go, to get a good sleep. In my quest for more animate diversion, I picked up the programme of events again; puckering my brows in studied concentration for the benefit of the present speaker whose eyes for some uncanny reason always fell on me. The programme promised more hours of speeches and roundtable discussions ahead, nightmare! But wait, one item stood out of the long list of dreary events, directly aligned to Lunch. (Talk of peas in a pod) It was also the simplest term on the entire document: NETWORKING…hmmm…

Unconsciously, my eyes skimmed the crowd to gauge the prospects along that line. Directly beside me was a bunch of oldies in ill tailored jackets, scribbling away and nodding furiously in turns at the speaker’s every monotone. I had blanked them out entirely when they broke into a noisy argument before the start of the event, referring to exact subsections of the constitution complete with paraphrases of judicial decisions with respect to the culpability or otherwise of a certain cradle-snatching senator. It was too late to switch seats, so I carried my cross. 

Craning my neck a little more to the left, I scanned the entire venue past some gum chewing bulky female seniors, and a prematurely balding personage who had unashamedly surrendered to the more alluring tunes of Morpheus, until my eyes rested on wow! (So they still craft lawyers this good?) Four well-attired, cute young ladies. They were looking on with bored looks and I immediately felt some kindred spirit…we definitely shared a common network.

The longest three hours in my life finally limped to an end and the MC who packed an incredible array of arid jokes announced the glorious duo: ‘Lunch and Networking!’ 

I must have pushed myself through to the exit away from the stifling legal air as the varied aroma of lunch wafted through. (I’m still stuck in this profession probably just because lawyers have never failed to dine and wine right.) However, gluttony was not my sole motivation this time; I also strove to sit on the same table with people whose appearances (and chit-chat) will go down well with the dishes, I therefore steered clear of the fat, the old and the male!

I made a show of queuing up with the rest, but all the while combing the tables…over there, two Senior Advocates pumping their hands furiously, no way! One of them had earlier made a joke about a separate buffet to be reserved for the gents of the inner bar. SANs…don’t they just make you silk!

Thankfully, I espied the dames again, hmmm…good smiles to go with the gleaming ensemble, I wasn’t missing that. I stalked and stalked, until I got to their table. Tables were laid for ten people, so I had adequate easement. Immediately the good ladies sat down, I made my grand appearance. I will not bore you with details of my moulded-to-a perfect-fit Canali suit and classy pocket hanky tailored in consonance with my tie. Ok, the shoes had seen better days, but fortunately the ladies were apparently not the sort to look down on people as they kept their glances above the table cloth. ‘Please is that seat taken?’ I couldn’t believe I was able to conjure that velvety baritone from my voice box. 


I have never been an expert on women, but damn me if I did not see general flickers of interest on their eyebrows. I ate silently for some minutes listening to their polished exchanges, (food never digested better), trying to decide the ideal manner to inroad into their conversation. From their gist I found out they were colleagues, on internship from Law School. I could tell the dizzying effect my introduction would have on their green horns: I am attached to the Conflict Resolution Unit of an International Corporate Practice focused on borderless negotiations…but the opportunity never came as three breezy young (male!) lawyers pulled out seats and sat with us.

They introduced themselves and proceeded to shake the ladies’ hands!…I gasped and turned, expecting to see the ladies recoil at this classless display, considering that I, their longer acquaintance, had done the gentlemanly thing of waiting patiently… (Albeit unsuccessfully) for that physical honour. But to my horror, the girls warmly returned the greeting, all smiles. Within the minute, the table became a flurry of arguments and one-liners, and these invaders monopolized every subject. One of the girls couldn’t help gushing ‘Hilarious! This table was so dull before you guys joined, it now feels like there are lawyers here, what area of practice are you guys into…?’ I was deserted…even before the last course.

‘What else do lawyers do?’ grinned the most odious of the toxic trio, a lanky fellow called Wale. ‘We go to court’

I had to interject here ‘Come on, you guys have to be joking, we all know that’s archaic thinking, Law has grow beyond the courts. I’ve never been in one myself…’

‘Go and sit down, my friend’ another countered, ‘That is what you so-called corporate lawyers deceive yourselves with. Listen, the teacher’s place is in school, the lawyer’s in court, period!’ I could feel the blood pounding on my face at this nursery logic, but, relax it! The girls had to see who the better man was.

‘I disagree’ I forced the bile down. ‘The contemporary world is more business minded; we are even leaving the courts for arbitration. Where does that leave you guys with your lengthy pleadings, affidavits and motions?’ I took another five minutes to educate them on how the International Conflict Resolution sphere was the next best thing and how our firm was a pace setter… until bursts of derisive merriment cut me short.

‘Our point exactly!’ screamed the third of the pack. ‘Contemporary world, International pace-setting, blah blah blah…impressive phrases that corporate lawyers deploy to conceal their cowardice in the face of real cerebral battle…Litigation is the ultimate test of your legal abilities. We did not major in business negotiations; we are trained gladiators for the intriguing clash of legal minds in the temples of justice. Why do we have senior advocates, not senior solicitors? The law doesn’t solicit. As far as Mother Justice is concerned, we are her legitimate children, corporate lawyers are strays…’

‘Rubbish’, I snarled trying to drown the sudden applause coming from the girls. ‘It is not true at all! You litigation hustlers are the ones that routinely insult the profession, with your unsought solicitations. The comfort zone of outdated courts shield you from the real world…you hide behind adjournments and preliminary objections as an excuse for a life of barely disguised idleness, spitting sections of laws you memorize more out of sheer habit than any independent thought process…’

‘And I suppose independent thought process means indiscriminate downloading of precedent books in drafting agreements, sipping coffee and biscuits in airy rooms while confusing poor business owners with untested legal opinions in the form of ‘corporate advice?’ Wale was enraged now. The equivalent of a Senior Advocate in corporate practice is the Company Secretary, and then what does the company secretary even do, apart from filling in templates from the Corporate Affairs Commission?...You know that you are not worthy to wear the wig and the gown, it scares the guts out of you… (Wait let me finish!) Can you face a judge? In your business you are counsel and judge at the same time, and your clients don’t know any better. 

Every day, in front of our clients, we pass through intensive intellectual scrutiny from the astute Bench and come out better lawyers, dedicated to the time long intendment of the legal profession…advocating for justice within the specified ambit.  You talk of being in conflict resolution, without force of law? Let the day come that the court’s powers are completely ousted in any agreement and I will eat my wig- which by the way, will grow silken in just a few more years. And all the attendant privileges that accrue to a worthy son of the learned vocation shall remain elusive to you as long as you continue betraying our hallowed tenets on the altar of immediate financial gratification.’ He turned to the increasingly enraptured ladies. ‘Never trust them, with their oily suaveness; see how he silently sat here all along, mind full of scheming. Typical corporate shark I tell you! It took honest, open-faced folks like us to make you start enjoying your lunch. Frankness is our key word! Real Lawyers are real men…corporate lawyers are sissy!’

‘The girls were nodding vigorously now in hypnotic worship. ‘Real lawyers are real men…wow!’ I heard one whisper to her friends with a dazed expression, as the three men drew out their call-cards which the girls scrambled to grab. ‘Give us a call anytime, legal action always speaks louder than words…’

The bell signaling the end-of lunch/networking chimed, and the tables emptied. I stared at my hands… I had grabbed their call-cards as well. (Sometimes i just hate myself!)

END

First published in Thisday Newspapers: June 8, 2010

YULETIDE…The good, The BAR, The ugly…

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In a cab, whistling happily in tune with the carols filtering from the air waves, Holiday!…a break from the stifling animosity of court rooms, the torture of insomniac research, penning long briefs and considered opinions, the plague of monotonous speeches to yawning sparse audience at Legal forums, the overall purgatory of law practice... I recline further on my seat and close my eyes; a wave of benign affection washes over me and I feel at peace with the world...

Christmas is made particularly blissful by the fact that it is a time for giving...in full measure, the world is at its most receptive, thus messages that ordinarily will be lost in the haze of daily humdrum are easily passed across this season… with the right words, the right gifts...

Oh yes! Chief on the list…a gift for my boss! A necessary evil that yearly leaves a chasm in my pocket, because my boss is an uncommon woman…she has a heart of gold, a virtue she wears heavily round her neck and on her fingers. She cannot be caught dead wearing cheaper metal and accepts no other gifts as a matter of principle; she therefore takes a huge chunk off my Yuletide budget. For the time being, I am reluctant to invoke dark clouds with gifts of silver linings, more so, in this season of sacrifice, she may just decide I am best suited for that purpose among her workforce, so I need to melt her heart adequately to solder my dreams of one day becoming partner…

But  I am certainly going to draw a line at giving on that obnoxious Chief Bala who I had always deluded myself was my PP (Translation: The under-the table-client tucked away from the Firm’s view) Wealthy bastard, I thought I had landed the big break when we met but I gradually discovered his philanthropic disposition is identical to Silas Marner’s. After numerous expenses I had run up from his often contradictory instructions, I was reasonably expecting a tidy End of the Year pay-off. Last week, I went over and announced my travel plans a third time to him managing to squeeze my opinions on the growing harshness of the economy into the same sentence. The obese tight-fist grunts his agreement, and calls his boy to get the package for Barrister. In my anticipation I started gushing about how his business acumen had transformed my outlook during the brief period of our relationship (What’s keeping the boy so long!) bla bla bla.. The boy appears with a small carton of cheap tin tomatoes, vegetable oil and a fruit drink… ‘This one na for ya Christmas, Barrister’, and he buries his face in a magazine.  The message was clear; go stew in your own juice!

I’m still boiling, and I have a good heart to encourage EFCC to do a tentative audit on his assets.

Ok, I should calm down, it is not a time for bitterness, it is a season for praying for ones enemies. I had not fully understood this injunction until the night of the Christmas dinner organized by an illustrious Silk from our geographical section of the National Bar. There they were, the learned seniors, haughty old millionaires gloating in the affluence they had amassed from the practice of law, and inputting acute pangs of inferiority within our ranks- the struggling juniors. Swaggering in patronizing arrogance on their lofty perches, they elaborately handed down greeting cards and souvenirs to us. The cards bore such inscriptions as ‘…May the New Year aid your growth in wisdom…’ Smiling our thanks, we swallow the obvious insults in huge gulps of red wine standing in contra-distinction from the champagne bottles on the high table. It is a season for turning the other cheek.  But my moment came during the closing prayers. I jumped up to take the role before the verbose secretary had struggled through his unwieldy closing remarks … ‘Father…let a new legal order arise from our midst and in the New Year may the old pass away…’ The Amen chorus that followed my prayer was not weighty enough…but then, lawyers are not popular for their religiosity.

Back to sharing gifts…I have not left my colleagues out…Especially the flippant KK, considered the genius of the firm on the strength of no other value but his ability to design power-point slides (that the rest of you should emulate) and speak English through that nose I would give an eye to pinch... legacies from an over-priced educational career.  My affection for him has not been nurtured by his frequent Back in the States chit-chat with the boss that cruelly sidelines some of us who are a bit like Peugeot cars…made for Nigeria.  Recently he has been lending me unsolicited views on the nature of my research…I had been thinking of a good way to tell him that his opinions stink…so his gift is already packed: a giant bottle of Mouthwash.

That leaves Ujunwa and Tope, two exasperating shrews (spinsters of course!) always on the prowl for the slightest sexist speech. I will get them wrist watches, a gracious way to point out to them that time ticks away and while the beautiful ones may not yet be born; the handsome ones are all getting married. On second thoughts, since they are both always on the Internet, It is better to visit their Face book profile and post them 'time waste for no one' links. I credit them with enough intelligence to read writings on the Wall.

I try to keep away from my friends in corporate practice at this period, but they insist on seeking me out. Their smooth-faced freshness and oily boardroom drawls are depressants. And the conversation never goes beyond Litigation versus Corporate Law… ‘Massai, you are wasting away in litigation, going about fomenting trouble…’ That irritant, Chibyke will quip. ‘It is a season of peace for Pete’s sake!’  Yes, I agree, but peace can only be found in men of good wheels…boosted by end-of-year bonuses alien to the average street lawyer. Oh Santa, will you do just this one thing for me? Blaze a flaming torch round the snows as u reindeer down their big, tax-dodging corporations… the accompanying meltdown will get them all out on the streets to join me in my jalopy …a good way to drive home the need for social justice.

Christmas Carols always held a lot of nostalgia for me because I did a bit of singing as a choir boy in those lost days of innocence. But no more! I went for a CAROL-FEST organized by some charity institution with a lot of important sounding names in attendance. The performance was however done not by the usual cherub faced choir kids; celebrities in the Music industry took the role. Singing the lead was one of those psychedelic females in a ghastly flutter of eyelashes and rouged cheeks, introducing unwarranted sensuality to the chaste lines of Christmas songs. I was awash with thankfulness that the Magi did not have this kind of star to lead them to our Lord. It would have been contempt of galactic proportions.

Have I exhausted my well wishes? Oh I forget my policeman friends…they never stop my car… Probably sacred stiff of the conspicuous NBA sticker on my windscreen, or do I flatter myself? It may be the Can anything good come from Nazareth line that keeps them off when they see my smoking exhaust pipes and tremulous bumpers. In any case, for Christmas, just for Christmas, I will tear off the NBA stickers...in the spirit of sharing.

I will end with an open apology to my Client’s tenants at CBN estate considering that I have made quite a string of friends there. I will come around tomorrow acting under the instructions of my client, your landlord to deliver the traditional well-wishes cards praying that the New Year ushers in a raise in your circumstances…side by side with the card, I shall also bear a Notice to review your rent…upwards.

MERRY XMAS!!!

Published in Thisday Newspapers: December 22, 2009- http://allafrica.com/stories/200912220367.html

One Man’s Mate…Another’s Lawyer!

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I am sitting in blissful enjoyment of a rare solitude in my little office, thinking elevated thoughts, thoughts that shape the destiny of a man along the golden terrains of greatness…of immortality…the sort that won’t be thrown out by any legislator…the sort that would rather inspire them to lift a plaque to the world on my memorial…with my name engraved in its eternal marble letters…

The door is pushed open before I had even taken in the fact that somebody was knocking.

It is Henry, ordinarily not the most painstaking in sartorial issues, but today he looked positively clownish in his rolled up sleeves and multi coloured waist coat, and of course the tie was inevitably askew.

‘Massai…up, quick…I need a divorce.’

‘That’s a joke?’  I know his wife Doris too well; sweeter disposition in a female never graced our world.

‘Dead serious’ and his face convinced me he was.  ‘No drink in this office as usual’ he sighed in exasperation. ‘Must you always be prim and proper?’ He went about pulling out cabinets in that absent-minded way of his. I am used to him so I do not mind at all. We had met at Law school and bonded surprisingly…

‘You must understand that this is not a result of any fault of Doris’s. She is wonderful…an angel…and that’s the problem!’

I waited.

‘See, I love her, I value what we’ve had, but she is so, so…’ He searched for a word, ‘“lukewarm”. she just takes the life out of living. I enjoy her loyalty no doubt, but I cringe at her ability to keep quiet, listen and obey. For the two odd years of our marriage, never, not once has a quarrel ever featured between us.’

‘But that’s a blessing’

‘To a lawyer? No! it’s a curse, you may not understand…but I come home everyday…quaking with the rage of another day in court gone awry…why did I not push that motion harder, …the annoying antics of the suave opposing counsel, the blubbering of some  daft client  and I walk straight into the welcoming arms of a loving wife, she asks no questions but murmurs her sympathies, and kneads my shoulders…before I know it I slumber away…and the morrow presents the same scenario…and I always lose.’

‘How?’

He gave me the kind of look reserved for challenged children. ‘Can’t you see it? It’s an indolent life, no brawls…no arguments…my word is law…literally. But even the law suffers revisions and amendments…mine is the law of the Austinian sovereign…she holds no opinion on any subject lest I pronounce on it…and whatever little stirrings of thought she may have on that instantly suffocates, once my own divergent view covers the field. I am stagnating, fire sharpeneth iron…I need practice, my aptitude for the profession is suffering’

‘You therefore choose your career over the peace of marriage?’

 ‘But of course! What is a man without a vocation? A mere bird of passage…Does the saying not go that every successful man has a good woman behind him…not beside him, mind you. So in my quest for success I have to leave the good Doris behind.’

I smiled…you cannot deny the fellow his wit.

A wistful look crossed his face.  ‘A sad pity that I did not end up with Betty from Law school…’

‘That termagant?’ I knew her too well…the sort you will take home only if you have sedateophobia. ‘She’s married now, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, hell of a lucky dude, her husband’

‘I will not be in a hurry to describe him so.’

‘You would not, with your Victorian outlook to life…Betty is a woman with spirit, her potentials are all awakened and her general sense of awareness accelerated.

The wistful look deepened. ‘You know, she always told me that when she was a kid, she never had female friends…played with the boys…she never owned dolls…she had a catapult…’

‘I see she has always aimed high’ I murmured.

‘Exactly! Admirably ambitious…and a toughened outlook on life, none of this irritating mushiness of so called feminine tenderness’.

‘How do you mean?’

‘In the length of our relationship, not once did I see her shed a tear…not once. A stunt she pulls off from years of practice…’

I raised my brows, questioningly ‘Strange for a lady.’

‘Yes, as a little girl, whenever she did wrong and the mother screamed at her, she never cringed…she always stared unblinkingly back…and her mother cried instead.’

‘Impressive’

‘Her father was no exception…a ‘Deeper Life’ pastor type, he could not forbid her from wearing trousers…no, not Betty…They fought and fought over it…but she won in the end.’

‘Do you know when she decided to become a lawyer? She was in primary school then, when her brother slapped her once during a fight. Fiery spirit and all, she never hit back, not a finger in revenge.

She simply retired to her room, penned down the experience and addressed it to the principal of the Secondary School where her brother had applied for a scholarship. It was a Mission school; best in those days… the rascal lost his chance.’

‘But that is mean…could she not have simply reported to their parents?’

‘That is the point, she knew they would form a biased panel…they would be judges in their own case…they needed the scholarship even more than the son. She says that was the highest point of her life…she felt a power course through her veins…she needed not to have biceps before she could hold her own among the brutes, men…she would wield a bigger weapon…the law.’

‘Did you ever tell her of yourself?’

‘No, her history was always by far more interesting…you know I’m not so good with stories, and in her charming bluntness she always teased me about that. You could see the bored irritation on her face whenever I attempted…and to pacify her I would offer to listen to hers instead. I did not mind…it was a privilege for that great woman to share her dreams and aspirations with me…’

‘And her fears, must have made you feel stronger’

‘Betty never had fears…she always laughed at mine…made me stronger, you see.’

‘Look at how successful she is in advocacy…sheer will power and drive. Bulldozing through the conventions of superiority that we men build to cover our many inadequacies…she is an Amazon that woman…an Amazon.’

 ‘Maybe, but she will calm down when the kids start coming…it softens them you know.’

‘Betty always made it clear that nothing was ever going to separate her from her career. The kids can have nannies while she works her late nights…is that not the time of day Longfellow’s great people achieved their flight to the top?’

‘Why then did you break up with her if she was this perfect? You never told me’.

A look of pure agony flitted across his features… ‘It was me’. He groaned, ‘I was not man enough to measure up to her intellectual height…I got insecure and she walked.’ He looked so forlorn, I felt sorry.

‘You probably dodged a bullet my friend. the picture you painted is of an inordinately selfish woman, mean-hearted in the pursuit of her interests, vindictive, no deference whatsoever to family or marital obligations and what kind of woman finds kids unbearable?….and never keeps her mouth shut and shows no interest in the furtherance of her spouse’s career, or lacks the tact to totally ignore HIS shortcomings?…well, she has to be a lawyer!’

‘Perception, Massai, perception…in the words of Achebe, give me a child that breaks utensils in his haste any day than a clumsy piece of cold ash.’

‘Not a flattering way to describe your spouse… divorce is not a defence in defamation.’

‘Yes, but truth is.’

‘Okay…I shall file the preliminary notice.’

‘Good, I know I can always count on you, even if your ideas were always a little outmoded.’ And he headed for the door.

Wait a minute…’ I stopped him.

‘Yes…?’

‘I just thought you should know. Betty’s husband was here yesterday…he wanted a divorce.'

END


First published in Thisday Newspapers: July 28, 2009

Enslavement of Young Lawyers

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The setting is a danfo, parked under the sweltering heat of a particularly grumpy afternoon, the blazing orb kindling the metal encasement of the bus with a view to gradually barbecue the mass within. Sweaty flesh glides against sweaty flesh as the passengers grudgingly adjust for the next to come in, searing tempers, curses and grumbles. The minutes traipse along and the sun steadily creeps towards a blistering climax.

He sits calmly, seemingly oblivious to the double dosage of heat his black suit is wooing to him, face stuck to the magazine which he interchanges as a hand fan. Beads of sweat tumble down his prematurely wrinkled face, he flicks them off with his fingers, he has no handkerchief.

Thankfully the bus finally fills up, with promises of at least some air and motion but the conductor is evidently deriving some warped satisfaction from the general discomfiture and insists on collecting the fare before the bus moved an inch. Maledictions rain down his head from the incensed passengers.

The fellow, apparently no stranger to evil wishes smilingly remains deaf to the mounting rancor and cheekily stretches out his hands to each cursing passenger, taking all the time in the world to fish for change … it eventually gets to our gentleman’s turn to pay and he digs out an unnaturally crumpled note, the conductor rejects it instantly and tosses it back to him, the veneer of calm wears off and the gentleman inaugurates his own tirade drowning out all others, with emphasis on the unschooled mind of the ruffian being the propelling force behind his wretchedness. Unfortunately the conductor deciphers the word wretched and bunches his fist menacingly close to the gentleman’s face, inspiring the latter to bellow out an introduction… ‘I am a lawyer!  Dare you touch me and see if I don’t bundle you to a place where touts of your kind are housed’ We all turn, and indeed the gentleman has a starched collar on. 

At the word lawyer, the conductor’s anger melts away…and is replaced by loud raucous laughter which lasts two full minutes. ‘Lawyer!’  He chokes, making a derisive sweeping gesture with his left hand, ‘Olorun! So if lawyers start to de come out even this one go follow…why you no fit buy your own car put AC for am? See as im wear coat under sun…me I no be lawyer but at least I get sense to wear only singlet as the afternoon hot so’. (Here I recognized slight similarities in the hygienic state of the said singlet and the gentleman’s collar)

Many more of the conductor’s epigrams were swallowed by laughter; the passengers were at last getting their moneys worth… I felt like shedding tears for the poor fellow.

This happened years ago. If it were now, maybe my reaction would have been more proactive. Do we not owe a duty to our learned friends?

Duty...that’s a word we throw around so carelessly in the legal profession, sweet sounding jargon as ‘rights and duties are co-relatives, civilized society would be elusive without an effective interplay of both…blah blah blah…’

Now, that was one of a class in that bus, a class of victims of a duty-free legal practice, convenient pawns to be tossed about in pursuit of the bigger picture.

They abound, and are so easily spotted: Greying white shirts, oversized suits, trousers creased and folded in multiple places, and when the jacket comes off, the damp ring around the armpit region testifies to a hard life in a hard job.

Yes, that is the package many an Associate (how that word deceives!) in our Law firms are turned out in. Does it mean they lack decent taste…I wonder

Assigned all the dirty and back-breaking work, they take home barely enough to lift them over the destitution line.  You can sight them anywhere under our belligerent sun, looking harassed, with sweaty faces and reddened eyes …A bike here, a keke there…forget cabs, unnecessary luxury their principal calls them.

It is bad enough to be poor, but trying to put a cloak over it comes off as downright ridiculous.

But the profession demands proper dressing at all times, no blames. We must appear respectable. Respectability means a black jacket, tie, collar, the works …It inspires confidence in clients.

Sorry, it is an expensive rule but every lawyer is expected to measure up.

Of course the success of the measuring up is seen through the client’s eyes, and clients are not blind. A person you hire to wrestle tens of millions from a defaulter should at least exhibit more sartorial competence than your average scare-crow.

They even ask for tips… ‘Ah ah now oga, nothing for your boys?’ This, to a barely literate client. Well, let’s call it the Bar-tender instinct.  

For the men (who incidentally form the bulk of this group) it is impossible to work out a marriage/family plan with the next to nothing remuneration…to them, the law is indeed a jealous mistress.

The concept of duty is not voluntary, bah! Leave duty to the altruistic inclinations of man and nothing is done. Thus the need to impose a standard…

Recently we have all been buzzing with arguments and counters as to why the position of SAN should be scrapped…while I have as yet not taken any sides, I will need to remind that it is only in the issue of conferring that title that some form of standard is introduced with respect to the material packaging of the practitioner; a vital ingredient. It will not be a bad idea if extended to every law firm in the country.

Many a principal sits looking well fed and smug, swiveling in his easy chair barking out orders to his foot soldiers and dusting crumbs down to them from his table by month-end. The standard should be: the right to establish a law firm being automatically attached to the duty to provide a prescribed level of welfare to all the fee earners. And compliance should be mandatory.

Away with the rambling speeches of seminars and conferences…Young Lawyers: Carving out a Rich Future for the Legal Profession. The Law: An Instrument of Socio-economic Transformation.  yak yak yak. Rather let us introduce stringent measures: chunky salaries and allowances, reasonable appearance fees, staff vehicles (or monetary equivalents) as preconditions to being an employer of (legal) labour.

Back  in Law school, one of our lecturers in trying to illustrate what constitutes conduct incompatible with the legal profession made a joke about mounting a horse with ones wig and gown on…ok, we don’t have horses now, how about climbing onto a bike, perched in a keke…or overhanging from a molue in ones professional regalia?

Stop and search…discover the employer. For perpetuating a travesty, he should face the ire of the Disciplinary Committee, with penalties ranging from mild chastisement to full-blown suspension.

The world has gone materialistic and owes no apologies for that, gentlemen of the world’s leading vocation should ordinarily set the pace. They deserve every bit of the good life.

Banks and Oil Companies are the dream workplace. Yes; they work their behinds off, but the AC drones all day and takes the bite off the pressure, coupled with the certitude of a sizable salary, profit sharing, upfronts and other juicy ancillaries.

That is welfare.

Not so for the junior lawyer…he should be content with fanning himself with the sheaves of paper on his desk whenever power fails while fighting the evil teeth chewing up his empty entrails. He might as well have skipped Law school; poverty needs no rigorous preparation.

Recently I was in one of those nice buildings at Victoria Island alongside a small crowd of people waiting for the lift to descend, when a delightful fragrance wafted through. We all turned to look and there stood two regally attired young persons, a gentleman and a lady. Sparkling white shirts, glossy plastic collars, inch-perfect suits and shoes that observably had minimal interaction with the earth. Even their voices wore an immaculate polish, their car keys jingled, and their faces glowed with robust health and confidence. They waited with the rest of us. Nobody could stop staring…

My heart swelled inside…those are my learned colleagues, I almost shouted.

That’s what I’m talking about; the ideal lawyer’s look… the minimum standard.

                  I rest my thesis.




Published in Thisday Newspapers: June 2, 2009-  http://allafrica.com/stories/200906020235.html

                                                             

                                                                                      

'Tis a Long Road that leads to the Old Wig

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It is an exhilarating feeling to be formally called to Bar, I have walked that road.

Few things in life can compare to the climactic upsurge when you are clothed in the robes and receive the venerated wig unto your head. When you are inducted into that enclave of the most prestigious vocation, barricading the oaken door to non-initiates as you settle down to establish a bond with the masters over dinner. Nothing beats the air of mystery as you reappear from the dinner, wearing an inscrutable expression that befits your new status, smiling inwardly at the muted questions of awe-struck family and friends, altogether transported to the pinnacle of their regard, a revered figure. You are positioned to tread the highly acclaimed road of being a custodian of the law.

It is indeed a once-in a lifetime feeling.

 Alas! Like all once in a lifetime things, it soon wears off… and you are brought back from the nine clouds with a thud!

Your first day in court.

You walk into the room puffed up, well maybe a bit by the elaborate raiment of your new office but more from an exaggerated feeling of importance, and stride majestically towards the bench for the day’s cause list. You expect the world to stand still and acknowledge a special one; you constrict your countenance to the right level of dignity…. ‘Smiles cheapeneth the face’, didn’t somebody say somewhere in history. You strain your ears for the murmur of awe that should accompany your impeccably shimmering appearance.

None of this happens, rather you are shocked at the snicker -from no more a person than the half initiate court clerk, you turn to descend on him until you discover the source of his merriment, you almost drop the cause list (which by the way you are holding wrong side up) he is literally looking over your head, so you adjust your headgear…then the bombshell drops, ‘You’re a new wig are you not? It’s so obvious. Relax, you’ll get used to it’ You dutifully ignore him; the day is so momentous to be dampened by irreverent rantings of a flippant clerk.

But your travails are not yet over.

As you take your seat in the bar, drinking in the dizzying fact that you are now part of the esteemed circle, the other lawyers are all reaching out to pump your hands, and the room is filled with a hum of ‘New wig! New wig!’ ‘Congratulations boy! You are thankful when the door is pounded to announce M’ lord’s appearance.

He sits and surveys the hall with stern features, and all of a sudden, his eyes light up with a twinkle… ‘Oh I see we have a new wig today, please stand up’ you look back praying it is not you, but the tell-tale wig draws you to your feet and you answer a few personal questions revealing more humbling details of your neonate status. For the older lawyers, the session has started on a comic note. You catch the court clerk’s glance again and there are tears in his eyes, he is helpless with laughter. The rest of the day crystallizes your lowliness, your case is high up on the cause list, but you are called last. You shakily stutter out your motion and flee the premises.

Again and again the cycle is repeated…the glossy wig , with all the threads firmly in place coupled with the shiny blackness of your gown spot you out for miles as the profession’s latest green horn. And friend, it is indeed a long wait before that wig of yours begins to grow old.

The road is long that leads to an old wig…it is paved with incredible tales of bloody conquests, bruising defeats, close shaves and a quagmire of soul-selling compromises. The wig gets blackened by smokes of sustained crossfire, stained by the muddy pitfalls dug by foes, gnarled and twisted by the rough weather of the profession. But what an enviable place awaits him on whose head the old wig is perched.

He shuffles slowly into the courtroom (none of that sprightly overzealousness of the young) and is ushered into a reserved seat at the bar. When his case is called up, he demonstrates that there is an uncanny dignity in the tremulousness of voice and limb, he squints at documents and the court stands still until his presentation is made. His deep throated submissions ring with the finality of an adage. The opposing side does not object with vehemence ….he merely begs to disagree. And if sustained, the judge turns away his face in apologetic embarrassment.

Can an old wig lose a case? When his writings contribute to numerous persuasive precedents…When other lawyers quote him…he may have even taught a judge or two…Be it in silk or of the ordinary stuff, the old wig stands as the symbol of experienced knowledge. Like Dorian Gray’s portrait, it is the outward reflection of the time worn innards… Naturally, the old wig continually wears thin; revealing a deep portion of the grey beneath…grey meets grey…wisdom embraces wisdom…an earth shaking communion!

The aged wig reflects the law in its perfection. He is a jurisconsult; the lawyer’s lawyer. He oozes self confidence, his knowledge is a fortress; there is no trick in the bag he has not practiced. Do not be deceived by his occasional absent mindedness, he is not senile…at such times he merely releases his spirit to the secret dwelling place of the law…he is the medium that transcribes its darker mysteries. It is whispered that many a judge sits at his feet in the twilight seeking direction for a decision of the morrow.

He smiles at the excesses of the young, he watches them rush to their ruin in their mad play to the gallery…the race is not for the swift footed nor the nimble…it is for the seasoned warrior sure of where to place his feet and defeat the raging quicksand. The real world opens up new chapters uncovered by the theories and ideals of law school…The young is befuddled by the discrepancy…The old wig has seen it all.

When the wig grows old…it also grows prosperous. Youth believes so much in its strength, thus it gambles and explores, nibbling only at the edges, never becoming a true master,

For the old wig, there is only one profession…the law…he grows old in it and it pays him. He is celebrated…his hallways are lined with plaques and medals. He is grand patron to a horde of eager disciples.

The wig does not grow old at the bottom of the dresser…it is a regular helmet on the battlefield of law practice. Again and again, it marches to gory swordfights and comes back stained. Every crease, a notch of glory. Every tear, the scalp of a foe.…Rugged statements of invincibility.

When the wig grows old, it captures the sentiment of D.H. Lawrence when he penned the lines:

It ought to be lovely to be old

To be full of the peace that comes of experience and wrinkled ripe fulfillment

The wrinkled smile of completeness that follows life…

                 

My new wig is very smart, in fact it is a fashion statement, but I dream of the glorious days when it shall grow old…

END.


First published in Thisday Newspapers: May 5, 2009