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

WELCOME TO LAW SCOOL!

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I have many friends at the Law School. I sit out with them now and again over some drinks (Is that not what the bar is about after all?) and recount my own Law school days.

Of course the genial hands of time are steadily moulding my memories of the place into an idyllic monument, so at the slightest push; I wax lyrical about it. But these friends of mine never get caught up in my enthusiasm. Most of the time they listen with a woe-begone expression and subtly change the subject. After much prodding, they  finally let me into their reservations and I am most tempted to reproduce them on this page, but of course they swore me to secrecy…it is infamous conduct to harbour thoughts of that hue about the revered institution.

On closer reflection, I am inclined to hold that the vehemence of their feelings might be a bit exaggerated.The issues are purely based on a conflict of perspectives and a break in communication. In this regard, I think that the liable party is the Council itself. There must be something faulty with the orientation programme they package for the entrants.  Oh, forget that charade of effusive speeches and polite applause. These rehearsed monologues hardly enter one ear before leaving through the other.

They fail to understand that the new applicants to the bar are usually at their most impressionable, thus a well delivered message goes a long way. You can see that from their willingness to jot down any sound that escapes the speaker’s throat. (Coughs and sneezes not exempted.)The council should make their policies known from day one so that the new students can understand what they are up against.

I hate arm-chair critics, so I have decided to contribute actively to correcting this anomaly by sketching a model welcome address for the D.G. that will serve to make the new intakes understand better the probable perspective from which the Council sees legal training.

The speech shall run a little like this:

‘Gentlemen,

We use the above term with no apologies whatsoever to the gender hyperactive ones among you. The term has subsisted these long years to cover both sexes and we do not see any reason for it to be tampered with.

We must point out that we do not accede to the ludicrous version “gentlemen in skirt” when referring to our females members…As this is not Scotland, the very picture of a gentleman in skirt wakes up disturbing images which thankfully our laws have not yielded to yet.

That said, we proceed now to offer you our congratulations for having scaled the tortuous hurdle of tertiary study. While we are impressed that your numbers soar with the passing years, we fail to quell the nagging suspicion that the lecturers in our universities are growing less imaginative in setting exam questions. For what good does a sieve serve when all the grains make it through? But then, that is matter for another day.

As I look into your midst, I see a sea of eager faces, eyes glittering with the exhilaration within. I see barely concealed bloats in your egos, no doubt created by the prospect of being received into our regal fold. I see holders of certificates that boast of worthiness in the sublime merits of character and learning. With the above, we shall not be so hasty to concur; what with the distasteful news that filter daily from our Universities of today. We strive to believe that your various Faculties of Law shielded you from the stains, but we cannot be too sure. While we acknowledge your LLB status (it is surely no mean feat) we shall not forget that the erudite Alexander Pope points out the perils of half learning. Our focus in this institution is to provide that missing better half, a task we shall set about with the stoutest of resolves.

In your university days, you enjoyed freedom; you were like birds, with the horizon as your ambit. Those days are now irretrievably gone. Here we recognize the danger in trusting the notion of free will. Unbridled freedom negates the very concept of our profession.The Law is meant to effect a coercive order of human behaviour.The Naturalists may hold reservations about this but the Council has attained its present enviable status largely because we choose to stay positive.

Therefore, from henceforth, any nocturnal stroll between opposite members of the sexes is declared illicit. Likewise, we forbid visits to any hostels that house members of the opposite sex. While we do not wish to make hermits of you, we are worried about the effect that the fertility of your minds may have on your bodies. Mens sana in corporea sana.

We shall observe you closely at all times. Such public displays of heterosexual attraction as pecks and hugs shall be looked upon with a stern frown. Gentlemen greet themselves with smart hand shakes and we shall unwaveringly adhere to that standard.Your ultimate conquest of the world begins with the annihilation of every unwholesome thought and desire.

We proceed now to the issue of fees.

We gather that there has been an outcry among some of you against the relentless rise in our fees with every new batch and that we make the purchase of laptops a stringent requirement.

We are glad that this cry is not unanimous. Our position is vindicated by graduates of our private universities who consider what we charge as akin to a tax holiday.

The council proposes to reward such progressive thinking by accrediting more of such institutions. We also hope to swell the number of our (oh so adorable) students in the Diaspora, who toe the same progressive line.

The allegation stems exclusively from the beneficiaries of public schooling.

This peasant category has come to expect life to be replete with subsidies and gratuitous grants. We wish to inform them that while education may be expensive, ignorance keeps a dearer school. Our profession is not for commoners, and if they cannot cope, they should please exploit the open door policy of this institution, literally. We shall not miss them. And as for the laptops, we have our strong reasons for them. We have fashioned a do-it-yourself curriculum. (Your spoon feeding days are over) Your lecturers would be spared the irritations of your oftentimes naïve questions…With the laptops, simply google the answer and save the whole class precious time needed to cover the volumes that make up your schedule.

Following from this, we also wish to reiterate that while we encourage fearlessness and diligent courage as virtues of the lawyer, they are placed at subservience to the prime notion of order of precedence and seniority at the Bar. Our predecessors who set this laudable standard have deemed us worthy to wear this grey wig of wisdom, but you are as yet mere applicants. So even in the unlikely event of all of you here eventually making it to the bar, you are by far our juniors and we shall therefore brook no challenges whatsoever from you with respect to our authority. While we wish you luck in your quest, we maintain that you recognise your place in the interim; to be seen not heard, except when you are specifically addressed.

Ah! I see creases of dissent on some of your faces, you mouth the silent question; are we breeding timid lawyers? No we are not gagging you, we only groom you to say the right things and save the profession the embarrassment of vociferous radicals.

Lastly, I must inform you that over the years, we have received strong worded protests over our grading system. We are accused of using the lowest score to determine a person’s eventual grade. Such questions make me marvel at the phenomenal laziness creeping into the minds of our youth. The law admits no apostles but the impeccable. On this ground, the test is no more that of the reasonable man, but of the intellectual.

So, if you record a mere pass despite a string of 80s and 90s, I hope you understand that you still possess an Achilles heel…that part of your anatomy, the profession suffers you to relinquish. Do not give me the quote: “God forbid that a lawyer knows all the law…” The learned jurist that made that famous dictum unfortunately overlooked the fact that ours is largely a profession of atheists.

Once again, we welcome you to Law School and wish you a most enjoyable stay.’

 I rest my thesis


First published in Thisday Newspapers: March 24, 2009

SELLING THE LAW…

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I love fantasies; often I have been called a head-lost-in-the-clouds dreamer. I love that tag. Dreams are not always the escapist pastime of a slothful mind- they may subconsciously provide the seedlings for the birth of great ideas. Yes, dreams are not real, but when they come to life, present reality changes. Dreams precipitate change. As a dreamer therefore, I am an agent of change…

I had lapsed into this philosophico-poetic mood after I was roundly battered in an argument with some of my young lawyer friends the other day. We were discussing the sense (or lack of it) in the restriction of advertisements in the legal profession in Nigeria, by the Rules of Professional Conduct. I was passionately of the view that the provisions of the rules are too stifling and inconsistent with the modern world.

All the publicity the Rules allow is; a reasonably sized sign-post in front of the practitioner’s office.

‘Many people do not even notice those signs, their bleary black and white prints are swallowed by more interesting items on the landscape’ I had stated. ‘Can you win clients that way?’

‘Massai’ My ultra-conservative friend Edward had interjected ‘a good lawyer needs not be aided by psychedelia, let your records speak.’

‘But that is the point!’ I had screamed ‘how do you transmit the said records without adverts?’

‘Simple, does the law not permit you to affix your qualifications on your business cards?’  that was from Mike, another incurable stiff-back.

‘It is not enough’ I insisted ‘we need to spice up the whole thing a lot more’

‘Do you then recommend that we slide to the arena of pedestrian trivia?’ Samuel-every inch a stuffed shirt - murmured.

‘Yes!’ I was getting heated up. ‘We need to leave our lofty pinnacle and approach equal altitude with the people we are supposed to serve in the first place…’

‘My friend, I think you have what it takes to conquer the world, but first you must wake up from your silly dreams’ Edward delivered the masterstroke.

The rest of my well laid submissions were drowned in laughter.

Now in my quiet moment, I am convinced more than ever that my views are workable.

People complain that the law goes over their heads, lawyers are a mysterious horde, and thus, it takes a fair dose of courage to walk into the hallowed interiors of their sepulchral chambers. End result; the propagation of a populace completely apathetic to litigation and invariably, a proliferation of poor lawyers.

Where then is the dignity which the rules seek to preserve?

What is the way forward? Easy, obliterate the rules!

First, lawyers should be allowed to do away with the reasonable size and sober design cliché from their sign-posts and in their stead, put up eye-catching, life size billboards, amply bedecked with neon lights. Having done this, the lawyers’ gifts of imagination which have been asphyxiated over the years shall be given new life. Their battle of wits will seep beyond the confines of cross-examination and evolve into bits of humorous catchphrases for their law firms.

Slogans like: ‘You will never turn in your Grave…’ inscribed boldly at the bottom corner of business cards and posters will better buttress expertise in Wills and Testaments than a dry list of L.L.M.s and L.L.D.s. In the same vein, the words: ‘When the Police is not your Friend, We kick his butt’ bestows a Charge and Bail specialist with more class and appeal. And if you want to sweep home all the clients in town, a most fitting slogan is: ‘At Z & I Group…we dine with the judges…’

This will be followed by press-conferences, interviews and documentaries of landmark cases where the firm had obtained favourable judgement. It will become common while flipping through the pages to see colourful promos broadcasting:

BONANZA!  BONANZA!!  BONANZA!!!

An Irresistible Litigation Bundle Offer from the Law Offices of Clement & George.

Submit three briefs in 6months and win yourself a pro bono case!

Hurry while offer lasts…

Not to be beaten, a rival Law firm will contract a rave of the moment celebrity, say D’Banj to appear on national TV, complete in his dark shades, plus the venerated wig and gown! : ‘if you are not sitting with S & J Associates, you are on a loooong case!’

Outside a few cardiac seizures to prim and proper hearts, the effect on the profession will be largely positive.

Law offices will overflow with customers, oops, clients; the movement would have bred a new mind-set in the citizens. We all hate what we cannot understand, so if the people get to recognize that the lawyer is just another average entrepreneur hustling for his daily bread and butter alongside other ordinary species of humanity, they shall open their arms wide in fraternity. The great wall of suspicion will collapse; a harmonious accord will be reached. The publicized competition will pull down litigation costs, creating a more legally responsive society… and the lawyers will reap the plums of increased patronage. It is Eldorado in the making!

Of course, to complete this revolution, every serious minded Law firm will engage in some bit of ambulance chasing. The phrase would be renamed to purge it of every derogatory taint, it will simply be called-Marketing. Paralegal staff and interns will be posted on strategic locations in the streets. (A welcome change from sitting and rotting away over mountains of case files). Everyday, persons get knocked down by over speeding cars, fall from dislodged kerbs and get hit by falling objects from overloaded trucks…The field staff will be on standby with sheaves of handbills. These handbills contain detailed workings of the victim-counsel settlement ratio when the negligence suit is won, and shall be distributed to families of the victims. When no family member is around, it will suffice to discreetly press same into the hands of the victim as he is being stretchered away.

Oh, I am dreaming again…

Reality is different; reality is contained in the Rules. The Rules say that unfettered advertisement brings the profession to disrepute, creates prejudice and does not foster fairness in the legal practice. Maybe this is right, maybe not…time will tell. Our world is being fast unravelled; there are no more sacred grounds. Flow with the stream or get stagnated behind. Last year, an Australian High court affirmed that court processes can be served on Facebook! What more can I say? I am eagerly waiting for our rules to be unbuckled to that degree. 
I already have the advert slogan for my law office waiting. I am keeping it simple: "Life is BRIEF; Get a Lawyer…"

I rest my thesis.


First published in Thisday Newspapers: February 3, 2009

The Inscrutable Maiden of Justice

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Two men; a lawyer and his friend, are sitting at the grass lawn on the grounds of the High court on a serene Saturday evening. Having exhausted every subject of their little summit, their attentions settle on a stone statue of the Maiden of Justice which the lawyer’s friend is observing with crease-faced interest:

‘Why does she perpetually brandish a long blade?’

‘To smite the guilty with due retribution.’

‘I would have thought it was to shield herself from possible plunder of her voluptuous femminity’

‘She is invincible; she needs no corporeal protection.’

‘And the scales on her other hand, what are they for?’

‘To weigh one right against another, and grant remedies to the party in whose favour the scale tilts’

‘What if the scale tilts by chunks of heavy metals like, say gold or diamond?’

‘She does not notice, she is blind’

‘No, I observe she is merely blindfolded, so she can always sneak a peek.’

‘She is not interested’

‘Really? Are diamonds not a girl’s best friend?’

‘I fail to see the relevance…’

‘Will its presence not naturally sway a maiden’s sense of judgement?’

‘We seem to be steadily approaching blasphemy’

‘Blasphemy? She is a goddess then, worshipped by members of your fold?’

‘Not worshipped, but accorded strict obeisance in our daily rituals’

‘In the Law courts you mean?’

‘Yes, we pattern our decisions in line with her dictates’

‘Oh, that means she falters sometimes?’

‘No, never, she is infallible’

‘But I hear of court decisions upturned’

‘Yes, only in absolute pursuit of her tenets.’

‘And the disciples that err, what are the rewards? Death at her hand-held guillotine?’

‘No, the chastisement is much milder’

(They pause a while and silently contemplate the sculpture.)

‘What does she do when her sword strikes an innocent?’

‘She never hurts the innocent; she would rather let ten guilty men escape’

‘I think she does that too frequently’

‘Well, that is your opinion’

‘It would not bother me much, if the ones that undeservedly escape her wrath were not always the materially well placed.’

‘Coincidence’

And I notice that her blows are not always deadly to the wealthy when they are guilty’

‘She is gracious’

‘But her measures should be equal…’

‘They are, but if untempered with mercy may prove too bitter for human intake’

‘Or maybe she is just reluctant to kill the geese that lay golden eggs?’

‘Please spice your phrases with more reverence’

‘Forgive me.’

(Another lull, for some minutes.)

‘Does she only act when you entreat at her temple?’

Yes, her temple is the last hope of the common man’

‘Last hope? That is when other options crumble?’

‘The phrase is interpreted differently’

‘And the uncommon man can do without the temple, is that it?’

‘At his peril.’

‘Before she acts, do you pay her a fee?’

‘No, you only pay your lawyer’

‘And the lawyer then pays her?’

 ‘Heavensssakes no!’

‘Pardon me, I was just asking.’

(Another short pause).

‘She wears a sad look.’

‘Life is a sad tale and she listens to it firsthand.’

‘But she does not act very swiftly like her two elder sisters; Nemesis and Vengeance’

‘Yes, she is more rational and thorough.’

‘Believe me; I have seen some very thorough acts of vengeance’

‘They are hardly the same.’                 

‘She looks mighty lonely, do you think she had a heart once that loved and was loved in return?’

‘She is still loved’

‘Feared, not loved’

‘Her job is too delicate to allow matters of emotions come in the way, which is the bane of the sisters you just mentioned…’

‘I pity her sometimes’

‘You waste that sentiment, she does not need it.’

‘I cannot help it, she burns away the raging fires of her womanhood, eternally poised on that platform and nobody cares about her private desires and inner cravings…’

‘Before we descend into flagrant heresy, why don’t we call this meeting to a close?’

(And the two friends walk off, leaving the solitary figure on the pedestal, her sword turned to the darkening sky, her empty scales unwavering in the evening wind.)

                                                                                                         THE END




First published in Thisday Newspapers: January 13, 2009

Yuletide...An Absolute Defence

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 As I write; tunes of Christmas resonate through my neighbor’s good speakers.

Yes, even bad neighbors can own good speakers.

I must state from the outset that the neighbor in question is a rascal of limited cerebral training. As a lawyer, my scorn for the unschooled mind offers no apologies, more so as the aforementioned personality is of a loud and pugnacious make-up.

The loudness would be forgiven if it were limited to his vocal chords (let them wither from over-use) but no, he generously endows his musical gadgets with this attribute as well.

Now, I consider myself a reasonable music enthusiast. I love Jazz, every lawyer should, soft rock also appeals to me; they set the mood right after the humdrum of our profession.

At occasional resurgences of the boy in me, I may sit through some Hip hop tunes.

But Highlife, No sir!

With due respects, I find it an irksome cacophony of exaggerated instrumentation and repetitive incantations. And the subject matter hardly varies from praise- singing or cheap didactics.

I firmly believe that music should be made of saner stuff (apologies, Mark Anthony)

Well, this low-life neighbor of mine does not share my opinion of Highlife, and he amplifies the point daily.

Everyday the walls echo with earsplitting reverberations from his speakers, any other blend of music may not have had the same sharp sting, but Highlife it must be…so everyday,  I grit my teeth and suffer the double jeopardy.

And he always sings in accompaniment!

My view of the fellow is not improved by the fact that his speakers sound far better than the ones in my house.

The few times I attempted to engage him in a Battle of the Decibels, my efforts were pathetically drowned.

Available case law on punitive damages for nuisance shall soon have its records broken, my file is building… before long, his cup shall run over.

I woke up this morning and the peace of the environment was once again being assaulted by his blaring monstrosity.

But wait a minute, it was not his usual…he was playing Christmas carols!

But Heavens, what a way to play them!

Jingle Bells clanged irritatingly on the auditory nerves, Silent Night turned into an oxymoron as The Drummer Boy joyously slammed away on the ear-drums,

O Little Town of Bethlehem would be rocked off its modest foundations by the volcanic vibrations of the woofers.

Hark! The heralding angels would have since gone hoarse if they sang eternally at such pitch.

I have never heard the age-long smoothness of Christmas melodies so ruthlessly abused and my neighbor enthusiastically joined the chorus, this time singing in English!

I muttered a curse and sprang from my bed.

In my methodical groundwork for a water-tight legal action against the scoundrel, I had overlooked my most convenient remedy -abatement of the nuisance.

My heavy poundings on his door finally seeped through the bedlam, the volumes reluctantly went down and the insufferable tort-feasor peeked out.

I gave vent to all my pent up exasperation in a flutter of expletives.

Safe in his ignorance, I let the words; culpability, prosecution and committal order at the Governor’s pleasure tumble freely.

My tirade must have run unceasingly for the chunky part of thirty minutes and from the crumbling face before me, I was hitting bull’s eye.

I turned to storm away, but behold! other inhabitants of our yard had gathered behind us in clusters evidently drawn by the thunderous emissions of my righteous indignation.

Voices, voices, voices…

‘Wetin dey do Lawyer, sef? Na only him go school? So make we no enjoy Christmas again?’

Yet another; ‘Do you blame him? Do lawyers go to church? Are they not the antichrist?’

This not inaccurate reference to the epileptic nature of my hebdomadal reverence to the Powers struck home, but the worst was still in transit:

‘If it is Highlife music he won’t complain o, now that it is God’s song, he is vexing, abeg no mind am my broda’

And we say there is justice in this world.

A quick glance at my vindicated adversary showed that he had regained his aplomb and was waving in solidarity to his formidable defence team.

Crimson-faced, I slunk away.

*                                              *                                                              *

I am lying on my bed, trying to shut out the din outside.

In celebration of this rare victory over the supercilious ‘The Law’, the crusaders of Christendom had assumed positions by my window and joined in the O Come All Ye Faithful, Joyful and Triumphant… chant.

Their voices rang to the skies, and thus motivated, my neighbor’s speakers trebled their vigour.

I have never been more humbled. They may be right; maybe like all lawyers, I am a grumpy Ebenezer Scrooge after all, trying to smother the joyous spirit of Christmas among ordinary folk.

In penitence, I pick up this piece of paper to jot a little list to guide my actions through the rest of the season.

1.)    Never complain about the nuisance value of deafening carols no matter how brazen the interference with quiet enjoyment of premises, Yuletide is an absolute defence.

2.)    Never scold the little boys (and recently, girls!) that ignite fireworks and knock-out bangers on busy streets, the potential hazards are equally excused by the Yuletide proviso.

3.)    Never grumble at the price tags that habitually grow wings this season…Angels also have wings.

4.)    Even if I suffer a salary cut at my workplace in order to finance sky-scraper sized Christmas trees and corresponding decorations, I shall never protest. It is in line with the spirit of giving…the poor and hungry shall behold the majesty and be filled…with awe.

5.)    Never frown at the message of the pre-dawn preacher that frequents our neighborhood this season.

He is right; I should feel guilty for still being alive to see the end of another year …as a sinner.

6.)    (Most importantly!) never forget to say:

                          MERRY CHRISTMAS DEAR READERS!!!

First Published in Thisday Newspapers: December 23, 2008