The Gods Have Not yet Spoken…

By Dr. Oliver Akamnonu

The rustic small-scale business owner chances on money after many years as a labor leader. He decides to get into politics and runs for the governorship of his state and loses. Another unsuccessful shot at the congress seat leaves him almost pauperized. He is rescued from starvation by an appointment as a board chairman in a central government-owned industry.

Following the pattern of the colossal and unmitigated corruption in his country, he aims for a kill and lands the megabillions from the loose coffers of the oil-rich republic. A rather belated attempt at atonement through religion alienates him from the barbaric political culture that had enabled his meteoric rise. His alienated former colleagues aim for his jugular.

The swallowed billions had not quite sunk in when the military struck.

A story of unimaginable intrigues, corruption, and betrayals.

Is there hope for the upcoming generation of the children of Mungeruun?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 5, 2008
• ISBN: 9781465324306

Dr. Oliver Akamnonu

Oliver Akamnonu is a physician and author of the award-winning poetry book "Rap to Mars" as well as the highly popular book "Arranged Marriage and the Vanishing Roots".An anesthesiologist by specialization he has published more than 15 other prominent books in the USA and these include: "Nation of Dead Patriots", "Bature", "The Pagans' Medals", "The Honorable", "Comedy of Naked Vampires", etc. A former school captain of his high school Government Secondary School Afikpo, former State Chairman of the Nigerian Medical Association, former member of the Medical and Dental Council of Nigeria, member of the first Board of Federal Medical Center Owerri, decorated "Distinguished Medical Practitioner", Chairman Akamnonu Foundation for the Poor, Dr. Akamnonu is a dual citizen of the USA and Nigeria and is married to Dr. Chika Akamnonu and they have four children, Olisa, Chibu, Somto and Chuka. He lives in in Massachusetts USA.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The mighty elephant is richly blessed with size and splendor.

It marches on, in spite of assaults to it with darts and cudgels.

Its meat is so much that it is assumed to be inexhaustible.

But when the elephant goes down and the vultures descend on its muscles

It is soon found that even the skin alone, that was assumed, would last a thousand years—would not last as long as a mere month—no, not when the vultures descend upon it in droves.

IT IS ONLY MAN

THAT IS BROKEN

The coolness of the newly decorated boardroom contrasted so sharply with the heat immediately outside of it. Four new Carrier brand air-conditioners each installed at a cost of ten thousand dollars hummed away in the empty newly furnished boardroom, which had been worked on over the previous three weeks, day and night, to ensure it was ready before the arrival of the newly appointed board members. These board members would oversee the giant government-owned Mungeruun Brewery. His Excellency, the president and commander in chief of the Mungeruun Armed Forces, had about a month earlier appointed a governing board for the giant industry. Among those appointed was Chief Asemojo, a former labor union leader who had turned a politician, as the chairman of the board. Others were Chief Clejeso, who was an American-trained attorney; Chief Mungawa, a medical doctor; Chief Jobagoca, a veteran politician; and Chief Oguebe, a labor leader recommended for the board appointment by his labor union. Other members were appointed from various states and federal ministries. The chief executive of the brewery, Mr. Kumezi, was the secretary of the board with a board membership status.

For nine years prior to the inauguration of the board, the duty of running the brewery rested squarely with Mr. Kumezi, the chief executive officer (CEO) of the brewery. It was his duty to ensure that the brewery ran smoothly. He could hire and fire. He awarded the contracts. He was the administrative head of the brewery as well as the chief accounting officer. He bought the raw materials and the machineries. He oversaw the distribution. He liaised with the supervising federal ministry. His word, as far as the brewery was concerned, was law. A disagreement with any of Mr. Kumezi’s policies could have disastrous consequences for any dissenting staff. He had the reach both in Kuveri, the provincial capital where the brewery was situated, and in Kumbruuja, the capital of the mineral-rich federal republic.

The air was awash with preparation. The board members are coming! the statement reverberated in virtually every lip from the three-hundred-and-twenty-staff-strength brewery. The hopes ran high for those who felt oppressed and marginalized. These felt that at least there would now be a neutral group for them to narrate their woes to. The fears and anxieties ran wild in the faces of the few who had been in the good books of the erstwhile Super Duke, as the chief executive officer Mr. Kumezi was often referred to. The latter who was often also simply called chief executive officer or CEO had reigned over the affairs of the brewery for close to a decade, and his name had almost become synonymous with the brewery. Oyoyo, the brand name of the beer and other alcoholic and nonalcoholic beverages that were daily churned out of the heavily government-subsidized brewery, was indeed often called Kumezi beer. Mr. Kumezi himself, a really hardworking man, was known once in a while to declare free food and drinks for all; whenever he heard people calling for a bottle of Kumezi beer in a bar or hotel, he always felt highly elated at hearing his name being so publicized. The cost of such free food and drinks were of course bankrolled by the brewery under promotional costs. Both the external and the internal auditors for the brewery were appointed by Mr. Kumezi himself, and so it did not matter how recklessly and inappropriately he spent the company’s funds. Mr. Kumezi was widely known in town as a shrewd and highly seasoned civil servant. He perfectly understood his environment. He was a thoroughbred Mungeruun who knew the system. He knew whom to meet for greatest effect in times of difficulty. He knew the political power brokers both in Kuveri, the state capital, and in Kumbruuja, the federal capital.

Mr. Kumezi knew how to share the money. He understood the true meaning of the word settlement, not exactly the English meaning of that word. No! He knew the useful meaning conferred to the word by one of the previous leaders in Kumbruuja. It was not a neologism, but a useful meaning which ensured that any loot went round evenly between all collaborators.

The hedges were being cut all around the brewery complex. Heaps of refuse in unwanted places were being cleared. A new touch of paint was being applied over some of the older buildings. The overgrown trees were being pruned. An air of festivity mixed with expectancy filled the entire brewery premises.

A presidential suite had been booked in Konjoko Hotel, the government-owned five-star hotel whose management had been contracted out to a foreign company. The presidential suite was booked on indefinite basis for the expected chairman of the board. One other suite had also been booked in the same hotel adjacent the presidential suite for any of Mr. Chairman’s treasured companions. A third reservation, also an executive suite, was made close to the presidential suite for any aides who might also accompany Mr. Chairman. Another one room was then reserved for Mr. Chairman’s driver, his chauffer.

All four reservations were made and paid for, on indefinite basis. The position of the board chairman was a part-time nonexecutive one. The chairman, for as long as he was in office, could however live in the hotel for as long as he pleased, all expenses paid by the brewery. He could eat or drink anything and entertain any number of guests as he desired, all at the expense of the brewery. Meanwhile, reservations were also made for each of the other eight board members. Over five million dollars were made as deposit to Konjoko Hotel for accommodation of the chairman and other board members for the inaugural meeting of the board. Mr. Kumezi did not look too happy signing the check for the hotel deposit. That was certainly money which might have constituted part of his pocket money during his monthly visits to Kumbruuja, where he often went to settle with some bigger ogas, his bosses, and other senior ministry officials in Kumbruuja, the national capital. He needed the goodwill of these latter to remain in office, especially against the backdrop of the numerous complaints of financial impropriety, mismanagement, and cronyism that had dogged his many years of helmsmanship in the brewery. His comfort as regards the hotel bill lay, however, in the 5 percent discount, which he was sure to get privately from the hotel for his patronage. Since that discount was often placed at 5 percent of total cost, Mr. Kumezi—through his agent, the brewery’s public relations officer—was sure to collect at least two hundred thousand dollars as a thank-you fee. That was chicken change for Mr. Kumezi, who was reputed to be very rich with scores of multimillion-dollar real estate properties including gas-filling stations in his kitty. Despite his enormous wealth, however, Mr. Kumezi would not let the opportunity of grabbing an extra dollar slip off his way. He would go after any of his subordinates who stood on his way to grabbing even a cent from the multiple contracts and other business opportunities in the brewery. His cronies would, however, always help cover Mr. Kumezi’s paths since they were sure that he was very good at settlement. He was a strong believer in chop I chop even though an earlier attempt at registering Chop I Chop as one of the political parties in Mungeruun had not met with success. The powers that were did not want to make it too obvious to the rest of the civilized world that chop I chop, a nefarious policy by which looted funds from government coffers were systematically and methodically shared out between collaborators, was virtually legitimized in the governance of the Republic of Mungeruun.

Mr. Kumezi was, however, a very smart man. He knew the civil service rules up to his fingertips. He understood the system. He knew that he needed the goodwill of the new board and especially of the board chairman to continue to have a smooth sail in the brewery. He knew he had accumulated a good number of enemies in the nine years that he had occupied the executive seat in the brewery. These were people whom he had either trampled upon during his astronomic rise to the top position through man knows man, a blatant form of cronyism. Others were people who were genuinely opposed to the financial empire he was building for himself from the enormous resources of the brewery. Others were people whose girlfriends he was said to have taken using his preeminent position by promoting the latter in rank for some nonmonetary fee, a weakness which Mr. Kumezi often openly acknowledged. Others were simply people who did not like him for no explicit reason, or people who simply did not wish to work hard and who wanted him out of the way for them to lazy about. In any case, Mr. Kumezi needed the board chairman. He knew that Mr. Chairman’s position was a purely political appointment. He knew that for the latter to get to the position of chairman of a government-owned federal corporation, he must have good political connections. Indeed, Mr. Kumezi knew that Mr. Chairman occupied a high position in the political hierarchy of the ruling political party, the Mungeruun People’s Party (MPP), and that he had contested for a political post and failed. The board position was a party compensation for his failure and for the latter to recuperate the expenses that he must have incurred both during the contest and on behalf of the party. Mr. Kumezi understood, and he was prepared to cooperate. To start with, therefore, Mr. Asemojo, the chairman, must be made very comfortable in the hotel. He must be pampered. He must be feted. He must be given whatever he wanted. No expense should be spared.

THE BIG BOSS COMES

ON BOARD

The long-awaited day for the inaugural board meeting finally arrived. The other board members started streaming in. A special parking space had been reserved for them near the freshly renovated improvised boardroom sitting adjacent the cozy office of the chief executive. The brewery from its inception had never had a governing board. No provision had therefore been made in the architectural drawing of the administrative block to incorporate a boardroom. But Mr. Kumezi had done a beautiful job improvising a boardroom adjacent to the administrative building, all within a month. The cost quoted was of course not the issue. At least he did some job. Thousands of situations existed in the Mungeruun Republic where, in similar situations, absolutely no job would be done and hundreds of millions in U.S. dollars would be quoted as expenditure, and the nonexistent job would be approved as completed by some chief engineer of the relevant government ministry. Settlement would follow, and everybody concerned would smile to the banks. And nothing would happen. The people involved understand the system.

Mr. Chairman finally is chauffeured into the premises. He arrives in an obviously dilapidated but hastily refurbished old smoking vehicle. He occupied the backseat of the vehicle, and a recruited bodyguard wielding an old mark four rifle hastily jumps out and opens the door of the backseat for Mr. Chairman. The latter ceremoniously leans out of the vehicle as if wanting to be helped out. The chief executive is at hand to assist. As Mr. Chairman ceremoniously clambers out of the vehicle, his long cap perching in an ungainly manner on his head falls off. He makes no effort to pick up the cap as the police orderly and Mr. Kumezi each scramble to pick up the cap. Each tries to please Mr. Chairman. A group of the senior officers of the brewery has now gathered to receive Mr. Chairman, whose countenance displays the image of one making all efforts to assume an unaccustomed air of self-importance. He smiles wryly as the brewery’s chief executive, beaming with forced smiles, extends his hand as if to receive a golden handshake. Mr. Chairman is then escorted to inspect a guard of honor mounted by a selected group of the senior officers of the brewery, a few of them spotting fast-developing potbelly just like Mr. Kumezi himself. If Mr. Kumezi were to allow them a little more free hand over a few more months, perhaps some of them might have graduated to tummy tuck (liposuction) candidates from overfeeding. Mr. Chairman himself still looked a little hungry. Maybe a few months of chairmanship of the brewery would do his tummy some good and begin to put him on the path to qualifying as a tummy-tuck candidate, the big chief with a potbelly, the hallmark of most political godfathers and successful men in Mungeruun. A few may be mistaken for being in their ninth month of pregnancy.

Mr. Chairman is led up to the office of the chief executive. As he enters, an unmistakable look of surprise is written all over his face, but he tries to conceal it. Was it possible for such an exquisite office to exist in Kuveri, a mere provincial capital? And if the chief executive’s office was so exquisitely furnished, then the office of the chairman of board must be something out of this world, the chairman mused. Meanwhile, other arriving board members were ushered directly into the boardroom. It was soon ten o’clock in the morning, the scheduled time for the inaugural board meeting.

Mr. Kumezi prompts Mr. Chairman that it was time for the meeting to start, and that they should both move to the boardroom where the other members were already waiting, exchanging greetings. Mr. Chairman glances at his watch.

It’s only ten o’clock, Mr. Chairman said.

But the meeting starts by ten o’clock, sir, Mr. Kumezi reminded the chairman.

Yes, I know, but that’s for the members. The meeting starts when the chairman arrives.

The preeminent position of a new helmsman was beginning to dawn on the obviously distraught Mr. Kumezi, but he did not show it. He had hitherto been the final authority in all things within the brewery premises. One thing was certain: the obvious secondary role which he was expected to play was beginning to dawn on him. His many years of association with the high and mighty coupled with his numerous travels both locally and internationally had obviously greatly refined Mr. Kumezi.

At your pleasure, Mr. Chairman, he quietly replied, to the great satisfaction of Mr. Asemojo.

At exactly 10:35 a.m., the door leading into the boardroom opens, and Mr. Kumezi enters closely, followed by Chief Asemojo, who walks in slowly and in measured steps in the fashion of a head of state inspecting a guard of honor. Chief Asemojo was followed by the gun-clutching police recruit, his orderly. As the chairman walked in, his eyes scanned the entire room and the members. Many of the latter were all but amused at the beads and garlands which the chairman was clad in. The latter must have taken quite some hours to dress himself up judging from the intricate pattern of his dressing. After his guard of honor reception from the brewery’s chief executive and his staff, it was possible that the chairman had believed that the pattern would continue that way. He possibly believed that his entry into the boardroom would be greeted with a standing ovation or a round of applause for his triumphant entry into his new empire’s cabinet meeting. This expectation was evidenced by the fact that as he got to his seat at the head of an oval table, he stood for a while and then announced, Please sit down. The members were already all seated before the entry of the chairman. It was possible the latter had an illusion that he was an executive president or a speaker of some parliament somewhere, and that all would have remained standing until he instructed them to sit down.

He did not appear to be awake to the presence of the group of gentlemen and a lady who had already gotten comfortably seated some forty minutes before Mr. Chairman’s entry. At the realization of his gaffe and as the obviously surprised board members stared at each other, the chairman now fixed his gaze in the direction of Mr. Kumezi, the chief executive, as if pleading with the latter to rescue him from his gaffe. All the ebullience quickly disappeared. The obviously more confident Mr. Kumezi, of course, immediately swung into action. He sprang to his feet and immediately took momentary control.

Mr. Chairman, sir, I wish on behalf of the Oyoyo Brewery to welcome you all to this inaugural meeting of this board.

He then reached out for his file and produced a prepared speech which was simultaneously distributed to the chairman and the members by an aide, who had been patiently waiting inside the room possibly for hours. Halfway through the nearly thirty-minute speech, it was not difficult for most members to observe that Mr. Chairman’s eyelids were closing! He was falling asleep! He snored once or twice even as Mr. Kumezi loudly repeated Mr. Chairman, sir as if to rouse the latter from slumber. At the sound of the applause which greeted Mr. Kumezi’s welcome address, Mr. Chairman’s red eyes loudly portrayed the looks of one who had taken a little more than a mere nap. He probably had spent a good part of the previous night preparing himself for the inaugural show of ebullience. Mr. Kumezi immediately called for coffee and gworro (kola nuts), which he immediately directed to Mr. Chairman. The latter brightened up thereafter.

Mr. Chairman, taking a cue from Mr. Kumezi, welcomed the board members and sought everybody’s cooperation in his arduous task of running the board.

He closed his short unprepared address with the sentence, I do not believe in chopping alone. This is a grade A board. This board can only be compared to boards like ports authority and the oil and gas boards. There is a lot for all to chop. This board is like an elephant. Its meat never finishes. We shall all be happy. We shall all chop together.

For the first time since the inception of the meeting, the room seemed to get awake. The chairman’s last statement was welcome news. There was a loud ovation, a standing ovation, and a pumping of hands! The mention of chopping together must have awakened a few sleepy members. The rest of the day was spent on personal introductions and exchange of pleasantries. A preliminary copy of the standing orders was distributed for the perusal of the members before a debate on it was scheduled for the following day.

A sumptuous lunch soon followed for the members. As each member walked to his or her car, a heavily stuffed, large brown envelope was handed to the members. Each large envelope was marked Pocket Money with the name of the member boldly written on it. A few of the members who had been used to the system understood. Three members who had never served in any federal government boards quickly opened their envelopes. Mr. Oguebe, a first-timer in the board largesse, fell back on the nearest chair at the sight of such a large quantity of mint-fresh money with his name on the envelope. He quickly grabbed his chest as Dr. Mungawa, who thought the former was about to have a heart attack, rushed toward Mr. Oguebe. As Mr. Oguebe regained his composure, he quietly said to himself, This country good-o-o!

Each envelope contained a hundred thousand dollars. And that was pocket money for the duration of each member’s stay in Kuveri!

The members drove back to their hotel rooms, each smiling from ear to ear.

THE FIRST BUSINESS DAY

The presidential suite of Konjoko Hotel was abuzz with activity in the evening of the arrival of the board chairman. The receptionists at the hotel were kept busy working the phone confirming from the personal assistant (PA) to the chairman whether the different callers were to be directed up or not. The PA indeed was Mr. Chairman’s cousin. He had ridden with the chairman to the meeting in the latter’s car and had earlier that morning been added to the staff list as a senior staff of the brewery immediately after the morning’s meeting on the orders of the chairman. There was no advertisement for the position. There were no interviews.

Put Mambu into the staff list as my personal assistant, the chairman had ordered Mr. Kumezi.

At what salary grade level and what step, sir? Mr. Kumezi had sought to know.

Put him in any senior position that can support him and his three wives and eleven children, OK?

Yes, sir. That will be done with immediate effect, replied Mr. Kumezi.

Mr. Kumezi had been in the civil service system for quite some time. He knew the civil service rules guiding appointments. He knew it was improper to engage a staff the way Mr. Chairman had directed him to. He knew he owed it as a duty to remind the chairman of the irregularity. But he understood the system. He knew that the rules were often made for smaller mammals. The bigger mammals can bend the rules as long as they don’t break them. Even if they chose to break the rules, the heavens would not come down. The smaller mammals can always be made to sew the rules back into place. They may alternatively be made to accept responsibility for breaking the rules. The heavens can only come down if the wretched of the earth should as much as infringe on the rules. In the latter case, the full force of the law will be visited on all offenders.

In as much as Mr. Kumezi knew that it was unconventional to hire Mr. Mambu without due process, he did not wish to offend the chairman. No, not so soon after the inauguration of the board. It might be a risky thing to do especially for someone who also has a lot of skeletons in the closet. He knew the system. He too had been hiring people without due process. He could hire now and rectify later, even if the staff does not have the prerequisites. It did not matter that