By Patrick Dele Cole

The lobby at the Transcorp Hilton and other hotels in Abuja were jam-packed with women and men. The men wore long Hausa regalia: none seem to be shorter than 6ft 6 inches or fatter than Buhari. They discussed one subject – power shift – who wanted what, for what?

It reminded me of 1999 when President Obasanjo set  up transition committees – 15 of them. We produced 15 volumes of policy papers. Nobody read any of them. In Abuja then, we had to struggle for hotel rooms. There were debts of the campaign with the attendant ridiculous claims by politicians.

The payment of hotel bills is always a thorny problem at handover times. As in 1999, so  was it last week. Many senators and assembly men could not pay their bills and were being forced out: the new arrivals – too eager to take up their rooms. Bullet proof cars, soldiers, police, flooded the front of the hotel, vehicular movement was slow. Outgoing governors and ministers’ security and patrol cars were being ordered by the young victors of APC to move out. A Pharaoh who knew not Joseph was in town.

Mountains of curriculum vitae were flying all over town, business centres were fully engaged. Every one pretended to be in the know, penciling names down. Outgoing senators and members of the House of Representatives and the new senators and members stood in clusters- each group with long swords ready to divide the national cake or die trying to do so. The outgoing were in a rush to sign new   contracts, aiming at early approvals and even early mobilization. I witnessed an unbelievable parade of personalities (Ekwueme; Onwa, Andy Uba, plus many more, the Igbo leaders who had   visited President Buhari to congratulate him and presumably leave some more CVs.

File photo: President Goodluck Jonathan presenting his hand over notes to the President-Elect, General Muhammadu Buhari during the official presentation of Handover notes to the President-Elect at the Aso Chambers, State House, Abuja. Photo by Abayomi Adeshida

The Ijaws were conspicuous in their absence- no gold studs and Woko and hats which they cockily wear in sight. In the Arewa group, I saw the same people I saw in 1999- Ahmed Joda, Audu Ogbeh, all the new APC governors. The old PDP governors were still in governors’ lodges in Abuja and State Houses. I saw OBJ, Kalu, and many   old soldiers of the 1983 regime. Abuja airport was filthier now than ever. The Minister of Aviation was probably too busy trying to see what Stella Oduah had left in the sector (not much, it would seem.) 24 airports were being rebuilt; Chinese were working in Lagos and Abuja – on terms which are still secret even to the FAAN authorities in a democracy!! How much did Nigeria borrow from China for the airports project? How are we going to repay?

The hotels were full of food coming from everywhere to the newly arrived victors of Abuja.

I saw old French men, Belgians, Germans, etc who were here in 1976, Many claimed their friends were now in power. I met a former MD of CFAO, and another of SCOA, etc with old photos of themselves and their then chairmen who were now at the cusp of power.   There was a general atmosphere of freedom; less fear in Abuja then before more relaxed but not less expectations.

I went to Delta and Bayelsa to see friends who had burials. I drove from Warri to Ughelli, to Patani and then to Odi, and on to Tufani where we crossed the river to the other side in a small boat to Ewera to the burial site of Mama Porbeni who died, aged 102. We had been friends   with Porbenis( for over 50 years), who were well established in Port Harcourt and Warri – Edwin Porbeni, Mrs Agama, mother of Deziani, ( her husband) Admiral Allison. Madueke, Adm. Porbeni, former Minister of Transport. The burial ceremony was at a school compound- outside canopy. Low fan fare, super low profile but solemn and befitting the memory of the lady we came to bury.

I saw no dignitaries, no Governors, or even other Ministers it was totally unlike old NNPC shows where oil companies competed to out do them selves. No Shell, Gulf, Chevron, Agip, Total etc unlike burials or occasions previously when the oil companies would have paved the roads, provided boats, buses, helicopters, private planes etc.The burial ceremony, there was no fuss no pump I did not even see even one new oil oligarchs. Just a nice village ceremony for a family that have done especially well. Food was carried from the water side to the school- no local helpers either. It was a very satisfying outing, no mopol, or security, no floggings, no gapping on lookers marveling at the gait of the rich and powerful.

The other burial was also nearby and for an old grand man, aged 101, with 17 children – 14 from one mother, several grand and great grand children. Also, as in old times, the ceremony was at the school play ground, simple canopy- square but very   noisy because the bands were each determine to burst our ear drums! Plenty of food again low outing   not ostentatious,- one in law was also a Federal Minister but no police, no hassle. Another burial involving another Minister equally low profiled was further down the river. It was as if   the message has gone round- Mr Buhari does not like ostentatious display of wealth or simple common sense may have dictated the tone since all Ministers and political office holders would seem so stand accused until proven innocent. Why draw unnecessary attention to yourself? It may be they decided on low profile in sympathy with the loss of office of their Brother President Jonathan. But whatever the reason it was good news, a blast of fresh air. By 5:30pm the parties were over- every one went home, no sirens, and no accidents.

Nevertheless I saw some old Militants: cagey, watchful and tight as the tightest spring ready to pounce. All were in eager anticipation of the outcome of the amnesty programme; many sat silently and listened to the old men and women tell old time stories as in day of yore. There was of course excellent Congac- XOS, 18, 24 years old whiskeys, Gin, Vodka, good wine and some Crystal and Don Perignon champagne and, ofcourse, tons of the local gin. All the above had mixers of whatever choice the Ijaw – wanted, Campari and wine, or Heineken, cognae and coke, Neat Ijaw Water etc.

As we were in the canoe crossing from Tufani to Eweri, on the River Nunn we saw 10 barges, laden with oil on its way to the Atlantic; the barges were pulled by powerful boats, the crew was Indian. Half way to Ewere, there was a Chinese dredger, dredging the river so that boats and barges couldpass safely on the river. The dredging was privately contracted, no name in the boats or dredgers. On inquiry we were told by the locals that the operation we saw was constant, day and night, barges going up and down the river driven by Indians carrying cargoes of crude oil.

From Warri – Ughelli – Patani – Odi – Tufani – Ewere – Isoko was about 2 hour drive, which was like we stepped back in history to the 1950’s. Along the Delta Rivers we saw many small canoes which women and single fishermen would use to go out fishing or visiting relatives in other fishing villages. When I was young many young children from surrounding villages came to school in Abonnema in similar small canoes. This was repeated in Joinkrama, Tombia, Bakana, Buguma, etc. As we drove towards Ewere we could see that the rivers were in danger of being swallowed up by the swamps and vegetation on their banks in as much the same way as the hardily used roads, now all gratefully, tarmaced, which NDDC, the state Governments or oil companies had built.

The roads were losing the battle of existence to the thick vegetation of plants, trees, elephant grasses on either side of the road, growing into the roads and reducing their width. The tires of our cars crushed plants lying on the tarmac, the sides of our cars were slapped by strong leafy vegetation – wild growing trees on either side, determined, as it were, to regain what was lost to the narrow tarmac dividing them. We saw very few people, fewer markets, a place of utter desolation, general and evidently desperate poverty: there was nothing to do since NDDC built the roads. Yet on the rivers there was the inevitable and unavoidable oil sheen on them, the smell of crude oil all around and the relentless flaring of gas.