A Man of the People Read Free

other boys in my class that Odili will one day be a great man and they will be answering him sir, sir. Why did you not tell me when you left the University? That's very bad of you, you know.' 'Well,' I said happily---I'm ashamed to admit---'I know how busy a minister...' 'Busy? Nonsense. Don't you know that minister means servant? Busy or no busy he must see his master.' Everybody around applauded and laughed. He slapped me again on the back and said I must not fail to see him at the end of the reception. 'If you fail I will send my orderly to arrest you.' I became a hero in the eyes of the crowd. I was dazed. Everything around me became suddenly unreal; the voices receded to a vague border zone. I knew I ought to be angry with myself but I wasn't. I found myself wondering whether---perhaps---I had been applying to politics stringent standards that didn't belong to it. When I came back to the immediate present I heard the Minister saying to another teacher: 'That is very good. Sometimes I use to regret ever leaving the teaching field. Although I am a minister today I can swear to God that I am not as happy as when I was a teacher.' My memory is naturally good. That day it was perfect. I don't know how it happened, but I can recall every word the Minister said on that occasion. I can repeat the entire speech he made later. 'True to God who made me,' he insisted. 'I use to regret it. Teaching is a very noble profession.' At this point everybody just collapsed with laughter not least of all the Honourable Minister himself, nor me, for that matter. The man's assurance was simply unbelievable. Only he could make such a risky joke---or whatever he thought he was making---at. that time, when teachers all over the country were in an ugly, rebellious mood. When the laughter died down, he put on a more serious face and confided to us: 'You can rest assured that those of us in the Cabinet who were once teachers are in full sympathy with you.' 'Once a teacher always a teacher,' said the Senior Tutor, adjusting the sleeves of his faded 'bottom-box' robes. 'Hear! hear!' I said. I like to think that I meant it to be sarcastic. The man's charism had to be felt to be believed. If I were superstitious I would say he had made a really potent charm of the variety called 'sweet face'. Changing the subject slightly, the Minister said, 'Only teachers can make this excellent arrangement.' Then turning to the newspaper correspondent in his party he said, 'It is a mammoth crowd.' The journalist whipped out his note-book and began to write. 'It is an unprecedented crowd in the annals of Anata,' said Mr Nwege. 'James, did you hear that?' the Minister asked the journalist. 'No, sir, what is it?' 'This gentleman says it is the most unprecedented crowd in the annals of Anata,' I said. This time I clearly meant my tongue to be in my cheek. 'What is the gentleman's name?' Mr Nwege called his name and spelt it and gave his full title of 'Principal and Proprietor of Anata Grammar School'. Then he turned to the Minister in an effort to pin-point responsibility for the big crowds. 'I had to visit every section of the village personally to tell them of your---I mean to say of the Minister's---visit.' We had now entered the Assembly Hall and the Minister and his party were conducted to their seats on the dais. The crowd raised a deafening shout of welcome. He waved his fan to the different parts of the hall. Then he turned to Mr Nwege and said: 'Thank you very much, thank you, sir.' A huge, tough-looking member of the Minister's entourage who stood with us at the back of the dais raised his voice and said: 'You see wetin I de talk. How many minister fit hanswer sir to any Tom, Dick and Harry wey senior them for age? I hask you how many?' Everyone at the dais agreed that the Minister was quite exceptional in this respect---a man of high position who still gave age the respect due to it. No doubt it was a measure of my changed---or shall we say changing?---attitude