Anthills of the Savannah - Chinua Achebe [74]
The rotund geniality of his hosts was instantly shattered and distorted into sharp-pointed shapes of aggressiveness.
That world of yours will be in heaven, sneered one gentleman. Even in heaven, said another, there is seniority. Archangels are senior to common angels.
As early as possible Ikem was escorted out of the room by two club officials—a normal practice indeed but which on this occasion was performed with such icy civility that it took on the appearance of showing an ungracious dinner guest to the door straight from the table he has insulted.
But this was no Rotary Club and dealing with it would be easier in some ways, but in others probably more difficult.
The first questioner was apparently a young member of faculty rather than a student. His question was prefaced with a little lecture of his own on the manifest failure of bourgeois reformism to address the fundamental problems of the Third World in general and Kangan in particular. Did Mr. Osodi not consider, in view of the above, the necessity of putting the nation now under the democratic dictatorship of the proletariat?
“No, I don’t. I wouldn’t put myself under the democratic dictatorship even of angels and archangels. As for the proletariat I don’t think I know who they are in the case of Kangan.”
“Workers and peasants,” said the Chairman, helpfully.
“Workers and peasants,” Ikem repeated into the microphone, “I have just been told.”
“And students,” a voice from the audience called, causing much laughter.
“Fair enough,” said Ikem. “Charity begins at home.” More laughter. “Any other suggestions. We have peasants, workers and students… Excellent! Will peasants in this hall please stand.”
There was now hilarious laughter from all corners of the auditorium, especially when another three-piece-suited gentleman got up and offered himself.
“No, you are not a peasant my good friend. Sit down. I want a proper peasant… Well, ladies and gentlemen it does appear we have no peasants here tonight. Perhaps they don’t even know we are having this meeting… I am told, by the way, by those who attend shareholders’ annual general meetings that there is something called a proxy form which you send nominating somebody else to stand in for you when you cannot yourself be present. Is there anybody here carrying such a document on behalf of peasants? Mr. Chairman, was any proxy form delivered to you?”
The learned professor in spite of the heavy burden of his earnestness felt obliged now to join in some of this rather awkward fun. So he shook his head, not too vigorously but well enough to win the applause of the ticklishly humorous crowd.
“Very well. I think we should leave peasants out of the discussion. They are not here and have sent no one to speak on their behalf… That leaves us with workers and students…”
“And market women,” chipped in a high female voice from the audience, to a renewed burst of merriment.
“Market women, my dear girl, are in the same category as peasants. They are not here either… I will let you into a secret I have told nobody else. My prospective mother-in-law is a market woman.” Laughter!
“A cash madam,” offered someone.
“No, not a cash madam. A simple market woman… This is not a joke now. I am really serious. My prospective mother-in-law sells tie-die cloth in Gelegele market. She is not a cash madam as I have said; she can carry all her worldly wares in one head-load. So she qualifies along with peasants for a seat among the proletariat. But she has not given me, her future son-in-law, any authority to be her proxy at this shareholders’ meeting… So let’s move on and deal with those we are competent to speak for, namely ourselves. Workers and students. Let’s take workers first. Who are they? The same workers who go on strike when outdated and outrageous colonial privileges like motor vehicle advances and allowances are threatened; whose leaders cannot give satisfactory account of millions they collect