When those of us making up the quintet met early in September to moot the idea of commemorating his 60th birthday, there was thick apprehension. How would the man receive this? This question went round. Do we inform him, carry him along or, as usual with things like this involving him, just pull a surprise? We know the subject all too well and could, with exactitude, predict his reaction. It was agreed, at the end of that meeting, that two of us would mention it to him separately, to gauge his reaction. I went first and tried to understate what was on the cards, so as not to alarm him. “It is something small we’re thinking of doing,” I said. Before I took in a follow-up breath, he replied curtly: “What for? No! There is no need.” The plan was to go on, despite his initial reaction. I know that he would be pleased now that our plan failed.
Mallam Nuhu Ribadu, who turns 60 today, November 21, is the most modest public figure I have known. He lives a simple life and completely loathes ostentation; from the grandiose — like throwing a birthday party — to the mundane, like riding exotic cars or wearing glamorous cloths. He is warm around people and wears his heart on his sleeve — passionate and blunt, even if sometimes impulsive and politically incorrect. His stoicism and forbearance are atypical of most politicians. His patriotism is legendary, with complete blindness to ethno-religious or any sectional schism.
I think the first time I saw him was one evening in April 2010, at Mambayya House, in Kano. He was a guest at that year’s annual Aminu Kano Memorial Lecture. I was there to report the event for my then employer, the Leadership newspapers. When we eventually met one-on-one at the beginning of 2013, we struck an instant chord. I got the opportunity of having one of those his few and far-between media interviews. I went along with my senior colleague, Amos Dunia, who was well prepared for the encounter. We got a very good interview, which spread, unusually, into four pages.
By the second or third time we met, some three months after the interview, Mallam Ribadu made a rather surprising request. He wanted me to get him ‘a smart young person’ who could help him on a project he was working on; someone who is good with research and can help with speech writing, among others. He was still trying to settle down to a normal life after the series of storms and bubbles that characterised his ouster from office as the pioneer chairman of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC), and subsequent two-year exile-cum-work in the United Kingdom and the United States; his failed presidential bid; his United Nations assignment in Afghanistan, and the phenomenal petroleum revenue inquest.
My almost off-the-cuff recommendation was my friend, Gimba Kakanda. He was then a rising writing star with idealistic socialist ideas. I talked Kakanda into pausing his then impending study trip to India, for this. When I took him to see Mallam in early May 2013, something happened which appeared like an orchestrated conspiracy: the two of them convinced me to leave my job as assistant editor at Blueprint newspaper to join Gimba in what would become my most exciting work sojourn.
Working with Mallam Nuhu Ribadu for three years (2013 to 2016) and associating with him ever since, has shaped my life in more ways than I can count. Over the years, he grew from being an admired icon and boss, to a model human that is revered, and then into a school that you learn from daily, and also a father-figure with exceptional demonstration of care.
Ultimately, he shaped my worldview into a less materialistic one; strengthened my sense of justice and equity; emboldened me into a more courageous person, and, on a lighter note, changed my sense of dressing and somehow unsuspectingly enrolled me into the ‘Monogamous Men’s Club’, of which he’s a ardent member.
I have travelled the world with Mallam, from America to Zambia, and from Aba to Zaria. As the saying goes that travel exposes a person’s real character, from my trips with him, I have learnt a lot. Two things stand out: One is his discipline. Unlike many a person of his standing, he possesses an amazing sense of self-control. Once in a room, he would just ask for two things: Wi-fi and coffee; and that would be it till the next day. He loves exploring the countryside and indigenous cultures, but never for shopping or anything banal.
Second is his fearlessness. I have heard stories, including the famous encounter in which he slapped an armed robber, while a student at the Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, in the early 1980s. I first witnessed this part of him in November 2013. His bosom friend, former Katsina governor, Ibrahim Shema had lost his dad. We left Abuja around 8 p.m., with him saying we would spend the night in Kaduna and proceed to Katsina the next morning. Moments after we hit the road, he lifted his face from his iPad, and asked: “Are we not following that road?”, when he noticed that the driver had passed the detour that would lead us to the ‘faster’ Bwari-Jere road. The driver explained that he didn’t follow the road because it was dangerous, as kidnapping was then becoming frequent on that route. He hissed. “Why should we abandon a road because of anybody?” Silence. By the time we arrived the outskirts of Kaduna, he asked of the time. It was 10 p.m. “It will just be a waste of time to sleep here and again travel in the morning. We can just complete the journey.” We arrived Katsina at 1 a.m.
The fearlessness is not only in relation to dangerous humans. He seems not to bother about dangerous animals, too. At the end of a meeting we attended in some resort hotel close to the Victoria Falls in Zambia, we took a stroll to see the famed sites. We walked past the busy areas, and passed inquisitive tourists. We passed all the adventurous white folks. Thereafter, it wasonly the two of us in the thick of the groove, and by that time, my heart was already in my mouth. When I cautioned him that, “there are no more humans here”, he shot back: “Are we not humans?”
Mallam Ribadu is the most self-effacing person I have known. In words and in action, he tries hard to evade the centre-stage, except, of course, when it is absolutely necessary. Many a ‘big man’ announce their entry at events by sauntering through the front door, oblivious of disrupting proceedings, but this is one spotlight he avoids. Mallam would always enter through the back door and find an inconspicuous chair to hide away on. He would also rebuff attempts to take him to the front, except when he encountered an adamant host, or has a pre-defined role to play at the occasion.
He is a lawyer, with a graduate degree in the field; a retired assistant inspector general of Police (AIG); a graduate of the National Institute for Policy and Strategic Studies; the founding executive chairman of the EFCC; and the holder of an honorary doctorate degree from Babcock University, Ogun State. Yet, as a mark of his greatness, he always addresses himself, formally or otherwise, as simply “Nuhu Ribadu”. Many friends and associates refer to him fondly by his initials, NR.
Mallam Ribadu is one who can stand for friends through thick and thin. He is also so well meaning that it takes him a long time to lose trust in anyone. I was there one day when a top banker, in the course of a conversation, narrated how they had allegedly bribed one of his then top lieutenants at the EFCC to secure the release of a bank executive. Mallam was jolted. He sturdily defended the ex-colleague, vowing that the man’s allegation was impossible. When he was told, in the heat of the campaign for the Adamawa Government House in 2015, that the same man was working hard to undermine him by actively supporting his opponent, he again hotly rebuffed the suggestion, despite the credibility of the information.
A friend asked me, after the wedding Fatiha of his daughter in October, and recalling the mammoth crowd when his two sons got married in January, “What is the secret?” For me his major secret for attracting respect across the board, despite having left office 12 years ago, is his decision to ‘find his level’, as the Nigerian lingo goes. He hardly goes to anyone, seeking favours. This legendary sense of contentment earns him respect and admiration. His watchword, he once told me, was his father’s admonition: “If you are on a journey for fortune and you met honour on the way, stay there.”
Yes, this man is no saint. One major criticism against him, lately, was his sojourn within the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) and then a return to the All Progressives Congress (APC). In my years with him, that was the most discomforting period I have noticed for him. Joining the PDP was a bitter decision personally and was largely at the instance of close friends who genuinely meant well. “This is not me!” he kept telling some of us close enough. Expectedly that decision brought dent to his otherwise distinguished image. But contrary to perceptions in some quarters, the cross-carpeting was no miscalculation, politically. It was a good political decision which, however, went awry with rapid changes in the polity.
His self-effacing conduct often offends people. He chooses, for example, to maintain dignified distance from friends in high places or get involved in just anything happening to remain relevant, as is the practice among the political elite. This is not funny for many. He is almost always difficult to get on the phone — he has an aversion for the device. Usually anyone who calls to ask me for his number gets this response: ‘Go to his house in the afternoon. He’s there’.
One can go on and on about this patriot and selfless gentleman.
As you celebrate your diamond jubilee, we pray that Nigeria, the birth year mate you intensely love, is blessed with many more of such disciplined, dedicated, passionate and patriotic citizens as you are. Happy birthday, sir.
Credit: Abdulaziz Abdulaziz, PT