By Tatalo Alamu
It is said that an ambassador is a person employed to lie about his country abroad. But there are times when an ambassador by his impeccable conduct in diplomatic conduits, his bureaucratic rigour, his administrative brilliance and record of exemplary personal integrity, projects the image of his country in a better and far more luminous manner than a thousand paid publicists and other slick state panegyrists.
It has been fulsome praises and encomiums galore for His Excellency, Sarafa Tunji Isola, the recently departed Nigeria’s High Commissioner in Great Britain and envoy to the Court of St James. From the high and mighty, to the lowest and lowly of the metropolitan hoi polloi; from the rarefied saloons of upper-crust London to the pulsating and sweltering Nigerian eateries of Peckham and Lewisham, virtually everybody has something nice and appreciative to say about this quiet and unassuming fellow.
It has been a whirlwind tour of duty for the former minister of state. Within a short time of taking over the embassy, he had restored fiscal order to the place and straightened its finances. Before then, it was a cesspit of corruption and malfeasance. Not a few officials were known to moonlight and gaslight at the same time.
According to testimonies by many Nigerians in Great Britain, the envoy also grappled heroically with the issuance of passport, visa and travel certificates which had been taken over by a shadowy cabal fronting for shameless racketeers lurking in the system. The embassy had become a den of deadwood and die-hard swindlers to say the least.
A courtesy visit to the High Commission in August in company of a younger friend and political associate revealed a man driven by a passion for hard work and an unrelenting drive for excellence. Unlike the rowdy apocalyptic scenes of the past which often spilled to adjoining streets eliciting quiet stares of civilized horror from outraged denizens, the place looked orderly and well-organized.
The ambassador was already at his desk. Respectably attired in smart business-compliant agbada, he cut a figure of contentment and competence. Wafting seamlessly in the background was the sweet melodious Sakara music of Yusuf Olatunji, aka Baba L’egba. Formerly known as Joseph Olatunji until a benefactor took him to Mecca, the Oke-Ogun born master crooner has remained a regular on the menu of Yoruba musical gourmets and traditional aristocracy for ages.
The conversation began in earnest, but without much earnestness. Ambassadors at that level rarely give information away just like that. With his quiet, self-assured mien, our man in London was probing his visitors for give-away signs. His artful evasions and cagey reticence suggested training in the highest academy of diplomatic spooking. Since he was not known to be a career ambassador, yours sincerely decided to ask him the question directly.
His response was a classic example of diplomatic gobbledygook and yours sincerely decided to let go. The hallmark of envoys at that sublime summit is their mental toughness and psychological stamina. In a deliberately casual and seemingly offhanded request, the ambassador had asked for one’s number. Now, as we made to take our leave, the envoy demanded for my residence address but not before letting it be known that he did not normally mix up with people he had nothing to learn from.
Around nine the following morning, a sleek chauffeur-driven Mercedes Benz car pulled up at the hotel around London City Airport. Lo! It was the envoy. Yours sincerely had led him to the room where for the next ninety minutes, we engaged in a no-holds-barred discussion about the nation and some of the things that need to be done. Then he vanished as unobtrusively as he had appeared.
Here is wishing the ambassador many more years of service to his fatherland.
Culled from The Nation
