Farming is the stupidest thing to do for a retiree –Ex-DG, Nigerian Tourism Board

Alhaji Garba Adamu Gumel had been in public service for nearly 40 years. He started as a press attaché in 1965 in the Office of the Premier of Northern Nigeria. He retired after resigning as commissioner for information in Jigawa State in 2004. Along the way, he was the Executive Secretary, Kano History and Culture […]

Alhaji Garba Adamu Gumel had been in public service for nearly 40 years. He started as a press attaché in 1965 in the Office of the Premier of Northern Nigeria. He retired after resigning as commissioner for information in Jigawa State in 2004. Along the way, he was the Executive Secretary, Kano History and Culture Bureau, and at the federal level, Director-General of the Nigerian Tourism Board, as well as Managing Director, Nigeria Hotels Limited. In this interview he spoke about his early days in life, experience with the Sardauna, and other issues.

 

Let me start by asking about your early days.  

I did my primary school education in Gumel and Hadejia, after which I proceeded to Barewa College, Zaria in 1960. I had a brief work in the Ministry of Information, Northern Nigeria and proceeded to Great Britain to read Journalism.

 

In those days, Barewa College was very famous and only very few select group of boys were admitted into it. How did you get admission into the college? 

For me, passing the Common Entrance Examination into Barewa College, Zaria was a great miracle. I am sorry to say it here, but there’s only one version of truth – I had never passed Mathematics in my life, except that Common Entrance Examination into Barewa College. 

And I didn’t just pass, we set a record in Hadejia. A Katsina man may not like to hear this. In that primary school, six of us out of 50 students were admitted into Barewa College, while six went from Hadejia Senior Primary School; that was a record.

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Can you remember all the six? 

Not only that, I can remember all the 50 students with their numbers and province and their house: from Audu Dikko from Zaria to Yusuf Mohammed from Zaria as well. 

I can still remember General Ibrahim Gumel; unfortunately, he is dead; also, Musa Gumel, Shaibu Gumel and Haruna Amar Hadejia. There are only two of us alive today. The other one, Aliyu Mohammed Hadejia, was the secretary of the Nigerian Defence Industries in Kaduna. And here I am, an ailing retiree trying to survive. 

Well, I think that from 1928, it was decided to admit only 50 students per annum. So, 50 of us, plus other four classes, we were 250 in the whole school. Not until the year we entered, when we became 269. 

You were introduced to, let’s say, the Nigerian character because we had Christians and Muslims. I don’t know whether we had non-believers. But the good thing was that we were all from northern Nigeria and different tribes, so we were introduced to tolerance, acceptance and relying on one another despite our different religions and languages.  

I can tell you that if one of us in our class passes away by 9 o’clock this morning, by 11 everybody, wherever he is, will know. Sometimes we gather together to go and condole with the family if it is not too far. That’s how good it was.

While we were there, the best time for us was Ramadan period because the late premier sent bulls, not just cows, which were prepared for us. And we were given extra bananas, pineapple and one (milk) powder. I cannot remember what it was called.

 

I noticed that immediately after you finished from Barewa you moved into the Ministry of Information. Was that by choice or something you were directed to do? 

Well, I am not blowing our trumpet, but if I don’t, nobody would do it for us. In those days, students from Barewa College were sought after. Before the end of December, after WAEC, various organisations, banks, manufacturing companies and so on were coming to Barewa to interview final year students. We were sought after. 

At that time, Abdullahi Bayero College was in the airport, where the Air Force Base is now. It was BUK at the beginning. We were interviewed and we passed. We decided to come and study in Kano. 

Unfortunately, there was an element of Arabic. You had to read Arabic; and I was not very good at it, so I decided to leave. I went back to Kaduna, where my brother was working in the Nigerian Broadcasting Corporation (NBC). 

I decided to take up a job in the Ministry of Information as a press officer, Grade 3. That meant a lot as Grade 3 was very important. Within six months, I was sent to the premier’s office to take over from Abdullahi Ka’oje, who was going to the Thompson Foundation in Scotland for a year. 

I was the most junior, but somehow, they sent me there. Within six months, I got a letter of commendation from Alhaji Ahmed Joda, who was my permanent secretary. 

A few weeks later, we were at Pankshin in Plateau State, and in the evening we were all sleeping outside. And it was very cold. We were all chatting – small ones like us – and the premier came out while he was going around. He said, “Ha! Dan Gumel.”  That meant a lot. Of course, there were top civil servants and some ministers. 

As soon as we came back, I was sent to the Ministry of Establishment. I filled the form for scholarship. We went to somewhere in Plateau State and he asked: “Did you apply?” I said yes. 

Then the majors struck and the premier was killed. Let me digress a bit here. On the day of the coup, we were living at Unguwar Rimi with my brother. It was Ramadan and we could hear shooting. Our mother, a very old woman, was also in Kaduna with us. 

Not until we drove to the office, near what is now Staff Centre in Kaduna, that a soldier stopped us and asked my brother where we were going? He was an old soldier and he said something he understood, but I didn’t. So, we went. 

While I was taking my steps into the office to collect my mail and so on and 

go to the premier’s office, somebody said, “Aha, now that the Sardauna has been killed.” I reacted very violently.

 

Who said that?

I saw our messenger, Ibrahim Jamari and asked what was happening”? He said, “Ah, didn’t you hear what is going on? Sardauna has been killed.” I grabbed him properly, shook him and asked, “Jamari, what are you saying”? He said, “Sardauna has been killed by some soldiers.”

I was very young and idealistic. I went back to my brother’s driver and said, “Take me to the premier’s office.” He said, “Look, it is very dangerous.” But I insisted and he took me there. 

By the time we reached the Sultan Bello Mosque, I saw the premier’s security officer, I think Ben Musa. He slumped on the steering wheel of his car. I saw blood there. I raised my head and saw the premier’s house on fire. That was the place I left at 12midnight that day or the day before. We were distributing Kayan Sallah for all concerned.

I didn’t take the car again; I decided to walk to the house. The policemen who said good night to us a few hours before that time were all shot dead. I said, “Ah, so this is true.” 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, from the guest house, Abubakar came out. He was the district officer in Hadejia. There were political crises in Hadejia Emirate, so he came to bring security report to the headquarters. 

He said, “Garba, go inside and see.” Then I saw the premier. His right hand was on his back. Insects and other things were licking his blood. To be honest, I didn’t pray. I was very young. 

I said something that I will never say again. I went back and told my brother the detail of what I saw. He took me to Magaji Dambata, from there to Ahmed Joda. He asked, “Garba, what is happening? What did you see?” I told him what I saw. Of course we went for the burial prayer. The first minister that appeared was Michael Audu Buba and we could not allow him into the congregation. So he went to the body and did his Christian prayer and left. 

No other minister showed up. They all went into hiding. One was staying next to our house with his friend. That was the beginning of our military coup. I really cried. I will never do that again. 

 

Tell us about life with Sardauna. You were his press attaché. We have heard so many stories. What other stories can you tell us about working with him? 

I think we were in Nasarawa Egon in Plateau State in those days when his car caught fire. Wazirin Gumel was the provincial commissioner. Instead of this man (Sardauna) to quickly get out, he just sat down there like a stone, looking at the fire coming from the bonnet until one security man brought him out. 

I think the humanitarian exposure of the premier was that every man counted. When our college did very badly, I think in 1962, it annoyed him.

We never knew him; I mean we only saw him whenever he came. That day, he said every government secondary school must send two students to Barewa College. He was going to give a speech. And he really gave us a speech.

Among many other things, he said we were privileged to have been admitted into the college because we are not necessarily the best. He said he was very disappointed and they could replace us with other students without any difficulty. “I am ashamed my alma mater did so badly, he said.”

As students, we thought the principal was going to be dismissed on the spot because two months earlier, the son of the most senior minister in the cabinet was dismissed from school. 

People said, “Maybe this man took his whiskey or something and started doing this.” When they said the premier was coming, we said this man would know that he had gone beyond his duty. 

But the premier came and said, “Those boys who have been dismissed, I declare now and here that they have been dismissed; not only that, no voluntary secondary school will admit them as long as they have one pound a year as grant from the Government of Northern Nigeria.

“If you look behind me here, these are all my ministers. Only two did not go to this college, all of them are old boys of Barewa College.

“Let me warn you that if there is no improvement in the next result, maybe we would close the college. We can’t stand this indiscipline.” 

But after all that, he gave us two bulls.

The following year, we were in Form 4; and I think 87 per cent passed.

 

After the death of Sardauna, were you worried that the scholarship that would take you to England would not come through? 

You see, this is one good thing about reliability of individuals. After Sardauna died and Hassan Katsina was made the governor of Northern Group of Provinces as they were called at that time, again, I was posted to Hassan Katsina.

We were in Jos again when a call came from the Scholarship Board in Kaduna to the provincial secretary’s office that I should go back to Kaduna, then go to Kano airport, and from there to England. The caller said my scholarship and school had been secured, school fees paid and booking made.

There was a small aircraft, I think a Sky Servant, which Hassan Katsina said would take me to Kaduna, from there I would pack my things and go to Kano. They were processing this thing in spite of the death of Sardauna.

 

Can you compare working with Sardauna and General Hassan, a military guy and a well known civilian? 

Like I said, I was a very junior officer; not only that, we didn’t hear much but we saw a lot. One man came from the military while the other came from traditional leadership – two separate organisations – but they both treated me like the last child because I was very small from secondary school, barely 19 years old. But concerning aspiration for northern Nigeria and ambition for development, I think you don’t compare Sardauna with anybody. 

We are not belittling anybody, but like he said, he would rather die in the service of northern Nigeria. Other premiers in the other federations were all struggling to develop their local entities. 

I think it would be very unfair to compare anybody else with Sardauna. He had his time and they had theirs. They also had their plans and he had his own. We saw his plans. 

Looking at Sardauna’s cabinet, nobody had more than one car. And they were paying. I had the honour of paying Leventis and other companies because they were harassing the ministers in their various regions over the balance of money. At that time, I was in Hassan Katsina’s office.

 

Suddenly, you found yourself in England from 1967. Tell us about life in England for a young man then. Was it a shock? 

I had never been to London before that time, so I didn’t even know where I was going to stay. But I overheard our bosses speak about Hans Crescent; I didn’t know where it was. 

But while going to the city, I saw a sign of one of those cleansing elements and another anti-acid. I was very surprised that I was in London. I felt very excited.

 

The London School of Journalism?  

I think there were some locals in the British Union of Journalists (BUJ) and there were some misunderstanding, maybe in the University of Surrey; I can’t remember. Something happened and they closed down the department. Most of the lecturers decided to establish a College of Journalism under the University of London.

 

Did you experience discrimination?

I never did. One good thing is that when I finished and was doing part-time for the BBC, Hausa of Service, we had an identity card that included three airports in London: City Airport, Gatwick and Heathrow, where the language was total access to all areas. You didn’t mess with us. 

At school, there was no problem because we were many. Ironically, we were very happy with this. There were a lot of Muslims, some coming from Cyprus. I think we were lucky. I had no one in our class that complained. 

And you enjoyed London so much that you didn’t want to come back? You wanted to stay until you were pressured to come back?  

To be honest, I didn’t want to come back. Everything was working and nobody cared. The only regret we had, especially me, was that I felt very bad because of the religious part of life at that time. I was about 20 years old and not forthcoming properly.

 

After your career in the Kano civil service —Ministry of Information—you moved to the federal level. Can you explain how that happened?  

When we moved into the federal service, our profiles spoke very loudly because of the way we dressed, and so on. Secondly, they asked if I could do the job, wondering why I was there in the first place. 

When I moved to Lagos, I did one psychological warfare. As director-general, among all my staff there was no Hausa/Fulani, except the gateman, Tata. So when they gathered together, I introduced myself and said I didn’t go to school but I didn’t want their cooperation, but they needed mine. I told them that I would shake the place to the roots. And I did. The same thing happened, when I went to the Nigeria Hotel as managing director. 

There was no consideration of other regions, not just northern Nigeria. Basically, it was full of people in one particular area. The highest from northern Nigeria in Nigeria Hotel when I went there was the manager, laundry from Maigatari. It wasn’t funny. I was cursed and abused in various newspapers, but at least I brought other Nigerians into the scheme of things. 

By the time I left, I think there was a little balance, no grudge, no ill feeling. It was just not fair. The Central Hotel here was started with two or three rooms in 1928. 

The highest we got from Kano Province was that Maigatari man as laundry manager, but by the time I left, I was very happy because there was a little sanity and balance. I have no regret for doing what I did. 

 

At what point did you get political appointment and went back to Jigawa, your state? 

I retired and went into politics. I contested for a seat in the Senate etc and later went into the cabinet of Ibrahim Salihu and we did what we did. I also left that one. 

I was also with Professor Jerry Gana, touring Nigeria, but some issue came up and I disagreed and left.

 

In 2004 you suddenly resigned as commissioner; why?

Jerry Gana made some statements in Azare while he was on tour of those states and it was not palatable to us in Jigawa State. I can tell you that I wrote a very long letter of four pages, and before posting it, I showed it the governor. I think he felt intimidated. He was not comfortable with that. The visit came and went and I just stopped going to the office. And there was no letter. Of course, I was removed. 

Later, my party joined another party in Jigawa and a Barewa old boy was presented for the governorship. Morally, I felt obliged, so I couldn’t just sit and look; I decided to participate. 

After he won, I never went back till this time I am talking about. And I have no regret about that. I have my very intimate reasons. Maybe the governor knew. I said I would not go back there because I was very disappointed in him at that time.

 

After what you have seen, is it your general experience that governments don’t really work in Nigeria? 

Well, I am not aligned to anybody. But I think that in some cases, they work. I am not a member of any political party, but if I were to choose a hero, I would pick the governor of Borno State. I was even wondering whether I should go and meet him and tell him to his face that he is doing a good job. 

And it is not only my opinion, I think a lot of people give him a lot of credit. You will start wondering where he gets the money, but I later I realised that maybe he gets foreign donations because of Boko Haram and so on. But whatever it is, he is my hero. 

Without mentioning names, some governors are being accused of stealing billions of naira. Sometimes you start thinking that some of them are crazy because the amount of money they are accused of stealing doesn’t speak well of politicians nowadays. 

Let us stop there because I don’t want to talk about Kano. The governor has vision. One credit I give him is that the moment his official goes astray, the person is out. I think we must give Abba Gida Gida credit for dismissing immediate members of his cabinet. I think that was very brave. 

He has plans and wants people who can go out and materialise these plans. I think that by and large, it works a little bit and people benefit; the general society also benefits but maybe not as much as expected.

 

Given what you saw in the northern region and what is happening now; do you have hope in the future of Nigeria?

I think this “wahala” that people are going through in this country at the moment is transitional. I think we’ll reach a stage where we will tell ourselves to sit down and talk properly and do things that would benefit us.

It is very painful. People will feel more pain from this, but at the end of the day, I think we’ll tell ourselves the truth and do the right thing. But getting the mandate to run this country must be detribalised.

I hope and pray that this country would come around this “wahala” and move forward. We have not yet scratched the surface of our natural resources. If we articulate this thing properly and tell ourselves the truth and accept one another as one, this country would survive in happier times.

 

It is almost 20 years since you walked out of your job as a commissioner in Jigawa State. What have you been doing?

First of all, praying. On a serious note, I tried farming but it didn’t work; and it cannot work. Farming is the stupidest thing that somebody would do. I am a victim. I burnt my fingers and stopped.

I tried importation of vehicles but it didn’t work either. I tried contracts, and not only that it didn’t work, they ate my money. I got only two jobs but never finished any because I wasn’t given the money.  

I am not poor and I am not rich. I am not hungry and I will never be hungry. I am happy where I am. Friends do come and I also go to friends and we chat. I am not a party to all these questions of expensive food items and so on.

I will never walk to anybody’s office looking for anything. I will never go to anybody because he is in X position. I am happy that my children don’t do this either.

 

Do the governments you served remember you? Do you get invited for events and to advise on what is going on?

You see, I left government about 30 years ago. I was a former managing director of the Nigeria Hotel and director-general of the Nigeria Tourism Corporation, former this and that.  

On being invited, here in Kano, there was a time the state government was running a programme on Sardauna and I saw who they invited. I don’t know exactly which year. I had never seen him in that house. And I understand he talked for three hours. 

Nobody will invite me because of that. You see, people think you have to go to X place, B person, X woman, X man, X office. I will stay where I am; I keep to myself. My wahala is my wahala.

 

How do you spend your typical day? 

Early morning prayers, then radio. At one time, Daily Trust and The Guardian but not anymore.

 

Why? 

Something happened and I said they could rest as well. 

Anyway, I think you took a big risk. I don’t know your representation in the South in terms of sales, but I think you took a big risk and it paid.

 

Tell us about your family life. At what point did you settle down? 

Very late. Did you see this programme called “The Many Wives of Patrick?” They were doing it in England. I think that’s me – the agony of eight years.

Three to four wives of mine died, including my first wife. Maybe I was trying to replace the first woman. I was looking for her in the crowd to see if I would find somebody like her; that’s why I married many times.  

But all in all, I have 14 children and I think they have all graduated. They went to the Ahmadu Bello University (ABU). This one read Chemical Engineering and went to Manchester for a master’s in Gas Engineering and Management. Another one is in the United States. Nobody worked in the state government. Some are in business.  

Typical of Hausa family, most of the women are married. One is a very senior lawyer. They are all married, except one.

Ironically, my name is Garba Adamu Gumel but I was actually born in Hadejia. I stood for election in Hadejia because that’s where I was born. Adamu Gumel was my brother in Kaduna who put me in school.