MEMBERS OF THE HIGH TABLE
The Prophet of Islam Muhammad, upon whom be peace, dwelt a great deal on this equality: reinforcing the Qur’anic verse that says the best among us in the Sight of the Lord is only the most pious. The Prophet, it is reported, on reaching any meeting, would take the nearest available seat at the fringe […]
The Prophet of Islam Muhammad, upon whom be peace, dwelt a great deal on this equality: reinforcing the Qur’anic verse that says the best among us in the Sight of the Lord is only the most pious. The Prophet, it is reported, on reaching any meeting, would take the nearest available seat at the fringe of the gathering. He never had a preferential seating place, except when he led the people in prayer, or was sermonising.
So I have always felt High Tables are discriminatory. That there was no need for differentiating people at human gatherings based on any human criteria. But when I checked up on ‘discrimination’ as a contemporary phenomenon, a revelation dawned on me. I learnt that one can be discriminated against only based on one’s gender, or religion, or colour, or disability, or age. But one cannot claim ‘discrimination’ based on social status, or income. So if you are poor, that’s your lot: you belong among the Low Tables. High Table is no discrimination. Legit.
Therefore, consider my consternation when, recently, I was directed to represent my boss, a Governor, at a function in Abuja. Consternation not for inability to ably represent, but consternation at the fact that I knew I was destined for the High Table at the gathering I was to attend.
My first encounter of a different kind occurred when I stepped onto the Red Carpet at this Abuja hotel, a Five Star affair. As soon as the arrival of My Excellency was announced, one of those ushers made a lunge for me. This was one of those delectable young women deliberately chosen for such occasions to ‘add colour’, and other hues. The usher was holding a garland she wanted to adorn me with, so she made for my neck.
Were she intent on strangling me, I would have been much happier. But garland donning is a deliberate ploy for these ushers to come up close and personal with VIPs. So I made a hasty retreat. I would not, for the life of me, describe the sort of body the usher possessed, or what percentage of it was covered, or what particulars were available for the VIPs to peruse. For the life of me, and for the life of my marriage.
You see, I was accompanied to this particular function by my wife, who kept a respectful distance. My wife’s presence, second to my beliefs, did indeed discourage me from stooping so low (literally and figuratively) from my six feet height for the usher to be on even keel to throw the garland around my neck. But the usher in question (and answer) was insistent I had to wear her garland. I was also insistent in my resolve not to do so.
I turned to look at my wife for encouragement; she was looking askance, making as if she did not notice the shenanigans of this particular, insistent usher who wanted to garnish me. I knew better: the tail of my wife’s eye is sharper than her iris. So I declined again. And again. Finally, insistent usher left me alone. Didn’t the organizers know I come from a Shari’a-compliant state? Obviously not, and Abuja is not Shari’a compliant. So to the High Table I was ushered, garlandlessly.
The origin of “High Table”, according to www.princeton.edu, goes back to the physical layout of the dining halls of English colleges at Oxford and Cambridge Universities. In those colleges, undergraduates in their commoners’ gowns would sit at long refectory tables. At the far end of the hall, on a raised platform or dais, a table was set for the master and fellows of the college who sat above the undergraduates – at the High Table.
As soon as I was right at my seat near the centre of the High Table, as the Distinguished and Most Excellent Special Guest of Honour (or similar Mount Everest titles), someone announced “Please rise for the National Anthem.” National Anthem! For me! Welcome to the High Table.
Right in front of me there on the High Table were all sorts of drinks and juices: I counted three Five Alives, two Chivitas and one Dansa. The drinks were arranged in a sort of pyramid (and isn’t Kano known for pyramids!). Dansa Juice, incidentally, was at the apex of this juicy pyramid; as if they knew that that particular brand is made by Dangote, a Kano man. I could see, from my vantage point above the Low Tables, that the commoners had only bottled water (lucky them they weren’t served pure water) and one or two packet juices for a group of six. My poor wife was among that unfortunate lot who needed the juices more than us.
Then the speeches began. And we were supposed to just sit there smug, royally smile at appropriate intervals, executively giggle at colourless jokes, daintily applaud all and any bland speech, and finally rise to the occasion and announce donations. And then it came to the citation stage. I was made to stand up (ably representing) in the gaze of all the cameras (still, video, digital, analogue, human eyes). My Excellency!
Then it was time for dinner. Someone mentioned that the distinguished guests on the High Table would serve themselves first. But I noticed that none of the guests on the High Table really needed to eat, for ever: we all looked well-nourished. In fact, some needed to take up golf to shed the extra kilos. But alas, we had the first choice of the fried fish and boiled fish and braised fish (I had no idea what ‘braised’ meant), and chicken breast and all manners of delicacies. I could literally hear (or feel) some members of the Low Tables swallow hard for want.
In the secular realm, we all remember the Ancient British King Arthur and his famous Round Table. Historians state that King Arthur installed the Round Table in order to prevent quarrels over seating precedence, as a circular table had no head, and so no one person is at a privileged position. The only way one could infer importance of particular knights was on the basis of the number of seats each was removed from the king. Later, permanent seats were eliminated, and the ‘democratic’ first-come-first-served system was instituted. And so any knight could sit next to the King.
We live a lie. People who adore High Tables know that one day they would come down lower than the Lower Table. One takes solace in the maxim of one of our greatest teachers, Malcolm X: “Nobody can give you freedom. Nobody can give you equality or justice or anything. If you’re a man, you take it!”
The occupants of the Low Tables did just that. By the time the organisers were doing the Vote of Thanks, the Low Tablers hungrily rushed us at the High Table to scavenge and scramble over the remnants of the juices we did not even taste! They were men! They took it!