‘MEMBERS OF THE HIGH TABLE’, REVISITED

Sadly, Sallah Festival came and went without us (Federal Government-employed lecturers) being paid our salaries. We just hope ‘Members of the Federal High Table’ will pay December salaries as at when due so that our Christian compatriots will enjoy Christmas without undergoing the indignity of having to borrow to buy chicken for the festive pot. […]

Sadly, Sallah Festival came and went without us (Federal Government-employed lecturers) being paid our salaries. We just hope ‘Members of the Federal High Table’ will pay December salaries as at when due so that our Christian compatriots will enjoy Christmas without undergoing the indignity of having to borrow to buy chicken for the festive pot. Despite that, and in the spirit of Sallah, I today re-present a piece that appeared on this page about ten years ago.

I have always abhorred High Tables. This is especially so since I see the world from an Islamic perspective which prescribes equality between homo sapiens. 

Islam’s Prophet 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 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 giving a sermon and had to be on a raised dais to amplify his voice. But he never sat higher than his companions. Nor did Jesus (Prophet Isa, upon whom be peace). In The Last Supper, Jesus in all representations is shown seated no higher than any of the disciples at Joseph of Arimathea’s Grail Table.

In the secular realm, the ancient British King Arthur installed his famous Round Table to prevent quarrels over seating precedence, as a circular table had no head, and so no one was at a privileged position. Thus the knights were all equals and there was no “leader”. The only way one could infer importance of particular knights was on the basis of number of seats each was removed from the king. Later, permanent seats were eliminated, and the ‘democratic’ first-come-first-served was instituted. And so any knight could sit next to the King.

So I have always felt High Tables are discriminatory. That there was no need to differentiate people at human gatherings based on human criteria. But when I checked up on ‘discrimination’ as a contemporary phenomenon, a revelation dawned on: one can only be discriminated against based on gender, religion, colour, 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 legit! 

Therefore, consider my consternation when I was once directed to represent someone important 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 event.

My first encounter of a different kind occurred when I stepped onto the Red Carpet at this Abuja Five Star hotel. 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 anatomical 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 respectable distance. My wife’s presence, second to my beliefs, did indeed discourage me from stooping 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 so do.

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. Finally, insistent usher left me alone. Didn’t the organizers know I come from a Shari’a-compliant state (as their Abuja obviously isn’t)? 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. 

So, 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 My Excellency!

Right in front of me there on the High Table were all sorts of drinks: three Five Alives, two Chivitas and one Dansa, 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 the 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 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 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).

Then it was time for dinner. Distinguished guests on the High Table would serve themselves first. But actually none of the High Tablers really needed to eat, forever: so well-nourished and tomato-faced we were. In fact, some (including My Excellency, me) 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 (no idea what ‘braised’ meant), and chicken breast and all manner of delicacies. I could literally hear (or feel) some members of the Low Tables swallow hard for want.

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 our great teacher 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 at 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!

Barka da Sallah once again, and may someone please remind Members of the Federal High Table we are still awaiting our pay (as at Friday evening).