Social Intelligence - Part Two: Trip to Nigeria Consulate in New York

Making My Own Rules and Managing Risks in the Face of Disappearing Opportunities: The removal of the "Travelling to Nigeria is Dangerous" sign from the boarding point at all the Airports in the United States of America. 

Introduction: 

She is a Patent Attorney and a good friend. We were intimate. At that time she could confidently write the story of my life, my dreams as well as my aspirations. Through her Dad, she became close to this retired Professor who happened to know another Professor who is the Husband of a prominent African American Lady to be honored by the Nigerian Consulate General in New York City, New York. This Lady - the Special Guest of Honor - was one of the distinguished African American personalities at the Festival of Art and Culture, popular known as FESTACT, held in Nigeria decades ago. 

My friend knew of the event just when it was happening the next day. She called to ask if I would like to go, and I told her yes, provided I have my invitation letter before leaving for New York - I do not want to suffer any humiliation at the gate in the hands of the Nigerian diplomatic staff over the invitation letter. She then contacted her Professor friend who in turn contacted his contact in New York. The following morning, my invitation card arrived via overnight express mail. The retired Professor and I drove from Boston to New York City in my friend’s brand-new car.

My Encounter with Dr. Ozichi Alimole, the Minister-Counselor in charge of Information at the Nigerian Consulate in New York City, New York.  

At the party, I dressed up in a complete vintage Hausa chain embroidered half-length kaftan made of white Guinea Brocade fabric, tailored in Nigeria. The Professor was also regally dressed in Yoruba three-piece Agbada, Buba, and Sokoto that I provided for him for the occasion.  Though the Professor and I were dressed up in Nigerian attire, we sat among the American guests on the left-hand side, facing the Podium. While the Nigerian guests and the staff of the Mission occupied the right-hand side, visibly and beautifully dressed up in our rich traditional dresses, as well.

As we waited for the party to start, somehow, I became the center of attention: A tall and elderly-looking African American – a retired Deputy Police Commissioner - and his family members treated me as if I was some kind of an object of attraction. Not only did they admire me and my traditional dress – just a two-piece kaftan - they were touching me and feeling my cloth right there at the center of the reception hall. The retired DPC later gave me his business card and begged me – I mean, plead with me – to supply him and his friends the exact replica of what I was wearing, and at whatever cost. Right there, he gave me the measurement of his waist, neck, leg, and sleeve, and I scribbled them down at the back of his business card – which I still have with me as I type this piece. Initially, I was a little bit embarrassed, but later I felt cool. After all, it was a cultural event, I look highly distinguished, and at the same time, very willing to display my country's rich cultural heritage to the African American guests.

After about an hour of waiting, the party started, and a gentleman by the name, of Dr. Ozichi J. Alimole, Minister-Counselor, Consul for Commerce & Information, was introduced. And he went on to introduce the Head of the Mission. He was visibly in charge of the event. During the pre-dinner cocktail, and while people were making friends and discussing business, I came face to face with Dr. Alimole. We greeted and shook hands. I actually initiated the contact, knowing that I have a question to ask him. Without much ado, I took caution and social ethics to the wind, and I asked him if he has traveled late out of New York City through LaGuardia or JFK Airport. And he replied yes.

(At the time of the event in 1999 I was working part-time on weekends, at Logan Airport in Boston Massachusetts, while studying for my MCSE Certification. Then, at the departure point inside of the airport, there was a sign – boldly written and conspicuously placed – stating: Travelling to Nigerian and Haiti is Dangerous. As one who unrepentantly wears the Nigerian toga all over me, the sign was repellent). 

So, meeting a top Nigerian diplomat and challenging him to action, I said to myself, is the best way to start the party. I asked my new friend if he has seen the sign I described above. He said yes. Have you taken any steps to have the sign removed? If not, what effort are you making or willing to make to have it removed? I asked, staring at his face. The man did not say a word. To say that he was stunned beyond comprehension was an understatement. He didn't offer me a further response. He simply excused me and moved on to chat with other guests. And I went back to my seat to relish my drink, satisfied that the journey is not wasted after all.  But Dr. Alimole was not done with me yet.

A few minutes later, as soon as he completed his speech - right there at the podium - he pointed his hand in my direction, signaling that I should come over. I looked back, thinking that he was talking to someone else. My Professor friend sitting beside me, said to me, it's you he wants to talk to. I stood up and we walked toward each other. At that point, the MC invited the Head of the Mission to the podium for his speech.

As Dr. Alimole and I walked toward each other, I made up my mind to apologize to him for my hostile questioning. As he approached me, he brought out his wallet, removed his elegantly embroidered official business card, and handed it over to me. Getting closer, he said, listen to me: I don’t know who you are; nevertheless, you are the type of Nigerian I want to be seen in this place any time we are having an event or function. As I tried to apologize, he cut me off, saying, you don't have to. I need people like you here. (By the way, I still have his business card and that of the Deputy Police Commissioner with me). 

I told him that being a student, and the fact that I live in Boston would make attendance financially and logistically problematic, if not impossible.  He was seemingly disappointed that I should turn down such an open, and of course, a rare invitation. That was our last meeting. As I walk to my seat, my Professor friend was beaming with a smile. When I sat down, he tapped me on the back and said: "That was a smart move, Alex; I can see why your girlfriend is so fond of you."

When the retired Professor told the Special Guest (name withheld) and her husband at their New York residence (where both of us spent the night) about the discussion I had with Dr. Alimole, they were very ecstatic. She said I can see you working at the consulate soon. I reminded them that it doesn't work that way; diplomatic appointments are handled at the home front.

Memo to Dr. Alimole and the "one-page memo is the best" as per advice that I received from Dr. Jegede of the Nigerian Law School in Lagos, Nigeria some years ago.

When I got back to Boston, I decided to assist or collaborate with Dr. Alimole to remove that sign at the US Airports, by sending him a handwritten letter. I drafted a three-page memo, stating what to do, who to meet, and how to proceed first in Nigeria before meeting with specified individuals (name withheld) in the US. Later, I edited the letter to one page, following the advice Professor Jegede - the then Secretary of the Nigerian Law School in Lagos - gave me, while I was a student at the Law School.

Flash Back - Meeting with Dr. Jegede: We were about three hundred and fifty students of Edo State origin at the Nigerian Law School that year, and only nineteen spots were allocated to us at the newly built Hostel. I took part in the ballot for the nineteen spots but was not successful. A few days later, I gathered from a reliable source that the Old Igbosere Hostel, opposite the old Supreme Court, has few vacant bed spaces. At Igbosere, eligibility for space was not by ballot, but strictly on who you know. 

First, you have to draft a letter and have it endorsed by a prominent family member and then send it to the office of the Secretary to be considered for a bed space.  Two of my closest buddies – names withheld – did and were offered bed space. Then, I said to myself, granted there is no one yet in my family with a national profile, but I will get a bed space with my own last name.

Overnight, I drafted a six-page long memo, arguing persuasively why the highly respected Secretary should give me a bed space. I later reduced it to three pages. I took the letter straight to his office the following morning. Fortunately, I must say, the Secretary to Secretary was very helpful and friendly to me. In spite of the fact that there were about ten visitors, mostly students and parents, already waiting to see the Secretary, this dude got up from his chair and asked me, though smiling, "are you afraid to see the Secretary?"  I said no Sir. Then he got up from his seat and said, follow me. 

He walked towards the Secretary's door, opened it, and said, you wait here. He went inside and closed the door behind him. He came out a few minutes later and ordered me to go inside that the Secretary (Dr. Jegede) wants to see me. Then he closed the once again, but this time, I was the one inside with the Secretary. I greeted the Secretary, bowing my head, and touching my kneel the traditional Yoruba style. 

As luck would have it, Professor Jegede - God bless him - did the unexpected: He gave me accommodation right there on the spot. But counseled me seriously as a Father would do, to make the memo or petition one page next time. It saves time. He added finally that he read just the first and concluding paragraph.  Overwhelmed with joy and excitement, I dobale right there in his office, thanking him for his kindness and professional advice.

Many years later, remembering that fatherly counsel from Professor Jegede, I reduced the memo to Dr. Alimole to just one page. It was handwritten, suggesting the people to meet and what he must do first in Nigeria for the subsequent meeting with the people in the US government to be meaningful and fruitful. Using the address on the business card which also corresponds with the address on my invitation card to the event, I mailed the letter directly to Dr. Alimole at the Consulate General of Nigeria by registered mail. 

In the US, it is generally assumed, and rightly so, that once a letter is properly addressed and stamped, it is taken as delivered. I did not hear from Dr. Alimole.

However, about one month later, that sign disappeared from all the Airports in the United States. Since that chance encounters at the Nigerian House in New York with Dr. Alimole - about twelve years ago - I have not seen him or spoken to him. Whether or not my letter plays any role in the removal of that vexing sign at the US Airports, one thing remains clear: A First Class Diplomat took a chance with an unknown, but audacious dreamer - a risk-taker, who was not willing to let go an opportunity to make a change. I was lucky. There was a very senior diplomat who was in the right position to bring the change to fruition. Who, in fact, did perform. And Nigeria was better for it.

Analysis.

Raw sense, common sense, intellectualism; it doesn't matter, as long as the system is made to work. It doesn't matter that I am an American citizen. I am a native Nigerian, first. I was not happy with the sign and I want it removed. But I do not work in government. Besides, I wasn't in any capacity to do it. I wasn't in any position where I could counsel or pressure another Nigerian to do it. So, meeting Dr. Alimole was the closest I could go to talking to the President of Nigeria or the Minister in charge of our External Affairs about the sign and its removal. In spite of the lively atmosphere at the party, I was not willing to watch and allow the rare opportunity at the Consulate to fly by without taking action. Even if I had to embarrass a distinguished diplomat to accomplish my, it is a risk worth taking.  That's exactly what I did - made use of someone else who was in a position to act. It doesn't matter whether he actually perform; the truth is that I made an effort to have it removed. Not just saying the sign ought to be removed, but coming up with ideas (talking points or what to say before the appropriate US Officials), and giving directives on how it should be executed (starting from our Custom and Immigration Departments in Nigeria - the point of entry). That is my definition of leadership.

The American government is ever willing to support you and your cause, if you do the right thing, or making effort to do the right thing. I know that much, about America. So, I initiated the actions, which Dr. Alimole, in his official position, patriotically executed, without questioning my age, qualification, or experience in government and diplomacy. And that, once again, is my definition of leadership.

Watch out for Part Three, Four, and Five.