Remote Encounter With Gov. Fashola—Kanayo Esinulo

-Time magazine (2005)

Do Nigerians really mean anything to our leaders? Sorry, let’s put it another way: Do public office holders in Nigeria answer calls, reply text messages or respond to email from citizens they do not know? Well, some weeks ago, I had the need to add a tax clearance certificate to a mass of other documentations demanded by a High Commission in Nigeria in support of a ward of mine applying for a student visa. Before then, I had updated my tax payment but had only a receipt issued to me through the bank where I made the payment. But a receipt of payment alone was not exactly what the authorities at the High Commission demanded. Of all the items in the High Commission’s long shopping list, a tax clearance certificate was the most critical, I was told. I had gone to the bank repeatedly to ask for this paper but the young man in-charge of tax papers at the bank could only explain that the certificate had not reached his desk yet.

I gave some weeks before visiting the bank again. The story was the same. I then took advantage of full page adverts in some news magazines in which the Lagos State Governor, Babatunde Fashola, disclosed his mobile telephone number and e-mail address, and those of some of his top functionaries, for easy communication with members of the public. I sent him what I then considered an innocuous text message by exactly 10.15 pm, as Channels Television news bulletin was going into its second commercial break. It was a fairly long text message. I wrote: “Your Excellency, my name is Kanayo Esinulo. My matter has to do with tax clearance certificate. In response to your entreaties that we should all endeavour to pay our taxes, I simply walked into the Alausa Secretariat branch of the Intercontinental Bank, assessed myself, got approval on the amount and paid the sum. I was advised to come back the following week for a receipt. I did, and it was there, at the same bank, waiting for me. I asked for my tax clearance certificate. ‘Come back in two weeks time,’ I was told. It is now going to many weeks. I need the tax certificate because of an experience I had in 2005 when I needed this same certificate to support my daughter’s request for a UK visa. I will feel immensely obliged, Your Excellency, if anything could be done to facilitate my tax clearance certificate. I rest my case, and Good Night!” I then forwarded the message to the advertised number, 08034301122. Minutes later, I slept off.

The next day, as early as 5.30am, my usual time for jumping out of bed for a short morning prayer, I noticed that a message was waiting to be read on my phone. It was a reply to my text sent late the previous night. It simply read: “We have asked someone to check on your case. I will get back to you with an advice, shortly.” The reply bore the telephone number 08023002499. Subsequent development later in the day revealed that I was now dealing with His Excellency’s Special Adviser on Tax Matters. Two more text messages came from this same number – all indicating that something positive was about to happen. By now, I had dragged in a friend of mine and a colleague into the unfolding drama, as witnesses to this remote encounter with Governor Fashola. We were all eager to know how it would eventually end.

My honest guess was that the Internal Revenue Department of the Lagos State Ministry of Finance may have checked my claims properly. Perhaps, satisfied that I was not an impostor, I received yet another text message the same day. “Collect your Electronic Tax Clearance Card at the Intercontinental Bank, Alausa branch, tomorrow by 10am. Best wishes.” This was on 8 July 2008, less than 12 hours after I had established telephone contact with His Excellency through an advertised number. It seems to me that within the short time, my complaint had been investigated, treated and a decision taken to advise me to go back to the bank where I paid and collect my ‘Electronic Tax Clearance Card’.

For sure, government departments don’t work that way in my country, I said to myself. Could this be real? I was willing to be patient till the next day. At exactly 9.55am on Wednesday 9 July, I drove into the premises of the bank, full of expectations. I was shown a place to park my car by bank security staff. I walked straight to the banking hall, waited till 10.00am before approaching the same young man who deals with tax matters. “No, sir, I have not yet received your tax card,” was his answer to my question. This young man must be joking, I managed to convince myself. It was unnecessary yet to tell him that I had been advised to collect the important paper at the bank by a top government functionary. With confidence, I found myself a seat while busy eyeing my wristwatch. As soon as it struck 10:30, I sent a text message to the friendly number, 08023002499. I wrote: “I was here at the bank by few minutes to 10 am, as you advised. The young man in-charge of tax matters here is saying that the card is not here yet. What do I do? Advise me.” A reply came in a matter of minutes: “Please wait. I will get back to you, shortly.”

Some minutes later, a call – not text message this time – came from this same number. The caller, if I got it right, announced his name to me simply as Lekan. He advised that I should ask for Mrs. Kupolati or a name that sounded like that, at the banking hall. “She has your card,” he said with authority and rang off. I asked a bank staff nearby how I could reach Madam. He pointed at a lady. I walked to her desk, introduced myself and my mission. “My God, I have been expecting you since morning,” she said. “Yes madam,” I quickly replied, “I was advised to be here by 10.00am and I was here dead on time.” She offered me a seat, cross-examined me a bit – perhaps, to make sure that I was the real person she was expecting. Satisfied, she released the electronic tax clearance card to me. I got up, thanked her profusely and joyfully left. And for days, I kept telling friends and colleagues that wanted to know what happened and how it all began that Lagos State is working. And as my amiable neighbour, Niyi, would say: Eko o ni baje oo. That summarises the positive conclusion of what started as a mere text message to a head of government that is prepared and willing to listen and act. The ward concerned, I should mention, even in passing, has since been granted a student visa for his post-graduate course in the UK. To God be the glory!