B.P.A.N. NOT S.A.N By Adesina Ogunlana

It is getting rather fairly regular nowadays for me to get to court (Lagos State High Court) and be met with loud, excited – even fulsome salutations such as
Awaiting SAN!
Tomorrow’s SAN!
Recognition! Shon for the SAN!
Of course the sincerity behind these bellows of praise is not without some commercial alloy. “It is like the fervent prayers of roadside beggars – all the fervour and the cascading prayers are calculated to achieve one end – to open the zip of the purse of the prayeree.

I always know that it would shock some of these our admirers and ‘wellwishers’ to hear that one was never interested in becoming a Senior Advocate of Nigeria. Some would even express their utter unbelief in such a position.

But one of my fundamental grouses against the attainment of silk in Nigeria is because you need to APPLY for the elevation.
Pray what manner of honour is that, that requires application? The applicant in such a situation must as of necessity blow his trumpet. Really hard, to impress.

To me, applied-for-honour is not honourable. To me proper honour and glorification should be bestowed on the honoree without his asking.

The fact that terrific lawyers like my Daddy three, (http://learnedsquib.blogspot.com/2009/10/sweet-father-by-adesina-ogunlana.html )actually applied to get the hugely coveted title, which is now in the estimate of many – a talismanic password to instant wealth and fame, an investment in future greater wealth, does not impress me to the contrary view at all.

At any rate, any honest and deep thinker, would realize that the title is actually a cheap one. The standards, which become a shifting quicksand because of the omnibus “privilege” factor are not onerous.
The basic ones are as follows:
(1) The applicant must be at least ten years at the bar, after his call to the bar
(2) He must have done a number of cases (6?) at the Supreme Court or and at the Court of Appeal. Note that he does not need to even succeed in these cases. I think it is a case of “Olympics is not about winning but about participating.”
(3) The applicant must have a commendable chambers, with a library and a certain number of staff.

As far as I am concerned these are pedestrian demands. There is nothing there in the direction of a certain unmistakable DISTINCTION on the part of the applicant.

Little wonder that a vast majority of those Nigeria has dubbed Senior Advocates of Nigeria at least in the past 10 years are like the current Super Eagles players – minnows and partridges masquerading as eagle and peacocks respectively.

The bitter truth is that many of the silks we have now, are brass and tinsel, not gold and diamond. I stand to be challenged, but what panache, what beauty, what usefulness have the bulk of the silks brought to the legal profession?

As employers, despite earning millions of naira and sometimes billions, only a few of them are no kinsmen and women to Mr. Scrooge. They pay poorly.

As professionals, many are high caliber fixers of judgements and rulings. They call it in local parlance here, “PARI-ISE.” Their work does not show any intimidating degree of resourcefulness, brilliance or industry. In fact any other counsel,would not have much sweat in crushing our silks in court.

In the bar, they are not golden either. They, in the most, are not bar men and don’t care for the bar, finding it difficult to participate in the programmes of the bar or putting their money to the services of the bar; Worse, they actively and regularly discourage junior counsel in their chambers from participating in bar functions.

Why should any patriotic and public spirited person be eager to be in the group of selfish parasites like this? People who are only interested in their private pursuits with little or no care for others.

When last, I want to ask, did you see silks taking up problems facing the bar with the bench, or taking up the problems affecting the bench (the judiciary) with government?

Even the plight of students at the law school does not move these people. To graduate from the Law School, a student needs about a million naira or a modest N750,000; an uphill task for many and for some, simply a mission impossible. Yet our silks, especially those bursting with money offeronly platitudes in response. What a shame!

If you ask me, what letters do I want after my names as a legal practitioner? My answer is straight and simple: BPAN.

B.P.A.N means BEST PRACTICES ADVOCATE OF NIGERIA.

For me, Adesina Ogunlana B.P.A.N s much, better than Adesina Ogunlana S.A.N.

If you are confused here, please accept my sympathy. I speak to the deep.

Think about this new title: BEST PRACTICES ADVOCATE OF NIGERIA.

Compare it with Senior Advocate of Nigeria title: the difference is glaring.

The former is weighty, ennobling and places premium on the best of values in the profession. One can’t say the same thing for the latter. Apart from sounding crisp but sandy, it is vague, vain and self-promotional. Senior Advocate of Nigeria? You ask, what does it really mean?

'Know Thyself' By Adesina Ogunlana

“Man, know thy self.” This instruction uttered ages ago by a sage, unknown to me in one credo, I believe in. It is awful if a man does not know himself. Such a fellow invariably makes a fool of himself and can very easily prove his own ruin.

To ‘know one'self’ is to have a clear, objective and true appraisal of one’s character strengths and weaknesses. For example a stammerer, even for a million pounds will not participate in a competition to determine the fastest reciter of tongue twisters.

I think I know myself. Or at least, reasonably so. I have certain types of good luck and equally possess some areas of badluck.
We won’t talk about the good luck today. You see, one area of ill-luck pertains to wedding reception entertainment.

Hard, bad luck is my repetitive lot when it comes to getting food and drinks at wedding receptions. The ill-luck is so strong that if I had been a guest at my own wedding (to the Real-Deal Ibis,) it would not have been a RSVP (Rice and Soup Very Plenty) situation for me.

It does not matter where I sit at receptions. The fare must either miss me or do a Passover, sometimes tantalizingly so.
If I choose the front row that’s when service would commence from the rear. If I elect for the back seats, you can be sure that the servers would that day obey the rule of “first things first.” By the time they get to the rear, the munificence would have dried up.
It is even worse, if I find myself seated at the centre. With the ever-present ill-luck, I become instantly invisible to the ministers of food and drinks. The excuse always is that, the center is a beehive of activities, full of distractive sights.

Last Saturday proved an opportunity to test the constancy of my anti-refreshment luck at reception.
We were five in our party. Four innocents and one Jonah. We hardly had sat down, when drinks (‘softs’ water and juice packs) surfaced on our table. I was not deceived. I was even less deceived when some fifteen minutes later, one of the principal pillars of the reception specifically asked me what particular drinks I would like for my table.
I almost laughed at the gent’s face. When I told him my party’s preference, the good man bustled off to see them moved over. But that was the last I saw of him, till we left more than an hour later.

When I saw servers moving about with trays laden with food, I shook my head. Not for myself but for the sections nearest to me, to the right and left.
Sometimes, my afore-said ill-luck extends its repellant jurisdiction to affect my immediate neighbours.
Soon the refreshment train came to our table. Then it happened, the trained chugged to a halt mid-way as only three of us got served.

Ten, twenty, thirty, forty even fifty-minutes later, the only plate of food that surfaced was just a small mound of semovita, some questionable egusi soup and a big chunk of fried meat.
It was intantly rejected by the fellow to my right. I on the other hand quickly claimed it. I knew what would follow later. So while four of our party got food and started due process on them, the fifth, popularly known as ‘prof’ could only look on.
Poor Prof. How he waited for manna to came down. I really felt sorry for the poor man. It must have been excruciating seeing your companions having a swell time at table, leaving you high and dry.

From the wicked corners of my eye, I was espying the man. I followed his internal turmoil intimately. I saw him dangling between cultured silence (siddon-look) and a yearning to ask for food.

Then after about fifty minutes of “guest-earnestly-yearning for-rice”, the Lord intervened in prof’s case. Might be the Lord saw the unholy glee in my heart and decided to end prof’s suffering.
This story has a moral. And it is that except, you are on a fast, don’t accompany me or don’t let me accompany you to wedding receptions. You doubt me? Ask ‘prof.’

CHECK OUT THE WEDDING PIX AT http://www.squibsociety.blogspot.com