The Maradona in Me

*Arthur Nzeribe

‘If another civil war breaks out now, I’m more than eager to sell the latest weapons of mass destruction to both the federal side and the new Biafrans’

“I have a President nicknamed ‘Maradona’, who has done everything he said he would not do, and has not done everything he said he would do. My President set out initially trying to be loved by all and to please all but ends up being doubted by all for being unpredictable and contradictory… He dribbles and joggles Nigerians better than Maradona does with football players, but does he score with the ‘hand of God’ as Maradona does? My distant view and assessment of my President is that of a consummate soldier, leader, strategist, ruthless and selfish politician whom we believe to be a humanist, an opportunist in the political arena, a good manipulator of men and circumstances, by his own admission ‘a law breaker,’ having participated in all but one of the illegal acts of coup-making in Nigeria.”

Wait, Arthur. You mean you once wrote all these about the new president-in-waiting?

Sure. But you haven’t seen or heard anything yet. Just let me continue reading out my views about him… “He is a man who does not completely break with his enemies, nor completely embraces his friends, there is an iron fist inside the gloves; thus a winner in the deadly game of power. The only Nigerian leader so far, both from the military and civilian folds, who appreciates what power is all about and uses it effectively for his own ends as do most rulers…”

Wait a minute. I still don’t understand why you have chosen this portion of your book to read to the audience during the literary fiesta for Kongi’s birthday.

How naïve can you be? Open your eyes and read between the lines… “Like Maradona, my President is the best in his chosen trade, to wit, soldiering, and by public acclaim, the best juggler and dribbler in the art of governance and politics in the Nigerian scene since independence. I admire certain qualities in my President. In fact, I see a bit of me in him. My President is bold, courageous, fearless and full of enterprise. He is cunning and foxy. I am. He knows what he wants, plans for it and goes for it deliberately, believing that the end justifies the means.”

Wayo, Allah! Chei!! So, this is why you have chosen to read from your last book — Nigeria: Seven Years After Shehu Shagari? You mean you want to launder the image of this man again?

If the price is right, why not? After all, after revealing all the skeletons in Maradona’s cupboard in 1990, I was still readily available to serve the self-interest of the military president and his henchmen in aborting the June 12 election. But, actually, that’s not my motive for reading those excerpts from my book. If you read between the lines, you’d see Maradona’s character sketch, and my own self-portrait as a cunning, foxy businessman. This is not meant as self-advertisement but as an attempt to explain my roles so far in the polity. Since 1999, you’d have seen my finger in every controversial, if not stinking pie in the House. Wherever the beef was you were likely to see me as the butcher. If you want to cut any senator or representative down to size, or pieces, you can always count on my dexterity with the knife. And this, perhaps, explains to you why I am the vulture-in-waiting, ready to perch on the carcasses and corpses left on the battle field after the gun smoke would have cleared from the Panambra crisis.

Ah! You mean you are the hawk in the proverb who feeds fat on sacrifice? That is immoral.

Imo-what?! There is no morality in business and don’t forget that I am first and foremost a businessman. Everything I do is an extension of my business frontiers and, like the Maradona in the script, the end justifies the means. If another civil war breaks out now, I’m more than eager to sell the latest weapons of mass destruction to both the federal side and the new Biafrans. Whatever each party does with the goods bought is not my headache. Mine is to sell and collect my own money.

So, you live on blood money?

Stupid man. In business, there is no blood money. Profit is both the watchword and the password or have you ever heard of anybody who goes into business with the aim of going bankrupt?

No, but, at least, there should be a little bit of morality and rationality.

My friend, you are cunningly dragging me into the realm of ethics and I can assure you that I’m not one to shy away from arguments. If you have read my other books, you’d realise that I depend on the power of logic to canvass my views and opinions. I don’t dance to suit anybody’s drumbeat and rhythm. Neither do I play to the gallery. I am a businessman through and through. By the way, do you know how I secured my ticket to this destination? I had to fight my political opponents right from the NPN days, thug for thug, naira for naira, rice for rice, garri for garri, okporoko for okporoko and ogbono soup for ogbono soup, and my voters, sorry, my people, love me for this. They see me as the Oyibo (white man) of business and Enyimba (elephant) of cash-and-carry politics. So, they combined the two and gave me the title of Oyi-nba of Okuta. My people are as creative as the blacksmiths of Awka.

Which means you truly have a pedigree of creativity. Which other titles are we expecting from you and how soon?

The first one is Obasanjo: Another Hope Betrayed. This is meant to prepare the ground for the next president, the way Buhari and Idiagbon were shoved aside from the political scene. Don’t ask me who commissioned the book because I don’t want to be accused of being a double agent. The second is Maradona: Return of the Political Nymphomaniac while the third is Nigeria: A Nation in Captivity, a major book on which I have been working since the military seized power in 1966.

I hope these are not satanic verses?

How can? Will you call The Prince, by Niccolo Machiavelli, a satanic write-up? They are just products of my creative imagination. No more, no less.

Arthur, the Prince!

Ummh, yes, but call me the Maradona!

*This Opilogue was first published in TELL on February 23, 2004.

I, Too, Am the Evil Genius

Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of Governor Aladoko of Okitiland I want to apologise for this surprise visit. His Excellency thought that a visit to Lagos would not be complete without saying ‘hello’ to his ‘friends’ at the NewsTeller more especially in view of some events that nearly torpedoed the boat of His Excellency’s administration shortly after coming to power. It is my privilege and honour, therefore, to present ‘live’ my governor and benefactor to the People’s Assembly. Your Excellency, sir.

Thank you, Atokun. Gentlemen of the Press, I salute you and I want to thank you for welcoming me despite the gatecrashing. In fact, what I met on the ground is not what I have been made to understand. If I must be honest with you, I was expecting to see men and women with fire burning in their eyes and smoke oozing from their foreheads but surprisingly you are all as cool as ladugbo water. I’m really impressed by your seemingly accommodating poise. Before I go into my choreography, I want to seize this opportunity also to thank those who stood by me during the ‘arrangee’ assassination attempt on my person while in Lagos the other day. My enemies did not want me to eat pounded yam again but my God said no to them. Now, to my speech proper…

Excuse me, Mr. Governor, your man has just told us that this is an impromptu visit, so how come you want to read a prepared speech?

Don’t mind him. The way of we politicians is quite different from the way of you ordinary people. For instance, when a politician says “what a sunny day!” make sure you contact the CNN meteorologist before you respond. To be honest with you, we operate like 419 people – we deceive, distract and ambush the people to achieve our aims. Indeed, if this is just a surprise private visit, you won’t see this battery of television cameras trained on your management and staff. Surely, it’s all for a purpose. So, Mr. Chairman, editors, managers, reporters, all other protocols observed, it gives me great displeasure and rheumatic pain to stand before you today smiling when, indeed, I should be crying in view of the evils done me by the Alliance for Destruction and the unwary Fourth Estate of the Realm over my gubernatorial success in the last elections. Naturally, I should have declared a state of emergency in the entire Okitiland because of the perfidy of the Alliance and the naivety of the pen pushers but I have resolved to give you people a chance to swim or sink with your sponsors. Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen, I have not come to praise the Caesar of Acme Road but to lambast him. Please, don’t regard my approach as that of a foolhardy Daniel who dared the lion in its den; rather, take it as that of a young freedom fighter who has come with an olive branch in one hand and a loaded pistol in the other. The choice is yours. If you pick the former, we shall all live to enjoy the dividends of democracy. And if, in your collective wisdom, you opt for the latter, then you will have yourselves to blame for the consequence. The problem with you Niagarans is jealousy. I don’t claim to have a Pull Him Down, Ph.D degree like you. Neither do I have a Toronto certificate. I never even claimed to be an alumnus of the University of Chicago. I am an HND holder and, by God’s grace, the Big Boss of all professors and Ph.D holders in Okitiland. It’s not a matter of arrogance but just the reality of the situation. I make bold to claim that I have been to the top of Mt. Olivet and descended to the grassland of Ilaro where I entered the Poly to do research into the chemical contents of cassava and the dangers posed by cyanide to “sailors” (a.k.a garri drinkers) and other consumers of cassava-based foods. From there, I transferred myself to the Mechanical Engineering Department of the Oluyole Poly where I switched from paki (cassava) research to automobile engineering. My area of specialisation is how raw physical energy can propel a danfo bus into a racing landcraft for ferrying people from obscurity to stardom in government houses. I remember the day my head of department singled me out for praise for my seminar paper on “The Psychotic tantrums and socio-environmental idiosyncrasies of the alupandugbe drivers – a case study of danfo drivers in Oluyole and Oluyole-Less-City.” To have an insight into the inner workings of the minds of the drivers, I had to infiltrate their ranks by also doing shuttle service between Ijokodo and Sango. Unfortunately, this is what my political enemies misconstrued to mean that I, too, was a danfo driver. But come to think of it, if, indeed, I was, there is nothing to be ashamed of. In the United Kingdoms of America, Britain and London and, even, in the United States of Paris and France many Nigerians with masters and original Ph.Ds are… sorry, I don’t know how to put this in English —won nfa gburuu …

You mean they do odd jobs to survive?

Yes, you get it. Over there, there’s oddity in labour.

No. Your Excellency, you mean there’s dignity in labour.

Oh, that’s just a slip of the tongue.

I guess it was also a slip of the tongue when you glibly accused NewsTeller of demanding gratification from you. Is that not cheap blackmail?

No, that one was a slip of the mind. Actually, someone picked the intelligence in a danfo bus while travelling between Ilara Mokin and Owena in Ondo State. My friend in Afao-Ekiti told me the intelligence was coded but the security officers decoded it wrongly. So, my good friends, I never intended to cross swords with you and I know you, too, are a peace-loving people who will opt for the olive branch. We are partners in progress and I want to assure you that I’m a man of honour. Mr. Devil, himself, can attest to this. Before the last elections, I used to see him in my dreams as he lit a candle and carried it about in broad daylight, moving from one street to the other as if looking for something. One day, people moved close and asked him why he was in the habit of doing that. He said he was searching for men and women of honour in Niagara. To my greatest surprise, he just pointed in my direction. Ladies and gentlemen, here I am today. I may not have genuine credentials as you claim but, at least, I have the devil’s testimonial. And ever since then, I, too, have become a chartered evil genius. Yes.

*This Opilogue was first published in TELL 27th October, 2003

Like Father, Unlike Son

By Dele OMOTUNDE

“Everybody wants a share of the robber economy and the real bone of contention is the percentage of share from the oil and gas account”

Hi, Jagunlabi. Long time! No see!! Where have you been?

My friend, I have been away to participate in the last voting exercise.

Which one? Do you mean the wuruwuru thing of last April? So, how did it go in your state?

It wasn't funny at all. It was like April Fools' day. Do you remember my uncle, the politician?

Yes, Uncle Fijabi. I remember...

No, it's not that one. I mean Uncle Jegudujera, my paternal uncle who has been in the Upper House since the soja go, soja come “arrangee” democracy of the Salami days.
I seee! So, what happened?

On election day, Uncle Jegudujera came out very early in the morning to monitor the electoral activities in his constituency but all he saw were deserted streets and heavily armed soldiers at roadblocks. Everywhere he looked he was confronted with stern-looking soldiers. He just put two and two together and quickly rushed back home, donned his wife's attire and headed straight for the (Idi Iroko) border.

Why? Did his two and two give him 40?

I really don't know... That would be kabukabu mathematics. He didn't tell anybody. It was only after he came back from the closed border that he deemed it fit to let us know why he bought the proverbial pounded yam and did not wait to collect the mandatory soup. He said he thought the jackboots were out to collect their power back as they were wont to in the dark days of military siege to the commonwealth.

Can you imagine that?

Poor man! What's he afraid of?

My friend, I don't trust these I-chop-you-chop politicians, not even my uncle.

Why do you say that?

They all have one skeleton or the other in their underpants. If not, why did he race for the border on seeing soldiers on the roads?

Maybe he is allergic to green uniforms. But, by the way, let's leave the politicians underpants and come back to the polling booths. So, generally speaking, how did the election go?

It was abracadabra all the way.

Kai! Who says? Is it the retired general or the ever-bubbling professor?

None of the above.

So, who is your source of information?

You want me to tell you?

Yes, why not? Or are you a journalist who will not disclose his source of information even at the point of death?

Well, I'm not a journalist but a man who has a third eye and a satellite dish...

It’s a lie! Third eye... Satellite dish!! What's that supposed to mean?

An inner eye and a listening ear, of course.

Whose ear is not for listening and hearing?

Are you asking me? A lady's ear, of course!

Beg your pardon! You must be kidding. Bring it up... Come again!

A lady's ear, if you do not know, is meant for decoration.

There you go again! Bloody chauvinist!! So, what did you see and what did you hear with your so-called satellite dish?

My friend, I heard a lot and saw wen! For the first time in my life, I saw hoodlums parading the streets in four-wheel-drive vehicles, posing as electoral officers and, in some cases, as policemen. I saw ballot boxes snatched in the presence of policemen who chose to look the other way. I saw an under-age voter thumb-printing one thousand ballot papers in one minute!

Akika! Small, small...

True! Before God and man, I saw returning officers returning home with bundles of naira notes...

Jesus Christ!! Is that all?

Look at you... I heard one politician complain that one party was just being too greedy by not allowing his own party also to capture the cake, saying, afterall, the said party had been robbing the people for the past 18 years and it was time it allowed them also to do their own bunkering while the oil well runs.

Now you can see why those militants are itching for a piece of the cake, too. As a matter of fact, everybody wants a share of the robber economy and the real bone of contention is the percentage of share from the oil and gas account. What do you pay the explorers? What do you give the exploiters? What do you concede to the owners? What do you share among the remaining citizens? For as long as this problem remains unsolved, so shall we continue to have political unrest, electoral robbery, social inequality and a permanently drifting entity called Niagara.

You forgot to add that so also shall the politicians be sleeping with one eye closed because of the persistent threat from their opponents who reside in the barracks. And so shall Uncle Jegudujera and his friends continue to be keeping their ECOWAS passports and NAGBAKO maps under their pillows every night. They come in handy just in case...

It means we are still living in a fools' paradise. Just too bad.

Real super bad. But I think the Gentleman on the Rock is up to something. He can perform miracles with his the-less-you-look-the-more-you-see style of governance.

For where? We need an Iron Lady like Thatcher, the Milk Snatcher, or a Strong Man like Ghadaffi, the Desert Warrior, to scatter everything and make everybody sit on the edge of the knife.

Ah! You must be kidding!! What did the king of yesterday achieve with his crude bravado, impressionistic bravura and volcanic eruptions?

We are still counting.

The losses or the gains?

Na you sabi. My friend, give unto Baba what is Baba’s and give unto son what is son’s.

Thou sayest.

*First published in TELL July 9, 2007.

God, Give Us Men With Big Minds

By DELE OMOTUNDE

‘People who stand by your grave today to lay wreaths are the same people who will come tomorrow, dressed like masquerades, to dump cow dung on it’

Bola, have you heard the news?
What news is that, canon?
They said ara’le e (your compatriot) said the Gestapo chief said you were killed by fraud barons.
Ko je je bee (It cannot be true).
Siddon there and be saying ko je je bee. Even the Gestapo chief himself has confessed that a masquerade confessed that one man confessed that he overheard some human beings confessing that they planned to kill you.
Ko je je bee.
There you go again. At least, listen to me first.
No, I’m not ready to listen. What else have they not come up with? They have accused virtually everybody except themselves. One day, they will say I killed myself to cause confusion in the polity. I just pity the youths who are being nurtured for leadership… Here comes my wife. She is greeting you…
O happy day, canon.
Ah, aya Ige (Ige’s wife), sorry o. It’s not yet a happy day.
Why, canon? You seem not happy. What’s going on?
News from yonder shows that things have not improved at all. Instead of things getting better for mother witch, it’s more of female children she is producing. And birds start colliding with birds in the sky!
I don’t like that proverb. It sounds too chauvinistic for me. I think you ought to have deposited that complex at heaven’s gate.
I’m awfully sorry. I thought it’s how we did on earth that we also do in heaven.
Canon, what’s the latest? Have they killed another person?
You know, that’s no news again. Killings and assassinations are commonplace. The news is that they said the general said the Gestapo chief said that Bola was killed by a fraud baron.
Eewo! Are they seeing and hearing double? No right-thinking fellow would ever say anything like that. Haba! This is becoming too much.
Nothing is too much because that place is a place where anything goes.
You are right. By the way, what did they say killed me in my own case?
I think they are still looking for a clue.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they send a police PRO here to come and parade me before God and man as a woman who ran away from Niagara in order to come and stay with her husband in heaven.
Maybe they would say it is I, your husband, that killed you in your sleep.
Are they that daft? Sebi you died before me.
Atinuke, it’s you talking like this? Those people can manufacture anything, anyhow, anytime, to do you in. They are the real fraud barons. They thrive on falsehoods and half-truths. They depend on established liars, paid liars, lie contractors and professional affi-Davids to maintain the status quo. People who stand by your grave today to lay wreaths are the same people who will come tomorrow, dressed like masquerades, to dump cow dung on it. It is the same mouth they use to call ADEGUN that they will use to pronounce ADEOGUN! Their mouths roll and unroll like yo-yo. They are the ones who would invite the thief to come and burgle the treasury, yet they are the first to bring in the security agents!
Bola, what’s really happening? We have not heard any news about the Awoists, the old guardians. How about the Young Pioneers, the youth vanguards who championed the cause of liberation from the feudalists?
I will let Atinuke answer that question because she is more detached and dispassionate about the issue you have just raised.
From my own point of view, I think the Awo camp has been in disarray since the leader, himself, Baba Layinka, died in 1987. In fact, it is virtually empty now, so I was told by one of the latest arrivals. What you called the youth vanguards of Ajibola are no longer in reckoning. The Alliance of the Progressives, AP, which was actually his camp, has become moribund. The exfoliation of the party started with the planting of fifth columnists within the rank and file. Sooner than expected, the bubble burst. Some went the way of Armoured Personnel Congress, APC. Some went the way of Arrangee Congress Party, ACP, some the way of Disorderly Party of Dissidents, DPD, while some remain with what remains of the exfoliated party. That’s the position as at the last briefing by one of the latest victims of political assassinations that arrived a few weeks ago.
Their strategy is obvious. When you want to deal decisively with the iroko tree, you don’t go for the branches. You aim at the taproot, the source of life. The taproot of what remained of Awoism had been removed. The jackals were let loose on the battlefield and they have carted away the spoils of war. And many a loyalist, nay Awoist, has joined the gravy train! Everything na jagajaga...
Ehnn … Ehnnnn …?!
Everything na scatter-scatter
Ehnnn …?! Too bad. Let’s pray.
“Everlasting God, please stop the tragedy of small minds in big positions. Give us men with big minds / Give us men who constantly think creatively / Who think first of service to their fellowmen/And less of what they will reap / Immortal Father – urgently / Give us a new breed of men and leaders / Who will transform (Niagara) / To paradise on earth / Amen! Amen!! Amen!!!” *
Canon, this is strange. You are the one saying amen, amen, amen. How about us?
Does it matter any longer to you?
Yes, it does. We still have children and grandchildren and sympathisers there. They need all the prayers from here. Moreover, we are not only to recount what has been but to share in moulding what should be.
O ri yen so. You got that one right. May the spirit of the Lord be unto you and your loved ones.
Amen! Amen!! Amen!!!
*The canon’s prayer is a direct quotation from Prayer for Nigeria, a poem written by late S.M. Afolabi, former minister of internal affairs, in 1975, seen by the writer on the wall of the University of Ibadan’s PRO’s office in 1982.

*First published in TELL June 18, 2007