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APC-effect: Oh NLC! Oh Ajaero! Now the dog has lost its teeth!
Anyone that has pity, should direct it to the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC). They need right now, more than they need the public microphones and loudspeakers – the tools of their trade, which have followed them over the years like a second clothing – their visible accoutrements in the past when men were men and did not live in mortal fear. How are the mighty fallen!
Specifically, please donate your pity to Joe Ajaero, the President of the union for the junior elements in the Nigerian workforce. Have you seen him lately? Didn’t you see what he has been reduced to? The once boisterous Joe, who was the terror itself to the Ministers of Power, who handled the privatisation of the electricity sector under former President Goodluck Jonathan, now seems a shadow of himself.
I should know who Joe was, because, more than many Nigerians, I was right there in the locus in quo, when the transformation in the sector was going on and had more than a passing knowledge of who Joe was to the big ogas at the apex of the top echelon of that building at the Federal Secretariat in the Central Business District (CBD), in the heart of Abuja, the Federal Capital Territory (FCT).
Joe was a name that was mentioned in whispers lest it struck the wrong chord and the walls echoed the sound into the wrong ears. That was when he was the General Secretary of the National Union of Electricity Employees (NUEE), a position from which he moved into his present office in 2023, after first failing to clinch it at first in March, 2015, when he lost out to Ayuba Wabba, his predecessor.
Today, all that is gone! Gone are the energy, the vibrancy, the audaciousness – the strong, bold and authoritative roars, now replaced with nothing more than the faint, almost inaudible and insipid sound – no more than the whimpering of a death-threatened lion facing the last days of an agonising fate.
What has led to this sudden transition? Well, I’ll tell you – right away. It is the APC-effect. You’ll ask further, what is this one? And I’ll answer – APC-effect is a disorder that the sufferer gets by simply breathing-in a special preparation the All Progressives Congress, the party that came into power in Nigeria in 2015 released into the firmament, which creates immediate mental numbness and inability to articulate or project critical thinking.
You may have heard of Stockholm Syndrome – that coping mechanism to a captive or abusive situation – that makes a victim develop positive feelings toward their captors or abusers over time! More like it. But this variant – the APC-effect is even deeper and more complex. It was developed by the masters in the game – crafts-men adept in the use of all the local ingredients and tools replete in Nigeria to achieve their purpose.
Let me illustrate. There is this local story about oturupopo – the woodpecker – the bird that uses its beak to design and even cut down trees. It once boasted that the day its mother would die, all the trees in the forest would be brought down to celebrate her. Now, on the fateful day, when the mother died, fate played a big one, as the woodpecker developed a huge boil on its beak, rendering its tool and capacity useless.
I explain! Every keen observer in the country and beyond, knows that God, the all-knowing creator, handed a special gift to every segment of Nigeria. The Igbo man has a special gift for business and transforming his environment. Failure stares you in the face if you try to engage or compete with the Igbo in any sort of business – from selling biscuits to importing heavy-duty equipment. You can only try.
Your land remains fallow and underdeveloped because the Igbo man has not discovered it. Once he comes around that mundane, banal and unused environment is electrified and enlivened. Mud houses soon transform to storey-buildings and items, hitherto termed useless, become valuable and sources of income. See, in Lagos alone, how Alaba International Market, Trade-Fair Complex, Ago Palace Way, places, which only yesterday, were completely uninhabitable lands, some of them complete swamps have become thriving entities.
On the other hand, a large percentage of Nigerians will go hungry and many yet battle with protein deficiencies the day agricultural items from the North cease coming into the South. From cows to rams, chickens to fish, grains of all kinds, potatoes to yams, onions to peppers – rice, yams, groundnuts, apples, mangoes and oranges many Nigerians look up to that part of the country for sustenance.
The Yoruba are the voice of Nigeria. Outside having their fair share in other areas of the economy, the Yoruba views on any issue, in the main, more or less influence national views if not represent them. What they lack in the features the other two represent in Nigeria, the rest lack in shaping public opinion or setting national agenda. Their inputs in this regard are either complementary or playing catch-up.
That the media are today dominated by the Yoruba, takes root from this tendency. The bulk of social crusading and civil society activism are embedded and expressed through the voices of prominent Yoruba, past and present. Right from the heydays of Nigeria’s political build-up outside the historic activities of the founding fathers, the names of Fumilayo Raansome Kuti, Wole Soyinka, Tai Solarin and Gani Faweihinmi, ring louder than many of their contemporaries.
The likes of Segun Okeowo, who led the famous Ali Must Go protest, Fela Anikulapo Kuti, who through his music became the conscience of the nation, Alao Aka-Bashorun, of the Nigeria Bar Association (NBA), era who fought the military fearlessly, alongside Patricia Kuye, the female activist and lawyer who came after, Femi Falana, Beko Ransome-Kuti among others, had led the pack.
Even Bola Ahmed Tinubu, today’s President of Nigeria alongside other leaders of the National Democratic Coalition (NADECO) like Adekunle Ajasin, Abraham Adesanya, Ayo Adebanjo, Ayo Opadokun, Alani Akirinade and the rest who practically confronted the Ibrahim Babangida-Sani Abacha juntas, had played individual and collective roles in this regard.
There-in lies the koko, as we say here. Remember the case of Ali Bongo – yes – the Gabonese President? I’m sure that picture of him sitting helplessly in his palatial building is now replaying in your head. Quite pitiable, if you ask me. He had pled with his countrymen to – go and make noise? Did anyone listen to him? No! His pleas – very passionate – came to naught, because, those that were supposed to “make noise,” were his captors.
Same with Brother Ajaero! Those to make his noise are his captors – the APC! That’s the boil on the beak of the oturupopo. Yesterday, he would have simply run to Bourdillon and the din from the emitting noise therefrom, would have deafened even the whales in the Atlantic Ocean. But pitiably, Bourdillon has moved to Aso Rock. Would a kingdom battle against itself? Never! Didn’t the bible say so?
Yes! Bourdillon became Aso Rock since 2015 when the APC moved in. And in there are many rooms with large beds where insider has found luxury. Who would blame them for settling down, relaxing and sleeping comfortably? Ayuba Wabba, never pretended. As an insider himself, he knew any attempt to hero-act would be futile. He simply found his own room, went to bed and slept for eight years.
Now, see where Ajaero’s heroic attempt landed him. The other day, he was pumelled to a pulp in Owerri, despite being nwa-afor – son of the soil. The baptism of fire was delivered by the APC iron hand. And nobody said piim! I’m sure he might still be undergoing some Ogwuma and Aboniki therapy till date. Even the privilege of travelling out to enjoy the cool breeze of Oyibo land, where his predecessors went to unwind occasionally, has also been denied. There APC machinery is making sure of that.
Just imagine the Nigerian firmament of today, had Bourdillon maintained its original address! Just picture! If your memory is no longer that sharp – I know you have a lot befuddling your head right now – Google will help you. Just type in Ojota Protest and refresh your memory. Don’t bother about the faces you see there. Don’t ask where they are. They are still here with us – alive, well and kicking.
They have each found their own beds in the Aso Rock mansion. Many of them have discovered the hidden nectars of life and cannot savour its sweetness enough. Some have even found new interests – like hunting games in the bush, while others, having lost out in filling Room Number 16, have now concentrated in their business of winning souls – if you say misleading souls, na you sabi. Some, yes, you still see them on television – their voices still strident and their passions, virulent yet, but their fancies are now different.
So, to whom does Ajaero turn? Is it to his brothers in the East, who are busy on phone negotiating for the next container of goods, which he knows he would sell – because whether the soap lathers or not, ladies must have their bath – or to his fatalistic friends in the North, who have been told where power derives and what happens to anyone challenging authority?
Does he look beyond the shores to his friends abroad? No dice! They will not help, because they are the beneficiaries. My people say when the streets are empty of hoodlums, it means hunger for the harlots, because the loots they get from their victims end up the brothels. The ugliness here is the reason for his friends in Europe and America to enjoy the best things of life.
For all you care, pity the antelope in the vice grip of the lion, grit your teeth at its pains as the lion’s claws dig into its flesh, but remember the death of that lion is nigh if it shows mercy and allows it listens to you and allows its victim to go. Who will fill the vaults of their banks to enable them lend at almost zero per cent that would recreate the Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerbergs or Elon Musks? Who will come with sacks full of raw cash to buy a whole street in London or Atlanta? Who would wash his hands with champagne in the pub with glittering lights and naked women?
So, you see why you must pity Brother Joe and his NLC? The situation that created Ojota, has multiplied a thousand times over. Like joke, fuel moved from N68 to N142. Then, we the victims were told its over. It is now fully deregulated. We adjusted. Then they returned and we wondered why. Didn’t you tell us you no longer have a hand? We were greeted with silence as it moved to N189. We resigned to hope and prayer. After all, the wise one is coming.
With the brain of Socrates, Aristotle and even Einstein put together the Bourdillon of our time would change everything with Renewed Hope, they had boasted. After all, wasn’t Bourdillon the creator of Lagos – a fallow wasteland infested with wild animals and dangerous reptiles – now transformed to a mega city that makes Luxembourg ugly.
But Bourdillon came! Now, the money the poor man was saving to buy fan, cannot even buy the blade. Just like Fela Anikulapo Kuti predicted in his song, his hope of enjoying cool breeze has evaporated. Enjoyment can never come his way. From N187, fuel moved to N550, then N580, N600, N617, N870 and now N1,300!
Now, Ajaero, seems wiser. He seems to have understood how hot water kills the tortoise! His now feeble voice of protest, seems to betray that much. I’m sure his people must have spoken to him in that tone that reflects the obvious – nwokem baa n’uno. Go inside and rest. But does he need to be told? Nobody in Nigeria today needs be told that the situation is worse than the dreaded period of Sani Abacha, reputed to be the most despotic in the history of Nigeria.
Worse still, unlike Festus Usifo, his counterpart in the Trade Union Congress (TUC), who apart from being a somewhat collaborator – I heard him the other day defending why fuel must cost so much – is not only an insider, but qualifies for a room in the Aso Rock mansion, Ajaero does not enjoy the same status.
Reason? He is an Igbo man. APC has a special place for Ndigbo. No Igbo man has a room in Aso Rock mansion. None has equal status in APC as the other ethnic groups in Nigeria. Never mind those prancing about – whether governors, lawmakers or party faithful – they merely pretending. They all know they’re simply enjoying senior jokes and when the chips are down, would be shown where they belong.
That of course would be outside the mansion, somewhere in the scotching son, where they will be cleaning their brows with their hands as they sweat it out under the inclement weather. That is what he must also contend with. It will even be a miracle if he survives the NLC job. For that is also a privilege. So, for my Brother Joe, you have my pity! Let others donate theirs too!
My name is Sunny Igboanugo, I’m The Tiny Voice!
The story was told of a certain Nigerian billionaire and world figure. This man was a father of many children. He neither hid his escapades, nor was he ashamed of the different versions of them either whispered in private or in public domain.
To underscore how this man was into women and how he employed his immense wealth to sponsor his randy lifestyle, it was said that if he saw a beautiful woman driving a car, he would ask his driver to hit the car from behind, enough to create a dent. Naturally, the woman would stop and step down, of course fuming at the obvious recklessness.
That, of course was all the randy billionaire needed – a chance to meet the woman. After a lengthy heart-felt apology, he would ask for the woman’s address. The next day, a newly-minted version of that same car of the latest grade or even a bigger version would be delivered at the said woman’s address. The rest would be history.
Hear another version. But remember it is rumour. This same man, eventually had a problem with a bigger authority in the land and was incarcerated for a completely different reason. It had nothing to do with his lascivious lifestyle. But he found himself in detention. Of course, a man of his status would not be detained in a cell with some red-eyed, broken-teeth, swollen-faced criminals. He enjoyed the privilege of a whole house, with all the luxuries thereof, except he was prevented from seeing the sky as often as he wished.
Because of the circumstances of his case, many people visited the authorities responsible for his detention to demand for his arrest. One of the big men who did so was a prominent traditional ruler from the man’s area. He was said to have mounted so much pressure that the man he was coercing was forced to act. And what did he do? He called for a certain video tape from his aides.
When the tape arrived, the big man slotted it into the player and before the eyes of the monarch, were two images. The naked picture of his precious wife, the youngest and most beautiful among his harem. The king was said to be speechless with what he saw as the obviously starved prisoner was dealing mercilessly with the woman. Of course, the monarch could not have objected to the wife’s request to visit the man in detention, given his relationship with the family.
What is the essence of this story? Well, this billionaire business magnate and celebrated philanthropist later went into politics. In fact, it was actually in this politics that he met his trouble. But that is not the issue here. The story was that the man who had carried his escapades outside the shores of the land was confronted in the United States as a result.
Obviously, one Oyibo lady had gotten wind of his political intentions and went to work. You know the way it is over there. Of course, you heard how the hundreds of thousands of dollars Donald Trump paid one Olosho over there to keep quiet after the had a tumble between the sheets. eventually got him into trouble. So, this lady thought Africa was Oyibo land where what she had was raw cash.
It was either that she had approached the man with the information to squeeze his balls and get him slice out with some hefty amount to keep her mouth shut, or out of plain anger from obvious heartbreak of the past. The story did not cover that aspect. But it was said that the lady bided her time to strike at the appropriate opportunity.
Soon, the occasion came. The big man was holding court at a public function, when the said lady, breaking all protocols approached where he was seated with other important dignitaries and dumped a little boy she came with into his laps and shouting at the top of her voice, told the crowd that this was the son she had for the man, a product of illicit affairs. You know, hell hath no fury than a woman scorned, Shakespear, once said.
But instead of the embarrassment an average Oyibo politician would fall into at such a situation, knowing it could signal the end of his political career, the big man, was said to have grabbed the child with so much happiness after giving him the special scrutiny – they said he had a way of identifying his children by just looking at one organ – shook him and continued to hold him tightly to his chest.
Then came the bombshell. He announced the special benefit for the child as was wont of all his children, while declaring to the audience that his purpose at the gathering had been achieved if for no other reason, being offered the custody of another of his children – for children are a blessing in Africa. The Oyibo lady, totally nonplused, was said to have broken into uncontrollable tears – purpose defeated.
Quite a lengthy story? Yes! But there is a purpose. Just imagine that it was in the United Kingdom or the US that a whole female Senator or Member of Parliament, came on television to reveal that the Speaker of the Congress or Prime Minister or whatever is the equivalent of a Senate President in Nigeria did as much as “undressed her with his eyes,” not to talk about actually uttering a word suggesting any sexual desire to her person. Just imagine the scenario!
Yes! There, a woman could accuse you of undressing her with your eyes or imagining her nakedness by just the way you stared at her and the result could lead to dire consequences, depending on your ability to spring yourself out of the conundrum. But just imagine the story of Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan is telling about Godswill Akpabio, Nigeria’s Senate President.
You don’t need to look far. Andrew Cuomo, Governor of New York is an example. His case happened in 2021. All he did was hugging women. The women claimed he hugged them without their consent. There was no proof that he harboured any impure intentions. But that was enough.
Now, since the obviously frosty relationship between the two boiled over with the confrontation on February 20 as captured in the video which had since gone viral, not a few Nigerians have wondered if there was nothing beyond just legislative matters between the two, who were elected Senators to represent their constituencies. Natasha has now answered that question in the affirmative.
Here is her story. Just in part: “Many people do not know what I’m about to say, but I’m going to speak my own truth and the Senate President is allowed to counter that. It all started on 8 of December, 2023, a day to his birthday and my birthday – we’re birthday mate. We were all in Akwa Ibom, because he had a big fanfare in the stadium. Myself, my husband and a few of his close friends, we went to Akwa Ibom.
“At first we’re in Ikot Ekpene, then we all moved to his house in Uyo, which was at about 8pm. He held my hand and said he wanted to show me his house. My husband was walking behind us – just the three of us – we were walking around from room to room. He showed me the beautiful interior – this was done by this, by that – this design here he bought this from – it was beautiful.
“Then I noticed he hastened his pace, while still holding my hand. My husband was behind, still on his phone, but he was catching up whatever he could. Then he got to this particular sitting room, then he said, do you like my house? I said, of course sir, every room is beautiful, nice interior, quality taste. He said, now that you’re a Senator, I’m going to create time for us to come spend quality moments here. You’ll enjoy it.
“At that point I just pulled away. I was like, I didn’t understand what that meant. But when I turned around, the way my husband looked at me, and looked at him, I was beginning to wonder, did he hear part of that exciting statement or not? And the Senate President too, I saw that he also had that face that did my husband hear the invitation to treat or not.
“Then, the Senate President now said, let me show you my chapel. He had a chapel in his house as well. So, when we were going to the chapel, we walked in silence and all. So that evening, before we left the Senate President’s house at about 11 – midnight to the four-point in Ikot Ekpene and my husband asked me Natasha, what did the Senate President whisper to you, what was he telling you.
“I thought, should I tell him that he was talking about bringing me here at a special time for us to have a good time or should I just kill it there or wrap it as if nothing happened, because tomorrow was a big day and I know how much my husband adores the Senate President. He loves him as a brother. My husband would do anything to support him.
“I told my husband. nothing. I don’t even remember what I created. But I just gave him some words to just mask what was said. When we laid in bed – I laid to my right and my husband wrapped his hand around me and he said, my love, I know you could tell me anything, what did the Senate President tell you? Again, I was like don’t you believe me? I said, nothing, nothing. Moreover it’s my birthday in a few minutes, let’s just be happy.
“Then, my husband told me, he doesn’t want to see me travel out of the country alone and I should not go to the Senate President’s house, because he had a guesthouse and many Senators do go there after office to get approvals and all that. So, I told okay, no problems. That was it. I thought that was going to be the end.
The female Senator also narrated how the Senate President sat on her bill over what she claimed was the massive heist going on in Ajaokuta Steel Development Company, located in her Kogi constituency, refusing to allow it see the light of the day despite her efforts on five different occasions of presenting it.
She said: “I listed that motion five times. It was the sixth time that it was listed on the order paper that was approved. Many Senators could attest to that. Each time the motion is listed, just before he takes it, he’ll say, oh, Senator Natasha, we can’t take this motion, because the mood of the Senate cannot accommodate it or he will speak on others and let it drag so that before the motion is taken, time would be well spent.
“So, he kept on doing that. I went to him in his office and I said, Senate President, you know how important this Ajaokuta Steel Company to me is. You know how important it is to my people and to Nigerians. I have noticed that you have stepped down this bill.
“As a matter of fact, a number of Senators told me, go and see him and plead with him so that he would take it. I was like, Sir, why can’t you take this motion, it’s very important? He then said, Natasha, I’m the chief presiding officer of the Senate. You can enjoy a whole lot if you take care of me and make me happy.
“At that time, I said, Sir, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear this. He said, well, the ball is in your court. I left his office and when I got home, I told my husband. I didn’t tell my husband what happened, I just told my husband, please, can you speak to the Senate President to allow my motion scale through?
“I think I also spoke to the DSP (Deputy Senate President) to the leader and a number of Senators that they should please intervene to allow me do that. I never told them what happened. My husband had to take a trip to London. Then, the Senate President travelled to London. My husband met with the Senate President in London and pleaded with him. Help my wife, take this motion on Ajaokuta, it is very important to her.
“He said it’s okay, that he did not take it because he was protecting me. Protecting me from what? Anyway, by the time my motion was finally taken, it was my Deputy Senate President, Barau that actually sat. The Senate President stood and walked out. So, it was Barau that actually took it.”
By Sunny Igboanugo
Let me start this story with a digression. All the same it’ll be relevant and tied to the main import of the subject matter. It happened some decades back. Then yours truly was the Correspondent of The Guardian in Enugu. But I was quite influential – as influential as journalists in those days were – a small man in a powerful garb. Working with The Flagship of Nigerian journalism made you even more so – an important man. Its identity opened steel doors and elevated you to sit at table with the high and mighty, who not only respect you, but fear you too.
But much as I operated at that top level, again to emphasise, not by my power, but on the wings of that powerful medium, I didn’t entertain myself with the seducing thought that I had arrived at the port of destination for the Nigerian big man. I still recognised where I truly belonged. That place was with the people
So, I could safely say I was at the centre of activities, not only in that state, but even much of the South East in general given the strategic place of Enugu. In fact, my office at Number 23 Edinburgh Road, was the accurate example of what the late Igwe Osita Agwuna depicted to be the picture of palace of a true king. Such a palace, he said should never be surrounded with a wall, to enable both humans and spirits have free ingress in and egress out.
I remember the likes of Asisi Asobie, the President of Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU), who used it as their war room to plot their battles with Umoru Gomwalk, then Sole Administrator of the University of Nigeria Nsukka (UNN) – one of the many outlandish features of the Sani Abacha junta, arguably, Nigeria’s most despotic and brutal military leader.
Politicians, visiting and resident, professionals, visiting and resident – all manner of people strolled in, individually either to meet and greet or engage in other businesses. Labour leaders, students and their leaders, injured citizenry – everyone came to meet and greet, lay their complaints, submit their petitions or engage in other businesses.
That is how I came across the story I’m about to narrate now. Sometime within this period, Enugu was awash with some of the most bizarre tales, ever conceived and contemplated by human mind. It was a period of mindless police brutality. It came in different forms, shapes and sizes. Many of them came to my table as victims sought solutions.
In one instance, one of my cousins came to my office one afternoon, highly agitated. What was the problem? A squad of policemen swooped on their compound the previous night and picked up two of his elder brothers, he narrated, tears welling up. What did they do? Nothing! Police just sighted them sitting idly in front of their house and dragged them into their vehicle and sped off.
Immediately, I ascertained where they were being detained, I set off. At the Abakpa police station, the DPO, put up the usual deadpan no-nonsense expression – their entry point for business. His story was that my cousins were raided at a “dark spot,” where they were smoking Igbo. For evidence, he called on one of his men to bring the “exhibit.” Soon an empty can of shoe polish was produced. Opening it, the DPO displayed stubs of wrapped, half-finished hemps.
Of course, I wasn’t a novice. I understood the picture clearly and what he was driving at. But I was also prepared. I betrayed no emotions. In my mind I was already calculating the number of times the same exhibit would have been on display in so many other cases. So, my next line was to ask what would be the next step.
Can I take them on bail? That was my next move as I decided to play along. I knew what to expect toeing this line, having been a customer in terms of how many times I intervened in other similar cases. I could see the self-induced anger. I wasn’t showing the right attitude expected of one whose wards were criminals. After all he had shown me the evidence in the stubs of Indian hemps, which was supposed to convince me to that effect. I was too relaxed and confident instead of being scared, diffident and panicky.
I watched him flare up and go into self-induced rage. As he vibrated on top of his voice, almost accusing me of being their patron in crime, I just stood up and walked out of his office. The unschooled would have started begging. That pretended anger was supposed not only to cow, but to deflate me and set me on for the next thing – negotiation.
I simply went upstairs to see the Area Commander who was a friend of the media and particularly my personal buddy. After giving me the usual chummy welcome, he simply burst into hearty laughter halfway into my narration of the encounter downstairs. You no tell am who you be? I knew and my friend knew that I understood everything. There had been so many debates and encounters between us about the subject matter for him not to understand where I was coming from.
He simply put a call to the supposed angry DPO and invited him to the party? I could see the shock in his eyes as he walked into the office to witness the hearty, convivial atmosphere between the man he had just walked out of his office and his boss. You no know Sunny from the powerful Guardian? Sunny is our friend o. Na him dey help us fight crime now!
That did it. I not only left that office with my cousins, the supposed criminals much later, I left as a friend of the same man, who had almost called me a patron of criminals just some hours earlier. There was no need for us to push the subject. All of us knew that no crime was committed. I agreed with my new friend that profiling was part of crime-fighting – his drift and excuse for his previous action. I also agreed on the enormity of crime and the need to employ peculiar solutions in peculiar circumstances to fight crimes. I just had to agree – just for peace to reign.
Each of us knew the true story. He knew I didn’t believe him. It would have been a different story if I wasn’t from the powerful Guardian, with a friend upstairs. With someone else, that allegation could have stood and those “exhibits” in the shoe polish can would have counted. In fact, it could have graduated from smoking Igbo to armed robbery or any other imaginable crimes, for which those my cousins could have added to the list of Awaiting Trial Mates in some prison somewhere if they failed to do the needful.
Those exhibits stood in so many other numerous cases as proofs against several victims that were so unlucky at that time. The case I just narrated, is one of the countless other cases that came in different shapes and forms at that time. Imagine a case in which policemen would hire a commercial bus, arrive at a bus-stop and pick passenger, only to discharge them at police stations as criminals.
Those who could not afford the prescribed amount – N500, N1,000 or N5,000, depending on the going price for the day imposed as bail fees, simply became true criminals and were detained permanently. Nobody even had the heart for pity to free anyone – you’re just a commodity – too bad if you had no money – your fault, not theirs.
I won’t be surprised if many of them are still in prison till date, victims of trumped-up charges. It was when I was so inundated with multiple complaints in this regard that I upped the ante. One day I decided to see the police commissioner. Unlike the Area Commander, the CP was not truly a friend, but unlike the DPO, he was also not uncouth or unfriendly either.
In the paper I filled, I had deliberately tagged my purpose for the visit: Police Brutality in Enugu. It was after a long back and forth, questions and answers, arguments and counters, that the police boss, told me what I’m about to share with you now, my compatriots, which I believe is quite germane in what we are contending with as a country today, at this moment – evidence!
Here is what he said. Hope you have the heart to contain it. Laugh or cry, if you would! “If you truly want to be a patriotic citizen, there is only one way to help the police,” he said. I waited. Then the bombshell. “If you see any policeman bullying anybody taking bribe or engaging in any fraud, drag him to me and see if I won’t punish him.”
I simply stood up, looked hard into his face and walked out. Of course, I took in the smirk in his face and the smile playing at the corners of his lips. They spoke more than words. They were signs of triumphant expression. He believed that he had won the argument and defeated me, his opponent. Now imagine me, an ordinary, bloody civilian dragging a policeman with a gun, probably high on something, by his trousers to his boss to prove that was taking bribe. Tell me the difference between that and jumping from the last floor of Dubai’s Burj Khalifa.
This is the case of Dele Farotimi today. The mantra in certain quarters since the palaver with the fiery activist erupted on December 3, when he was spirited away from his office in Lekki part of Lagos, is that he must prove his case that the Nigerian judiciary as an institution is rotten. Many of those elevating this mantra to a deafening din, know that the institution is as rotten as the bloated stomach of a dead dog. Yet, they sing along.
They pretend they didn’t hear Ahmed Bulkachuwa – that Senator who regaled the whole world through the Senate chambers during the 2023 valedictory session about how he “encroached on the freedom and independence” of his wife. They pretend they did not understand that the man was simply relating his hand in making his wife, a judge, who later rose to preside over the Court of Appeal to bend backwards to skew justice, just to “help” his colleagues.
They probably did not hear Rochas Okorocha, another Senator, who also pled with Godswill Akpabio and Ahmed Lawn at the same forum to teach him the magic that made them return to the Red Chambers. They’re probably struck with Mongolian Idiocy Syndrome, not to know what the ex-Imo governor and their colleague was driving at was pointing to the manifest corruption in the judiciary – the same crime for which Farotimi now his neck on the guillotine.
Recall that Akpabio, now Senate President and Lawan, each contested against President Bola Tinubu in the All Progressives Congress (APC) from the National Assembly and against the backdrop of a clear law barring them from contesting any other election within the same election period, returned to contest for the same chambers. Has anyone explained that magic Okorocha, Senator from Imo State sought yet?
Less than 24 hours after the Supreme Court verdict on the 2023 presidential election, Justice Musa Dattijo Muhammed, only next in command to then Chief Justice of Nigeria (CJN), Ayo Ariwoola, captured almost the same thing Dele did, only that he did not mean it when he said that the judiciary leadership stank, but was only saying that it didn’t smell roses. So, they are in search of evidence.
Just like that police boss that demanded of me to drag corrupt policemen to him before he could take the required action to save the citizens of Enugu from their nightmare, Farotimi’s adversaries, many of them the lawyers through whom the massive corruption in the judiciary has been caried out are also searching for the same thing – Proof! They, like the Enugu police boss know what they seek is almost impossible.
They know the only way Farotimi could prove the rot is to perhaps round up the culprits at the crime scene. In other words, they want him to drag the corrupt, bribe-taking policemen to that police boss. How would he do that? You could always also recognise the same triumphant smirk, mimicking that police boss as I left his office in utter disgust as they demand of the same EVIDENCE, today. Just like that day!
Well, by their standard and prediction, Dele’s day with the jailor is assured. But by the time Dele walks into the jail house, chained arms and legs, because he had no evidence, the mantra of these antagonists would have been complete. So, their joy. But to many others, the clanging sound of the chains would also be a reminder that Nelson Mandela and many other global greats, also walked this path, heads unbowed.
Interestingly, many of those who cheered and jeered to the melody from the chains, as he took that walk to Roben Island, in South Africa, also lined up to witness a different melody as the same man waltzed through the same path, 21 years after, this time, without the chains – the melody of thunderous ovations and the clatter of excitedly eager tongues. Though some of them were denied the chance of witnessing it, their children represented them. Only this time, they watched with heads, bowed!
So, it might be with Dele Farotimi. Those who cheer and jeer today in triumphalism, should not be quick to forget that even in Nigeria, there are a surfeit of examples to authenticate that inscription on the body of that lorry labouring through the ditches on Lagos-Benin expressway – No Condition is Permanent. So might it be with Dele. The irony of life!
My name is Sunny Igboanugo and I’m The Tiny Voice!
Sowore is putting every spin to turn the table against Peter Obi using the Farotimi case. He wants to exploit it to gain cheap political popularity.
In his little mind, he believes Obi is his albatross and once he’s out of the way he’ll be the natural replacement and most probably inherit the massive support of the Obidents.
Such asinine childishness. So, he’s worked very hard at it, introducing all manner of innuendos and direct attacks in his attempt to skew the minds of the people.
Imagine his suggestion that the reason the Ekiti Court delayed granting bail to Farotimi is because Obi visited Afe Babalola “to beg.” Of course, he failed to provide the “HOW” of such a spurious position.
Like Reno Omokri, his half-self, he believes his audience should either take his word for it or figure the rest out for themselves. But the bottomline, is that Obi must go as a sellout to be replaced by Sowore the Rock of Gibraltar. He wants to take over.
Like many of his ilk, he fails to understand that Obi is what he is because of a single element – sincerity. The people who believe in and follow him know that he doesn’t lie or attempt to deceive them.
Unlike Sowore and Reno his half-self whose every public move is laced with subterfuge, half-truth, outright lies and deceit, Obi’s followers can predict that his intentions are pure and genuine even if they don’t agree with the method.
Of course, being human, there’s no way he’ll get it right in all cases and all the time. So, that margin of error must be allowed, not as a way of betrayal but a natural human failing.
Take the case in question. Farotimi was so supportive and inebriated in the Obi project that he became one of his campaign spokesmen.
Till his current ordeal, he still professed his belief in the Obi idea of a New Nigeria. He has given countless reasons for this choice including why he dumped the same Sowore and embrace the Obi project.
On the other hand, Afe Babalola is also believed to be his (Obi’s) supporter as well, though apparently not as virulently as Farotimi, which invariably qualifies him as an ally in the New Nigeria project.
So, in Sowore’s infantile mind, it’ll be wrong for Obi to troubleshoot in a situation in which two of his allies in the same project are in dispute regardless what’s in issue?
In other words, not plunging into blind support for one party over the other is the harakiri Obi has committed – that Obi should have either drawn his bayonet and driven it though the heart of the legal luminary to show his solidarity or taken newspaper adverts to castigate him?
So, today, if Farotimi also takes on Ayo Adebanjo, the Leader of Afenifere, who staked everything including his high position of Yoruba leadership to support an Igbo man, perhaps over a church dispute between them, Obi should abandon every other option and join in the roforofo fight?
To prove what, please? On the other hand if Farotimi institutes a legal case against Obasanjo another of Obi’s allies, over personal wrongdoing as President, Obi should just key-in or else risk a fatal fate?
Even Farotimi will be a huge disappointment to think in that direction. From the look of things, Sowore is projecting that the first thing Farotimi would do on regaining freedom is to call a press conference to tear Obi apart as a traitor and announce the withdrawal of his support.
Well, we shall watch him do that and see where it leads. Let’s see how many Nigerians will join him if he says that Obi is no longer his model for taking Nigeria out of the woods and that it’s Sowore henceforth.
Of course, the Farotimi Nigerians know is a wise man who knows the difference between white and black and who is fake between Obi and Sowore.
He knows why Ijebu garri is so sought after unlike the other makes. If he changes his mind because of the propaganda by people like Sowore, it means he’s simply not what many think of him.
To begin with, where is the Mother of all Protests Sowore promised? Has he mobilised it yet? December 10 is come and gone without as much as a whimper anywhere in Nigeria, not to talk about the US and UK where the world is supposed to see rising dusts from human feet.
That’s how to determine fakery from the real, how to separate the grain from the chaff. That’s how to also know who’s serious and who’s a noisemaker.
Obi never hid where he stood on the matter. He was among the first to lash out against the authorities on the method of Farotimi’s arrest and demand his release. That should serve.
As for Sowore, the joke is on him. He would have to prove that he’s not even a mole camouflaging as activist as many suspect. Nigerians are not all fools yet.
Certainly, they know their docility has not gotten to the level they’ll be led by the nose and start looking in the direction of a Sowore as a replacement for Peter Obi. Their mumu will get to a head the day they start considering that.
Dele Farotimi himself knows the difference between a lizard and crocodile, butterfly and bird. Not a million Sowores are likely to change that.
Of course, nothing suggests that Sowore is not intelligent enough to realise that the only workable way to the kind of society he claims to be crusading for is to team up with Peter Obi, who has proven even to his worst enemies that he’s not only a man of premium character but equipped with the right tools to fix Nigeria.
So, not doing so, shows he’s either a willing tool in the hands of the people he daily accuses or is himself afflicted with the same disease of selfishness and greed, and to mimic them when he sees the opportunity, which is bad enough.
My name is Sunny Igboanugo and I’m The Tiny Voice!
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