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What proof does Dele Farotimi need?

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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Between Abacha’s five parties and Tinubu’s governors

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By Sunny Igboanugo

The more things change, the more they remain the same, is the English translation of plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose, the 1849, epic lines of French writer Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr.

It is exactly 176 years today. Yet, those lines have remained eternal – a demonstrable example of the fixated nature of human mind and the culture of returning to the convenience of old practices rather than learning new things – the bane of most societies.

In 1998, Sani Abacha, the late military General who till date still hugs the history of being Nigeria’s most despotic leader, was on his way to transmuting into a civilian President. Remember the deafening din then from the political class and how everything was wrapped up towards achieving that end.

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Faced with international pressure and domestic discontent, Abacha who obviously wanted to be Nigeria’s example of what Yoweri Museveni represents today in Uganda, appeared determined to show the world the democratic side of his iron-cast mien.

So, he went to work. The “democrat” he was, he went about returning Nigeria to his version of democratic rule his own way. Having effectively destroyed the platform on which Moshood Kashimawo Olawale (MKO), Abiola was demanding his mandate, it was naturally apposite for him to move to the next stage of conquering Nigeria permanently.

His consigliere must have advised him on how to go about the project. So, in, came the United Nigeria Congress Party (UNCP), Congress for National Consensus (CNC), Grassroot Democracy Movement (GDM), Democratic Party of Nigeria (DPN), and National Center Party of Nigeria (NCPN), the five political parties that Abraham Adesanya, then leader of the National Democratic Coalition (NADECO), aptly described as the five fingers of a leprous hand.

Remember many people believed that each of them came from the cooking pot in the inner kitchen of Aso Rock where Abacha and his inner cabal were churning out all manner of wacky dishes and forcing them down the throats of Nigerians.

I’m sure you still recall how each of the party leaders paid homage to the same Abacha and on bended knees begged him to remove his Khaki and transmute to civilian President. They not only did that, but one after the other each of them held their conventions, with one outcome – his adoption as presidential candidate.

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So, if death had not struck at the time it did and Abacha did not give way on that fateful day of Monday, June 8, 1998, what it means is that there would have been no contest. He would simply have strolled out from the Villa gate as military Head of State and strolled back in as civilian President. It would be that simple.

Now, don’t get it twisted. This was a time Nigerians considered in history as their darkest period. Never had they known such psychological, if not physical torture – a time people – the ordinary folks, only managed to speak in whispers not knowing who would be listening – when the fear of the ubiquitous Abacha Boys – euphemism for the killing machines looming at every corner – became the beginning of wisdom.

In other words, behind the leadership of those political parties and the general political class trooping to the Villa to make their pitch before the notorious military despot, were millions of Nigerians practically reeling under the gruesome environment of fear that signposted the iron-fist era.

Yet, at the feet of the military General and before television cameras thereafter, these political leaders told the world that their message came direct from their people, who were so happy that God had given the country such a leader with the key to the storehouse of all the goodies beyond the imagination of the human mind.

Today, Nigeria is back to the same darkroom. It is like a reel delivering the images on the huge screen, with spectators who witnessed the past, screaming in unison – Abacha! The only difference is that there are no dark goggles and the man behind them has no tribal marks or does not cut some dummy mien to cover up his steely heart.

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Today, the man we have on the bloc is Bola Ahmed Tinubu, the Asiwaju of Lagos, the Jagaban Borgu. His imprimatur is not the Abacha goggles. It is a special cap with a peculiar print, some say mimics a broken chain, that is supposed to announce freedom.

What a contradiction in terms regarding the freedom in Nigeria presently. But beyond the marked difference in their physical appearance and their historical background, beyond their individual approach and mannerism, expectedly so, is a notorious binding factor – love for power.

Of course, Nigeria is replete with reluctant leaders, who had power entrusted on them rather than seek it. Yakubu Gowon, Shehu Shagari, Olusegun Obasanjo, Goodluck Jonathan, who at one time or the other had the opportunity of being at the helm of affairs, either as military or civilians, are some of the most common examples.

But not Abacha and not Tinubu. Both not only loved power, they also demonstrated that they knew their way to it. They seemed to have equally been gifted a natural, unique and potent knack for manipulation. For instance, those who knew Abacha, say, right from the time he was a junior officer, he had his eyes on the seat of the Commander-in-Chief.

To achieve his goal, he was said to have his hand in all the successful coups that brought in each military leader so that by the time he finally went for the big prize himself, it was like cruising on a smooth, wide boulevard.

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With Tinubu, the story is no different. Every political coup that was ever hatched in Nigeria, since he happened on the scene, especially since becoming the Governor of Lagos State in 1999, issued from his manipulative machine, such that in 2023, as others were struggling, crisscrossing Nigeria with steamy, energy-sapping campaigns, he was actually picking his teeth quietly and contentedly, in a manner that defied logic.

The only time he ventured on the scene were his cameo appearances at political grounds, where he merely entertained his audience with some uncanny acts – acts that more or less confused, rather than convinced them.

From his Emilokan delivery in Abeokuta to the Balablu Bulaba in Owerri – from his raising his walking stick like a comedia in Port Harcourt during the singing of the National Anthem to his dancing Lololo-Buga of Kiss Daniel, at the lunch in London after the Chatham House appearance, it was clear that though Nigerians, intrigued at the entire show, made jokes about it, the man knew where he was headed and how to get there.

So, today, when you see Umo Eno, Governor of Akwa Ibom State, swearing on behalf of his people that it is Tinubu till 2031, just cast your mind back to that notorious era of pilgrimage to Abacha. But don’t forget to pity and say a prayer for him. He needs it.

When Chukwuma Soludo, who is supposed to be the most intelligent and gifted governor in Nigeria today, by his attainment, is caught tongue-tied – when you see him demure or make a case for Tinubu’s outlandish policies, in spite of himself, don’t be surprised. The lion is on a leash.

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When last did you hear from Bala Muhammed, who had tried to break off from the park to assume the role of an opposition governor? He has since retreated. So quickly so soon after! Was he not the one who read the resolution announcing that governors of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), would not sign in to any form of coalition or merger – a move clearly interpreted as a fait accompli, and a metaphor for blanket endorsement of Tinubu and APC for 2027.

Of course, Eno was not lying when he told his audience the forum where he endorsed Tinubu that some of his colleagues were visiting the Presidential Villa at night to pledge their loyalty. But that also is only a matter of time. What is hidden would soon be laid bare. Already the names of Sheriff Oborevwori of Delta and Peter Mba of Enugu are appearing on the horizon.

Yes! Unlike Abacha, Tinubu has no guns or better-put, not adept at their use even as a C-in-C. But no gun is needed either. The subsequent elections since he assumed power in May 2023, is enough to make them wiser. If they are not convinced about the governorship polls in Kogi, Imo and Bayelsa, the latest in Edo, is enough to make them wiser and more prudent, should they hitherto harbour any independent ideas.

Yes! Like in the time of Abacha, who superintended a Nigeria that was under a siege, with citizens praying to higher beings for redemption, Nigerians have again descended on their knees begging God to save them from Tinubu.

Like that evil era, those leaders, political, religious and temporal, who pay daily pilgrimages to Aso Rock today, bear their own stories. The accolades they donate to Tinubu, like the ones showered on Abacha are not from the people.

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Yesterday, they called Abacha a fearless leader for confronting world leaders who dared him to mend his evil ways, today, they praise Tinubu as bold and courageous, for his evil policies that have seen Nigerians practically scaling over the Third Mainland Bridge and donating their bodies as meals for the fishes and other ocean serpents inhabiting the underbellies of the Lagos Lagoons, almost daily.

I could imagine how Tinubu would be nodding each time the governors individually or in groups are flat on their bellies in the dead of the night while paying obeisance. The feeling must be of inebriation – of spiritual and physical satiation. Not that he would believe them – Abacha obviously wouldn’t have believed his courtiers – but he would know where they are coming – Fear!

Those who read Want to Stay Alive by James Hadley Chase, would recall Pok Toholo schooling his recruit that fear is the key that opens the wallet of the wealthy. On the flipside, it is the same fear that today opens the hearts, minds and hands of Nigerian politicians.

So on that D-day, when Nigerians will return to the polls, one thing is sure. The governors will mark their duty posts. Their remit would be to ensure that you, me and millions of Nigerians, our times under the sun or rain to cast our votes would be wasted.

They will work with men and women of the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) – the most corrupt institution of the world – to count – not the votes of the people, but in complete opposite manipulate them. The various government houses would be busy changing the figures to deliver at the collation centres.

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At the collation centres the manipulated results would be delivered to university professors – the same people complaining of poor academic environments and multiple other inadequacies – they will take it from there, smoothen the rough edges before the final nail is used to seal the job by the oga patapata of INEC.

For those unfortunate enough to approach the courts, they know what to expect. I won’t be the one to say so. That judges at those courts would ask them to produce the scrotums of ants to prove their cases would not be mine to forewarn them.

So, when Tunde Bakare, cried out on Sunday at what he called the capture of the legislature by Tinubu, through his Motor Park Politics, I could only permit myself some laughter. He did not only fall short by a wide margin, he came to the party too late. Why only the legislature? Why not Nigeria? Who owns the opposition? Where is the judiciary captured?

The cleric was correct in his assertion that were the Third Term idea which failed in 2006 been floated under Tinubu’s National Assembly, it would have been a fair accompli. But who says Nigeria has escaped from it? Under Abacha, the Catholic Bishops of Nigeria designed Prayer to Nigeria In Distress.

May be today they should be designing another one aimed at skewing the mind of Tinubu away from conceiving the idea. For if he does, Nigeria would be on its way to Cameroun’s Paul Biya or Museveni’s Uganda. Who stopped Abacha? Who would stop Tinubu outside God

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My name is Sunny Igboanugo and I’m The Tiny Voice!

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Yes Rufai, it’s because Humphrey Nwosu is Igbo!

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By Sunny Igboanugo

On Thursday, March 27, 2025, Rufai Oseni, the effervescent anchor of The Morning Show, the breakfast programme on ARISE NEWS Network, put a question to members of the Senate – are you playing politics with the issue of honouring Humphrey Nwosu and declaring him Hero of Democracy because he is from the South East?

My direct and undiluted answer to this question is YES! For as long as the All Progressives Congress (APC), is in control of Nigeria, the Igbo man would remain like the proverbial cockroach that is seeking justice in the court of hens – it will never come. The Igbo man will never get anything good in Nigeria under APC as presently constituted.

Everybody knows this fact. Those who do not know, are people far removed from the scene – foreigners not connected or concerned with issues of Nigeria, Nigerians living in caves without any sort of association or communication with their kit and kin outside, pure imbeciles and morons bereft of any form of knowledge of their immediate environment, or, of course, those Goodluck Jonathan described as pretending to be sleeping.

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Not justice, not equity, not fair-play. The best Ndigbo can get in today’s APC-Nigeria, are crumbs from the master’s table. Even at that, these crumps would be donated only to the few who must be prepared to be the hewers of wood and drawers of water for the structure in government and at other levels. They must not only prove this in words, but in action.

Those are the people who would, without question, show their capacity in shedding their Igbo identity. They must be ready, for instance, to prove that they could deal deadly blows to their kins like destroying the Landmark Event Centre in Lagos. They must be the people that could come in the open before klieg-lights to call the likes of Oby Ezekwesili fool at 70,  and ask, when told to jump, how high?

Why? The answer is that APC is spiritually against Ndigbo. In fact, from inception, it was formed not to accommodate, but to yank them off as the third leg of the Nigerian tripod, counter what they perceived as their ascendency, remove them from the dinner table and return them behind the glass ceiling where they would once again be watching other Nigerians sharing the national cake without being partakers.

Proof? Plenty of them. What position did APC donate to the South East at formation? The highest was Organising Secretary. That was for a zone which is supposed to produce the Nigerian tripodal third leg. It did not even matter what they brought to the table at that time – the point Ogbonnaya Onu tried to make at the party’s national convention in Abuja, in June 2022, when he reminded them of history.

Onu, who must have died broken-hearted as a result of the raw deal he was served, had led the All Nigerian Peoples Party (ANPP), while Rochas Okorocha, then Governor of Imo State on its platform, had brought in his own faction of the All Progressives Grand Alliance (APGA) into the APC. Regardless the numbers, the expectation was that the South East, holding the record of being the only zone with two political parties in its kitty, was symbolically qualified to have a larger chunk of the party’s recognition, outside its status as a major bloc of the Nigerian polity.

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But this never happened. Save for the special coup which was carried at the National Assembly in 2015, which saw Ike Ekweremadu retaining his position as Deputy Senate President, the South East, has since remained out of the picture in official government structure – deliberately made so, with the highest they could lay their hands on being the disgraceful position of Deputy Speaker of the House of Representatives.

Today, the story is rife of how the zone was systematically removed from the Mass National Railway plan and the National Gas Master Plan, despite their economic importance as the major movers and shakers of trade and economic activities in Nigeria. Today, the zone bears the brunt of public jokes as an area totally devoid of federal projects and identity.

Why then should the case of Humphrey Nwosu be different? In fact, June 12, would never have been declared as Democracy Day for Nigeria neither would Moshood Kashimawo Olawale Abiola (MK0), been given his pride of place, if the package had included Nwosu getting a share of it.

Muhammadu Buhari, Nigeria’s President under whom those proclamations were made in 2018 ahead of the 2019 presidential election, would have made sure that the project died a natural death on his table for that singular reason. He would hardly approve anything that would make positive impact on Ndigbo without tears. The case of Nwosu is no different.

Else, what is June 12 without Nwosu? How could anyone rationalise it? Even in his book and in interviews, the man narrated how he practically put his own limbs on the line when he confronted merchants of fear and death in the military determined to put the election to the grave by his determination to announce the results.

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But those evidences presented in that account, seem not enough. To his traducers, including those who ran away to foreign countries instead of standing confronting direct military armoured tanks, only Nwosu’s dead body riddled with bullets would have proven him a democrat. Even at that, if the Professor of Politics had donated his life, they would still have found a way of spinning a negative yarn around it to deny him of his dues.

Of course, Buhari actually gave in to the June 12 pressure because of politics and not because he loved democracy or acknowledged the story behind that epoch. But even at that, he would willingly have traded his reelection bid for anything Igbo like recognising Nwosu. It is that bad.

Did he ever hide the fact that it was more fulfilling to preserve the bitterness with which took up arms against Ndigbo as a young officer of the Nigerian Army, which many people had since dropped than to embrace the rewarding allure of forgiveness and reconciliation with this mortal enemy, whom he derisively called “a dot in the circle?”

In fact, outside other germane allegations, one of the greatest sins the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), committed, was its attempt at equal distribution of power in Nigeria. How could an Igbo man be made Chief of Army Staff in a country where the likes of Buhari were alive? The day that happened must have been the goriest in his life and must have contributed to why he doubled his effort to ensure that the government that committed such high sacrilege never lived a day longer.

So, for Rufai to find his answers, he must start from the beginning. The principal idea of the APC outside grabbing power is to stop the Igbo. Now, they have done so successfully, there is no stopping them. Indeed, an Igbo man stealing a goat in Nigeria today is far more in consequences than raiding the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) and carting all the money away.

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The factor under which Nnamdi Kanu has remained in detention till date is the same reason Alex Ekwueme, former Vice President was spirited away into the dingy cell of Kirikiri Prison, while Shehu Shagari, the President under whom he served, remained in a mansion, thanks or no thanks to Buhari’s sense of justice for the Igbo and the rest of Nigerians.

For the same strange reason, it is much more possible and easier to free 100 Boko Haram members, known to have bombed the United Nation headquarters, wiped out the lives of Nigerians in different markets, churches and mosques, in farms and bus stations, stormed military formations and slit the throats of their victims and display same in open videos, than Kanu, who has never been caught with dagger, or bow and arrow, let alone a riffle, except his usual cannon-mouth, what the Igbo refer as egbe onu, has remained in the dingy solitary cell of the Department of State Services (DSS) for the past four years now.

Did anyone hear you say Buhari is no more in power and Bola Tinubu is. Of course, that is where Tinubu’s much-touted political suavity comes in. Would it be more apposite to upturn the Buhari template against Ndigbo and risk the anger of Buhari and the tendency he and his camp of Igbo haters in the North and elsewhere ran with for eight years or sustain in it in favour of political dividend from that camp?

The day Tinubu decides positively on that question is the day Ndigbo would breathe once again in Nigeria under the APC tendency. That day may not come. Indeed, it may not come until the battle for the 2027 presidential election is fought and won. But for now, Ndigbo must hold the short end of the stick. That includes no honour for Nwosu.

My name is Sunny Igboanugo and I’m The Tiny Voice

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Is Nigerian Senate now home for ruffians, hooligans, scoundrels and nitwits?

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By Sunny Igboanugo

“That is why you can never be here. People like you can never be here. How can you be? You’re a fool at 70!…

I’m not a hooligan. So, I won’t be here. You are a hooligan, so you will be here.

These were the exact words of Onyebuchi Nwaebonyi Senator representing Ebonyi North at the National Assembly and those of Oby Ezekwesili, former Minister of Education, and former Vice President of the World Bank. Date was March 25, 2027, venue, hearing room of the Senate Committee on Ethics, Privileges and Public Petitions.

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I’ll tell you a story. A certain governor, once directed his Secretary to State Government (SSG) to get ready to go to the Senate. The favoured official was over the moon with happiness. Of course, he didn’t have to ask how he would get there, like Moses, a stammerer, not knowing what to tell his people or showcase as his pitch for the job. He only knew that, that angle would be taken care of and the governor’s words meant he was already on his way to the Red Chambers.

In fact, he knew also that he wouldn’t spend even a kobo for anything towards this direction, because from the purchase of the form to what he would wear to his inauguration into the Senate would be provided. All he needed do, was to make one or two cameo appearances at political gatherings, which actually meant nothing beyond mere decorations – some make-shift open political displays to give the process some semblances of democratic nuances.

Beyond that such open shows virtually counted for nothing. Having himself participated in cooking results, he knew also that the ballot boxes and the people who queued up on election days, were mere paintworks to add colour and some flair to the entire process, like a porter polishing a piece of clay-work.

Yes! His Senate status was sealed from that moment because numere uno said so, then it was so. But then, he made the most fatal error. He forgot that the boss, like emperor was not only supposed to be infallible, but highly whimsical, if not eccentric. He never contemplated his next step would ever lead to the mortal endgame to his dream. With his position, he had secured an appointment for his people to have a meeting with the governor.

Not knowing the ugly hand fate awaiting him, he not only led the delegation, but at the parley, was among the throng of leaders from his area to speak. Of course, like others, he showered praises on the governor for the wonders he had done in the state – all laced with pure lies – but needed to massage the ego of their host – as wont in local politics. But then between the massive donation of flattering and ego-tripping words, the delegation, also chipped in some demands, the actual reason it was there.

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That was it! “You! You dare come to me with this demand. Upon all what I’ve done for you,” thundered the governor, to the SSG, who was at sea at what he had done wrong. Now wait for it! Right there before everyone, the governor did the unthinkable. “You” – pointing to another delegate, incidentally, also a Special Adviser and far lower in ranking to the SSG – “go and prepare for the Senate.”

Now, you would think that the newly-appointed, would explain to the governor that the SSG didn’t speak out of brainwave and that whatever he said was a collective decision taken by the leaders of the area, including himself and thereafter, plead on behalf of their leader. Nada! Instead, what did he do? He broke from the crowd, flattened himself at the feet of the governor and began to thank him for his benevolence.

Naturally, you would also expect that the people knowing the truth would punish the turncoat for his antics of betraying the collective cause by rejecting him at the polls where they would have powers. But then, the votes were cooked as usual and because the people were powerless that same man not only prevailed, but went ahead to serve two terms.

I had to tell this story so that you – yes you – who still wonder how candidates for political offices in Nigeria are selected. That indeed is how people go to the Senate, become local government chairmen or even governors. Somewhere, there must be someone whose word is law, who makes and unmakes. My mind actually went to this particular story after watching the drama at the Senate on Tuesday. The din has been quite deafening, reverberating within the Nigerian polity in the last 24 hours or so.

So, when you hear Nwaebonyi, taunting  Ezekwesili, that her likes would never get to the Senate, as he practically went for the jugular of the outspoken activist and co-founder of the Bring Back Our Girls (BBoG) fame, don’t be surprised, understand where he is coming.

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You would naturally wonder at the audacity and the finality of his statement. That is what quite germane. Don’t think the Senator was merely jiving. He actually knew what he was saying. That statement emblemised the biblical camel passing through the eyes of the needle. Yes! In the peculiar Nigerian political system, it is almost completely impossible for people like Ezekwesili to gain access to the Senate as a lawmaker. Not with her iron-cast will, hot-headedness and daring attitude. How would that fit the selection process where the greatest criteria is who could bow the lowest to the patrons and godfathers?

No! The closest she would get to the NASS building or any chamber of the two houses – Senate and the House of Representatives, she must have come leading a protest or in the manner she was there on Tuesday. Nothing more!

Don’t even bring the fact of her age and starling achievements both locally and internationally, including her World Bank records to the table. Indeed, elsewhere, the scene on Tuesday, is likely to look different. The role would have been switched for that Senator to be preparing some paper-works for her to engage with other high-achievers for whom the arena of the Senate is meant. But you have now seen the result.

All Ezekwesili did to bring down fire and brimstone was to utter a simple sentence – Please, shut up. Yes, she actually said other things, but this was the immediate trigger. Now hear what a whole Senator said with his mouth. It might be dirty, unprintable and ear-splitting, but hear everything – the full transcript for posterity.

The bombshell: “Look at this old woman insulting herself. Can’t you respect yourself? Smelling mouth, smelling mouth. You look like a thug. Look at you! Big fool! Fool at 70! You’re a fool at 70. How can you talk to me like that after being a Senator? You’re a fool, I said, you’re a fool! What do you mean? Why are you talking to me like that? You’re an insult to womanhood!

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“And you’re here to tell the world that you have not changed. You’re here to tell the world that you have not changed. At 70, you have not changed! And you expect me to take it. I will not take it. That is why you can never be here. People like you can never be here. How can you be? You’re a hooligan!”

Of course, you may have heard the response of the former Minister also interjecting and telling the Senator that he was a disgrace to the Senate. You heard her call him a scoundrel also. But she ended up telling him that she was not a hooligan and therefore could be in the Senate and that only hooligans like him could be.

That is actually my takeaway in the entire saga. Elsewhere the Senator, stressed the reason he probably found the Minister’s comments a pure sacrilege, claiming that as a Senator, he was higher in societal rating both locally and international, adding that he also once held an international job like her.

While appearing at Newsnight, a programme on ARISE NEWS Network: “I’m a Senator of the Federal Republic. By social stratification, I’m higher than her in this country. She was a Minister. A Senator is higher than a Minister. I’m a global figure too. I’ve been a Chairman of a World Bank programme in Nigeria.” Now, from this statement, is there anything anyone needs figure?

 

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