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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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Now VDM has become Sowore’s nemesis, does Peter Obi need anther advocate?

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By Sunny Igboanugo

The kite swooped on the herd of sheep and picked a lamb, soared above the skies onto its nest. The father asked one question – what did the parent say when you took their child. The kite replied – nothing father – they were just gazing at me in silence. Then the kites father made an order – return it immediately. Any parent that keeps mute when its child is in danger, has a more sinister intention hidden in his heart. The kite obeyed and returned the lamb.

The next day, the same kite swooped on a brood of chickens and picked one of them. Then the mother went hysterical flying from pillar to post in frenzied movements. On return, the father again put the same question. This time, the kite presented a different picture, describing the shrieking cries of the mother-hen and how it tried to attack and failure to retrieve its chick, went into a frenzy.

Let’s have dinner, the father quipped excitedly. Danger is over. The parent has displayed every weapon in its arsenal. That is the reason chicks remain the main dish of kites till date. My father told me this story decades ago, which of course is one of the anecdotes that is as old as minds could picture. My father probably picked it from his own father.

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Yet, the implication in terms of central message has never lost its texture, despite its longevity. Rather, it has become truer with time – be careful of that man with few words – refrain from attacking a man that has not offended you – never bear false witnesses. These are standard cautionary and globally accepted natural edicts, which when observed in breaches, could result in highly disastrous consequences.

Is it not intriguing how this reality has stung Omoyele Sowore like those wicked agbisi – only those who sat on the bare floors would relate with the brain-twisting, sharp and excruciating pains those black ants delivered through the bare buttocks of children – in our mother’s kitchens in those days?

Have you been watching Vincent Otse, alias Very Dark Man, recently? What do you make of the multiple arrows he has been aiming at the heart of the Revolution Now exponent? I have my people and both the optics and the import derivable therefrom could only taper towards a central reality – cow wey no get tail na God dey drive am fly!

It was a song, sung by the popular Prince Nico Mbaga – that legend of the 1980s, whose epic – Sweet Mother – still resonates centrally in the Nigerian music history even till date, long after he was gone. I think it was the flipside of that legendary outing that dominated the airwaves at the time.

Never had that song, which you heard in those days blasting from the record shops at Achapo Street – in Ajegunle – the popular centre for music records business or through the windows of privileged homes in the face me I face you compounds in the days when even the poor afforded stockfish – now a delicacy you could only enjoy the aroma from a distance if your income is not in six figures – days when even the local women looked at ice fish with disdain and derisively related it with the “poor” as Ozu Nwada. O! What memories! But I digress!

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But before I walked too far and disappeared into those days when me, as a child sleeping on a mat at a one-room apartment at Number 14 Uzor Street, but still ate lavish meals which I must now struggle to offer my wards, I return to today’s reality to ask myself why this is happening before my eyes. Why must it be VDM that is now waging a war against Sowore – with whom he was only too cozy – just yesterday!

For months now, this selfsame Sowore, had launched a massive blitzkrieg against Peter Obi, candidate of the Labour Party (LP), in the 2023 presidential election. In what is more of a cocktail of bits and pieces, odds and ends set of drivels rather than any form of articulated reasoning based on facts and figures, this same man, actually came out with what has now become his catchphrase – Obi is a packaged fraud!

Don’t bother to ask him for facts supporting his conclusion. The only one he supplied was that the former Governor of Anambra State, was hobnobbing with supposed thieves and brigands responsible for Nigerian woes.

Yet, this selfsame Sowore, conveniently left out his central role, and incestuous relationship with the same people at an auspicious period, which ended up in watering the ground for what he now complains about from the rooftops. Were it not for Sowore, there might not have been a President Muhammadu Buhari and Bola Tinubu as APC governments – the worst era Nigeria has ever endured and currently cursed with!

Videos even showed him being celebrated nationally for this singular role. Yet, this is the same man, assailing Obi for keeping bad company! But that is what happens with the purveyors of anti-Obi sentiments. They inevitably meet a drought and are left with nothing more to rely on but contrivances. Where the well is dry, they import water tankers to try a rescue.

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Where deceit fails, they try illogic, then subterfuge, half-truths, outright lies and then mischief as they meet more frustrations. Imagine a Sowore saying that Obi packed Northerners in lorries and sent them back to their homes. In Nigeria? At what period? The same Obi who built his personal and state security architectures around northern people – Northern Aide De Camp (ADC) and Norther Commissioners of Police throughout his eight years?

To Sowore, nothing is good enough! He even mocks Obi for saying that he owns only one house in Nigeria – a development, which elsewhere defines absolute personal contentment. Elsewhere, the fact that Obi could prove this claim is demonstrable evidence of reduced propensity for induced stealing and absence of hunger for corruption and therefore a call for celebration. But what do you have here? Spite, mockery and contempt.

Now, it is not like Obi’s records – public and private are hidden. This was a man, who even as a university student, had become so successful in business that his chain of buildings were used as bank branches – that at a point was one of the 10 richest men in the UK – in fact, one of the 8.000 richest men in the world – so the source of his wealth is not suspect.

In office as governor, this was the same Obi who took schools in Anambra State from number 26 to number one, starting from his second year in office by sheer dint of visionary leadership anchored on self-denial – the only governor in history that left a whopping N75billion in the coffers – capping it all with emerging as the best in the implementation of the Millenium Development Goals (MDGs).

Now, if a governor attains the first position in this globally-accepted measurement instrument – covering all indices of developmental – physical infrastructure and policy frameworks for human capital development, what else defines excellence in leadership? Yet, people like Sowore will never be persuaded.

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Now you know why! VDM has supplied you with the answer. Sowore is in business. His activism is business – his Revolution Now – business – attacks on Tinubu – business – Obi is a packaged fraud – business – presidential ambition business.

Not that the world didn’t know this. But coming from familiar quarters – given the relationship between the two – both erstwhile friends – it is only gotten clearer and better. It is even moreso when the further and better particulars is not coming from Obi, but a more virulent voice!

Now, what is said about fate? What does the law of Karma say again? How does a tailless cow deal with flies again? Sowore has given us the lead and VDM has given you the answer.

But hear the philosopher! Beware of your thoughts, lest they become words; beware of your words, lest they become actions; beware of your actions, lest they become habits; beware of your habits, lest they become character; beware of your character, lest it becomes your destiny! Nigerians, think!

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

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Be the hero that saved Nigeria! Open letter to Alhaji Atiku Abubakar

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His Excellency

Alhaji Atiku Abubakar (Waziri Adamawa),
Former Vice President, Federal Republic of Nigeria
Abuja, Nigeria

Your Excellency

Permit me, to use this medium to address you. I apologise most profusely for breaking protocols and not following proper and established channels. But I believe this is the best and ONLY way to reach you immediately because of the urgency of the matter at hand.

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I had to write you quickly after watching the interview when you appeared as a guest on Prime Time, a public affairs programme on ARISE NEWS Television. I must confess being enthralled at your physical fitness, mental alertness, eloquence, articulacy and richness of ideas. You looked every bit presidential.

That you appeared superlatively healthy physically and mentally at the ripe age of 79 can only be a gift from Allah. God has indeed preserved you so well and I congratulate you, while praying that God will grant you more years here on earth to see Nigeria become a great nation that it is meant to be and that you will make fruitful contribution towards that outcome.

Now, this is where I want to anchor the essence of this letter – the blessing of God and His expectation of man. There is no doubt from what human eyes could see that you have enjoyed this blessing tremendously. Look behind you and see how far you have come.

How many of your colleagues in the Nigerian Customs, where you left as a Deputy Director (Deputy Controller) are still remembered today? How many of them could even unlace your shoes today in terms of national recognition. How many of the people you started business with got to half of where you reached as a business mogul? How many of the people you went into politics with got to your level. How many of them are still around today – even those that are younger than you?

Please, Waziri, take a look back and count the blessings of Allah on you. How many can you count? You were preparing for your inauguration as Governor of Adamawa State, when suddenly, you were spirited from a Governor-elect to contest for Vice President and for eight years you enjoyed that position. Was that not evidence of Allah’s hands in your affairs, when the same position others sought with everything in them was offered to you on a platter of gold?

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Now, compare that with the Presidency. Since 1992, you have sought this position with every effort. You have fought doggedly with the last breadth in you. Like the General you are, you have fought gallantly. But even a General must retire from the warfront and hand over to younger officers to continue where he stopped.

Such retirement does not suggest defeat. Rather, it suggests wisdom. It suggests experience. It suggests circumspection. It suggests prudence. It suggests strength.

For record six times, you had made attempts at the Presidency and for that number of times, you had failed to attain that feat. Why continue – even when time and circumstances clearly indicate that your chances of getting it at the seventh trial is bleaker than the rest? Is it not even an attempt to tempt God?

Waziri, please permit me to share this anecdote. It is about the prototype developed by Brazilians to catch monkeys. They throw utu – a kind of nut usually craved by monkeys into a bottle with a narrow neck and hang it on tree branch. The opening is wide enough to allow the hand of the monkey in, but too narrow to allow a clenched fist out.

Knowing that monkeys are greedy and would never let go, they take full advantage of this fact in setting this obvious trap. True to their expectations, the monkey would usually fit its hand into the bottle and grab the nut, but would be unable to pull it out with the nut. The owner of the trap standing by would then begin to approach. The monkey on sighting the obvious danger would start struggling with the hand inside the bottle.

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Now, all the monkey needed do is to free the hand and let the nut go to save itself. But it never does. Because all its senses are focused on the sweet taste of the nut it loses the sense of danger and stays with the bottle until it is caught – not even having the opportunity of tasting the same nut. That is how the Brazilians catch monkeys.

Alhaji, does this send any meaningful message? Does it look or sound familiar? Like the situation of the monkey with its hand in the bottle, Nigeria is in danger at this time. You have the singular opportunity of saving it. The only way to do it is through the African Democratic Congress (ADC).

Your insistence on running for the ticket of the party ahead of the 2027 presidential election represents the perfect imagery of the monkey’s hand in the bottle.

No doubt like the nut to the monkey, the Presidency is sweet. But like the unpromising situation of the monkey, there is no way you can pull the nut out with a clenched fist. The only option is to loosen your fist and let go.

Waziri Adamawa, free your hand. Let go this quest for Presidency. It is not yours. Destiny has denied you the opportunity. Your biggest opportunity was in 2019, though it was not to be for reasons that are now history.

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Today, the odds are stacked against you! You are not from the South – make it the South East. You are no longer young. You belong to the old order. Yes! You are favoured to win the ADC primaries but winning the election proper is a different kettle of fish. There is no way you can win it. Forget what your followers are telling you.

On the other hand, sitting right beside you is Peter Obi. All the odds are in his favour. He is from the South – the South East. He is young. He has the organic following. He will win the presidential election of Nigeria before midday on January 18, 2027.

Let me conclude this letter by creating two scenarios. Consider a situation where you contest this election and fail as you are bound to. What will it be said about you? How will history record you?

Will you not be seen as the man who finally sounded the death-knell on Nigerian democracy by allowing President Bola Tinubu transform Nigeria into another Paul Biya’s Cameroun, Equatorial Guinea’s Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo and Uganda’s Yoweri Museveni? Surely, that imminent fall will not only be a fall in unfulfilled goal, it will be a fall of destiny of a national. The consequences are heavy, grave and unimaginable!

On the other hand, if you conquer the greed of the monkey and let the nut go, you will not only have helped in freeing Nigeria from the immediate bondage in which it is destined in the hands of Tinubu and his brood of vipers, you would have saved it from the cataclysmic eruption of blitzkrieg that might result as a counter.

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Remember how it is now history that you destroyed the PDP by insisting to run against the zoning arrangement. How will it sound that after delivering the fatal poison that killed the once largest party in Africa with a deadly political fang you whipped the ADC with a poisonous tail to achieve the same result.

As we speak now, David Mark, ADC National Chairman is from the North. Now, you want to take the presidential ticket, thus replaying the reel of the PDP scenario. Is it not obvious that the result will be the same? Is it not the same PDP playbook?

Waziri Adamawa, remember that even Nnamdi Azikiwe, with all his greatness, never became President. Obafemi Awolowo never attained the position either. Yet, as a reporter with The Guardian in Enugu, I could not count the number of dignitaries, Nigerians and foreigners, whom I reported their presence at Onuiyi Haven in Nsukka, home of the late Owelle of Onitsha.

I assume that of Ikenne, the home of the great Awo would also have been the same before his demise. Who says your own home in Abuja or Yola, would not be a Mecca for Nigerians and world leaders to pay their homage by the time this race is run and the mileage counted.

That will only be possible if you decide to play the role destiny has put in your hands. Waziri Adamawa! Save Nigerian Democracy! Save Nigeria! Let your name be written in gold letters and not with blood of Nigerians. Yes! President may be denied but Father of Democracy is there. It even sounds sweeter!

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May God guide you.

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

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Abike Dabiri: Did Obi raise a monster or you’re drunk on Tinubu’s poisoned chalice?

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I bet you didn’t know Abike Dabiri. Two factors will make this possible. Either you were not around in Nigeria in the golden era of our Nigerian television girls – the era when being a regular face on Nigerian Television Authority (NTA) gave you the golden key to open all doors – or you were somewhere in the villages very far and distant from civilization – many of us were – that included not having access to the television.

O! You didn’t know? You didn’t know a time was in this clime when seeing a television screen from a distance, was one of the biggest privileges one could get let alone watching it – that people clustered at the windows of homes with television sets to catch a glimpse of Village Headmaster, for instance.

You’re carrying shoulders because you probably met the time when carrying a Blackberry phone was all you needed to get that fine babe behind your sheets! Today, you thought that because you could now watch your matches on your phone – I watched all the AFCON matches on my phone, being on the road most times – there was no time men had to climb walls to turn television antennas to get some appreciable pictures. Chai! This changing world.

Bet you didn’t hear about Bimbo Roberts – later Bimbo Oloyede, Julie Coker and later Augusta Maduegbuna, Elizabeth Nze, Sienne Alwell-Brown, Ruth Benamesia-Opia, Eugenia Abu, Ronke Ayuba, Kehinde Young-Harry, Lola Alakija, in no particular order. No! You wouldn’t if you were not that privileged in the 1980s and even 1990s. They were the glamour of that era.

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Glamour? Not in the sense of beauty – but glamour, because television made them so. For indeed, some of these television faces, were not that glamourous.

But beauty or no, Abike Dabiri was one of the discoveries of that era. Obviously not in competition with these others who were the newscasters on NTA News At Nine, she actually carved a niche for herself elsewhere on Newsline – the soft-sell edition of the station’s news programme aired every Sunday.

Abike Dabiri was a toast of that programme. She was a reporter’s reporter – traversing beyond the seven seas and seven wildernesses to bring to Nigerians those rare stories that either made Nigerians laugh their hearts out or cry their eyes out – a doyenne of human-interest reporting.

Then, suddenly – suddenly – suddenly – the serpent came with the forbidden fruit – the temptation of higher ground – the allure of high office – Tinubu’s tainted chalice that comes like glittering ornament but with hollow and rotten underbelly. She took, she ate and now everything scatter-scatter. Our dear Abike Dabiri accepted and ate the sour grape and now her teeth are set on edge! What a pity!

The breeze has blown to uncover the romp of the hen. Before now, whoever believed that our dear Abike Dabiri farts. But we now know that Abike Dabiri-Erewa not only farts, but her fart smells badly. At first, no one noticed the degeneration.

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The time she was at the House of Representatives, was the golden era of Tinubu. That was when the Jagaban Borgu was the governor of Lagos State. She glowed along by tapping from glittering appeal of the Lagos show boy!

At that time, Tinubu was generally holding the golden trophy adorned with the beautiful calligraphy of democracy in Nigeria. That was before he drank from the poisoned chalice of Muhammadu Buhari, his predecessor by joining him in the hatred for the Igbo man – a phenomenon that becomes the nemesis of some Nigerian leaders – Buhari’s major insignia. Then the desperation! Then the degeneration! Now the albatross!

Now, whoever hates the Igbo and remains the same? None! That was what sealed Buhari’s fate. And surely the snake that bit that braindead archeological discovery – that museum piece – has definitely whipped Tinubu with its tail and the rest is now history. If not, compare a Tinubu as governor when he was all cozy with Ndigbo and now he has turned 360 degrees.

And as long as the darkness will give way to reveal the sun breaking from the East, the sting of the snake’s tail will reach everyone who toes that line. You know why, the dominant culture of the Igbo man is ofo n’ogu – justice, equity and fair-play! Have you watched an Igbo man pray with colanut.

He wakes up and with his cola in his hands, beckons on his chi with these words – ndu mmiri, ndu azu, mmiri atanaa, azu anwuna – the life of the river, the life of the fish – may the water not dry and may the fish not die! Egbe bere ugo bere, nke si ibeya ebena nku kwaa ya – let the kite perch and let the eagle perch – whichever says the other should not perch, may its wings whither. Which other people say the same or similar prayer elsewhere?

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Now, because the kid-goat watches when the mother-goat is chewing the cud, hating the Igbo has become a fad among those who want to please Tinubu. Obviously, the totem through which this sentiment find expression is Peter Obi. He has become the tree standing by the roadside that receives the strokes of the machete. Obi has remained the hieroglyph for expressing real and imagined pro-Igbo angst.

So, in 2025, when Babajide Sanwo-Olu wanted to mend fences with Tinubu, after allegedly falling out of favour with his boss, he launched an unprovoked attack on Obi, using the latter’s Johns Hopkins University lecture as a pad. Reno Omokri, has since made himself Minister of Peter Obi Affairs. Daniel Bwala, Femi Fani-Kayode et al along this line never end a line without Obi getting a slash of their machete.

Enter our dear Abike Dabiri-Erewa. The little birds flying around whistle that her tenure as Chairman of Nigerians in Diaspora Commission (NiCOM) is coming to an end and she is eying a renewal or another job from the Jagaban. How else to go about it than the low-hanging fruit? – Peter Obi.

From nowhere, on Sunday, the media were suffused with the screaming headline – “Peter Obi has actually raised monsters.” As it were with syndicated stories, each of the medium used to transport the outing carried the same headline – well crafted – of course, using her journalism skill to make maximum impact.

After rambling some clearly obtuse and incoherent words in form of reasoning, she ended up with even more brainless, imbecilic and asinine submission – by the time it is Igbo turn to produce Nigerian President, Obidents – followers of Obi – would have destroyed his chances. Me paraphrasing. Chai!

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Now, aunty Abike, whose turn is it now? Isn’t already the turn of Ndigbo and the selfsame Obi? Isn’t it part of the argument that the seat your Jagaban is occupying was stolen from Ndigbo? So, you know that Ndigbo also have a stake to it? Yes! You know. But now you have eaten Tinubu’s palm nuts, see how your teeth have all turned red.

But Ndigbo have another way of invoking justice – ochu nwa-okuko nwe ada ma nwa-okuko nwe nwenwe-oso! I won’t explain. Find an Igbo staff at NiMCOM – if there is one – because I hear you hate them so much that finding one near you might be impossible. But even a cleaner in your office could help or better still – ask your spare parts seller. He’s sure to be Igbo!

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

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