Naija and the jostling for Mandela’s big shoes

I never thought that Naija people would carry their fight for inheritance several thousands of kilometres away from Qunu. But here they are, struggling to force their soiled slimy feet into the shiny boots of the late icon.
The pugilists are throwing punches. Can you imagine the left hook thrown at President Jones by the Speaker of the House of Corruption? These daytime friends and pentime robbers fight in public but share our common wealth in their offices.
Just as the referee was trying to stop the fight, the Wizard of Ota exhumed a private letter he had written to his godson and somehow, strategically leaked it to the vultures of news. The uncompromised estate of the realm went to the market with the report and even managed like real vultures to fight over who first located the carcass. Hassle Villa was angry that these ones refused to take the letter and show up at the gate for a presidential handshake and an oil block. This lack of the zeal to bargain with an explosive document is what further convinces me that reporters are doomed to die poor and resurrect in like manner.
And what a bashing the old fox gave his pup. I mean, going through all those efforts just to see his protégé when the ‘boy’ should be flying a nighttime air force helicopter to the farm like the other malcontents to take lessons on governance and of course drop his sense of gratitude. Ganging up with some ex-this and ex-that generals is nothing but sedition, which leads me to believe the prediction of one prophet that this man who was prematurely discharged from prison may eventually die there.
I am however comforted by the transformative maturity with which Apati agreed not join issues. The response is a new diplomatese in not joining issues. The language was vitriolically temperate and ascerbically soothing. It reminds me of my country friend, who had a spat with his friend’s father and went to the old man’s house to confront him. On getting there, he told the old man that but for the respect he had for him, he would have called him a stupid old fool without any sense of decorum. Not satisfied, he also told him that if he had not been properly groomed, he would have called the man a psycho who deserved a bed in Aro with his moronic son. My friend concluded with a warning that next time, he may be forced to drop his garment of decorum and put it to the old man. And thus, the matter was amicably resolved.
I understand Jacob Zuma has been advised by the interpreter to insure Madiba’s boots before the Naija pugilists get to it. The trouble is that, if they get this leather boots, they may not cherish it as a museum item, but instead sell it to Iya Basira to cook ponmo. These are people who do not bat an eyelid in selling common patrimony without building any. Our darkness has been concessioned and next I hear is the oil. What they will not concession is political power.
The tackles also involved our revered Kano prince who has been embroiled in a war of words over what was missing and what was rendered in the accounting process. What worries me most is how a man from the arid desert, whose state produces nothing but sansan instead of groundnut pyramids can be so obsessed with other people’s resources. Someone should tell Lamido Sanusi that oil is the birthright of Deltans. For as long as they are in government, they reserve the rights to dispend of the proceeds as they see fit. They can extract a million gallons and pour it as libation to their ancestors and the gods of corruption to finance the transformation agenda.
It looks like Kananwa’s have no adage like the Yorubas. In Yorubaland, they say that a man who cancels his father’s masquerade from dancing as promised has not breached a contract. I appeal to Sanusi to put his mind to solving the riddle of returning to cowry shells and manilas instead of spending our resources changing from polymer to paper money. And perhaps plug the leakages in his office, including the hiring of the least qualified persons to important positions.
Apparently, being tone deaf and schizophrenic like the interpreter to hear the discordant tunes from his party, I cannot agree more with the chairman of the ruining party that he is the best thing that ever happened to the party since sliced bread. In other lands, a man whose son is indicted for official corruption has no moral right to retain a public position. But Ayinde Barrister of blessed memory concluded these matters – you need a head to have a headache.