Category: Gbenga Omotoso

WHOEVER had any doubt about the strength of the All Progressives Congress (APC) in Osun State should, by now, be convinced that he was damn wrong.

But, can the APC be beaten on Saturday? No. Some latter day pundits and rogue bookmakers may continue to tell us that rallies are no indicators of political muscle, but we all know they symbolise acceptance and solidarity, if not affection, even if it is superficial. After all, the Yoruba say a o fe o lawujo o n darin: t’o ba darin naa ta ni o gbe? (You can’t call a song in a gathering in which you’re unwanted. Who will sing with you?).

Tuesday’s APC rally at the Osogbo Township Stadium was unprecedented in its size, impact and import. The panegyrics on Aregbesola’s sterling performance in education and infrastructure. The frenetic displays of excited youths and old men lining the roads, waving brooms and screaming “Ogbeni!” in a town that had been groaning under a heavy security presence.  And the obstinacy of the sea of people who would not be deterred by the threatening rain. It was cloudy all through.

I wasn’t surprised. Whoever has joined the monthly Walk-to-Live programme won’t be surprised at the governor’s charm.

Aregbesola doesn’t need to grub gari in public and tear at roasted corn with both hands for him to “connect with the grassroots”. No. His is natural.

Men and women of the Directorate of State Security Services (DSS) in mournful dark dresses and dreadful hoods had been parading the streets, shouting, shooting into the air and shutting down traffic – without provocation. That, I am told, is their own way of maintaining peace. Strange.

After one of such scenes last Saturday in the town, an old man wondered why we couldn’t retrieve the snatched Chibok girls by simply sending the DSS men and women to Sambisa Forest where they are believed to have been held in captivity by the fundamentalist Boko Haram sect. A driver said the way the operatives were firing into the air, there was no way President Goodluck Jonathan, who incidentally was leading his party’s rally less than five minutes away, would not need another $1billion loan to buy bullets, bombs and boots for the Armed Forces.

Pardon the digression. The crowd at the Aregbesola rally started gathering as early as 7 a.m. By the time the man of the moment and other party chiefs arrived at the stadium late in the afternoon, the scene had become electrifying. The crowd outside the throbbing arena was bigger than the one inside. It was a great spectacle. There were many groups in uniforms. There were many itinerary musicians, but K1 the Ultimate, the Fuji maestro, was on the band stand, dishing out acerbic messages to Aregbesola’s opponents.

It was Aregbesola’s show quite alright, but there was no doubt that former Governor Olagunsoye Oyinlola snatched away the star performance prize. He consolidated his rejection of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), a party under which he ran the state for about seven years. The Okuku prince danced like a prince on his birthday, waving a broom excitedly and raising high his new party’s flag – to the admiration of the crowd, who yelled and yelled as Oyinlola shuffled and wriggled to the music.

The former governor advised would-be voters to reject Otunba–sorry, a slip there, Dr, as he says he should now be known and addressed– Iyiola Omisore, the PDP’s candidate, at the poll. He listed many reasons why PDP should not take the reins of governance and mesmerised the crowd with details of why he parted ways with the PDP, spicing it all with anecdotes that sent the crowd reeling. Jonathan, he said, outfoxed former President Olusegun Obasanjo who helped him to get to the office, dismantling his influence in the party. He, Oyinlola, was denied the PDP’s national secretary, even after a court had pronounced him the rightful owner of the seat. The Ogun State arm of the party had its executive disbanded and handed over to men of questionable loyalty, he said. He was also bitter about the marginalisation of the Yoruba, saying none occupied a position of influence in the Jonathan administration.

“Chief Bisi Akande is a former governor of this state. Isiaka Adeleke is a former governor of this state, just like me. We are all here with Aregbesola. So, who is left on the other side? We are all waving a final bye to injustice,” Oyinlola said in impeccable Yoruba–to the admiration of all.

Party chair Chief John Odigie-Oyegun warned the PDP not to rig the 2015 general elections, saying if it did, the APC would simply form its own government. He sent the crowd into a moment of emotional depression when he asked that a minute’s silence be observed in memory of the late Chief Bola Ige, the former Attorney-General and Minister of Justice who was murdered by unknown gunmen in his Bodija, Ibadan home on December 23, 2001.

Oyinlola had wondered how some of those indicted in the Ige murder are the ones now holding leadership positions—courtesy of the PDP. Ige, a frontline politician with consummate oratory and caustic tongue that hit his opponents more than a million bullets, was from Osun.

The rally was an opportunity to deliver a damning verdict on the Jonathan presidency, which Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu described as incompetent. He urged the youth to see the election as theirs because, according to him, it will define their future. They should, he said, be brave in the face of intimidation. “Soldiers can’t shoot you,” he told them, adding that they should protect their votes.

A source told me that soldiers the people need not fear; the trouble is contending with fake soldiers who bear arms, even as their identities remain a secret.

A rally for Aregbesola was stopped yesterday by “soldiers”. Are these genuine soldiers who swore to defend Nigeria? I doubt it.

My advice to all those who are trying to turn the military against the people is that they should stop it; such indiscretion is costly.

But Tinubu wasn’t done with his blistering assault on the Federal Government’s integrity, chiding her for not doing enough to free the Chibok girls, more than three months after they were abducted. He said: “They keep saying they know where the kidnapped girls are kept. If truly they know, let them bring them out and if it is the enemies that are keeping them and they know, it means they are saying they should be taken away.”

Aregbesola brought back memories of those days of ideological politics, of colourful rallies, wisecracks and stinging remarks. He was pragmatic in his approach as he–in an open allusion to the Ekiti State election–exhibited how would-be voters should handle the ballot paper, which many believe could be compromised.

Omisore and his camp have been boasting that he will beat Aregbesola in all the local governments. Only a major calamity, such as damaging the integrity of the ballot paper, could make such an empty dream come true. But, will Osun people allow that? I doubt it.

Aregbesola’s talismanic acceptance is due to his performance–the massive road construction, the beautiful schools, feeding of thousands of pupils free of charge, the social security system for the elderly, provision of security equipment for the police, ambulance services, jobs for the youth and his sheer integrity.

A friend once joked that Osun’s  monthly allocation is not enough for some of those battling to rule the state and their friends to fund their champagne life. Of the 36 states, Osun is 34 on the revenue allocation ladder. Despite this obvious financial inadequacy, Aregbesola has embarked on projects that are the hallmarks of progressive governance that the APC is striving to enthrone nationwide.

Aregbesola has always said that in this election, there are only two options for the PDP-led Federal Government: it should allow the people’s will to prevail or be ready to kill as many people as possible and go down in history as the most draconian government ever. Whoever doubts that should go back to the video of the Tuesday rally.

 

THE EBOLA CHALLENGE

BAD news. A nurse at the Lagos hospital that treated the Liberian-American Ebola virus victim, Patrick Sawyer, is dead, the government announced yesterday. Doctors are battling to save the life of their colleague who treated the late Sawyer.

Nigeria has now recorded seven cases of the lethal disease, which has sent the world scampering for help. Liberia and Sierra Leone have declared an emergency, with the former shutting down schools. The attention the Federal Government and the states are paying to the matter is commendable, but doctors are seeking assurance that they will get adequate protection as they join the battle to save lives that are threatened by the virus.

The Middle East is in turmoil, with many, including women and children, dead. The fate of Malaysian Airlines Flight MH 370 remains hazy, five months after the plane vanished with 239 on-board. Malaysia Airlines MH17 was brought down in Ukraine. All 298 on-board died. And now Ebola.

Is the Apocalypse here?

LET us forget about them all – for a while.

The thoughtless impeachment of former Adamawa Governor Murtala Nyako by a band of  lawbreakers and erratic errand boys posing as champions of decency; the buffoonery of replicating the #BringBackOurGirls protest; the buccaneering that is the plot to impeach Nasarawa Governor Tanko Al-Makura, his Rivers, Edo and Borno counterparts Rotimi Chibuike Amaechi, Adams Oshiomhole and Kashim Shettima. Let’s close our eyes to them all.

It has taken some prompting – tongue lashing, some cheeky fellows insist – from a 17-year-old girl to arouse President Goodluck Jonathan’s sense of empathy. He has eventually met the parents of the abducted girls-  not in troubled Chibok , but in the cosy banquet hall at the Villa.

As I said, let’s push them all aside today.

It is a season of birthdays. Prof. Wole Soyinka is 80. Aremo Segun Osoba is 75. Prince Henry Odukomaiya is 80. Chief Ajibola Ogunsola is 70. Prof. Olatunji Dare is 70. Editorial Notebook is joining the celebration of these giants, whose stories have been told by better tested hands. But, here, dear reader, are just some testimonials.

Long before I met him physically, I had encountered Prof. Wole Soyinka. I read his books at school. His photographs would land on my table as a young sub-editor at Rutam House and I would look at them and hail his bravery and strength of character. Then an opportunity came in 2010 for me to see the genius at close range. Kunle Ajibade of The News and I were with him at the African Development Bank’s (AfDB’s )Eminent Persons Lecture Series in Tunis.

The Nobel laureate’s lecture, “Caution…Intellectuals at work”, was vintage Soyinka. Those who felt Africa’s intellectuals were not doing enough about the continent’s troubles got an answer. Amid applause, Soyinka enumerated the roles of the intellectual and lambasted dictators, saying there is no benevolent dictatorship. Needless to say, some months after, the Arab Spring hit Tunisia. Zayn al-Abidin Ben Ali, “the benevolent dictator”, who led from November 1989, fled. Prescience. Talk of the writer as a prophet.

After the lecture, it was time for lunch and some questions for the distinguished lecturer. Soyinka asked Femi Fatoyinbo, an official of the AfDB who facilitated his acceptance to deliver the lecture free of charge – the professor had never met Femi before then – to fetch some wine. Femi went round the gigantic hotel for some 30 minutes without bringing a bottle. Soyinka was getting impatient. At last, Femi returned with a piece of bad news. The hotel does not serve alcohol. “Let me go somewhere else. I’ll return before lunch,” Soyinka said. Before he could step out, AfDB President Donald Kabaruka and all the other big officials had arrived for lunch. They shook hands with Soyinka, congratulating him for a great job.

At lunch, Prof. refused to eat. He would not answer questions. He needed some wine, he told his hosts. The managers of the hotel thought it was a problem they could easily handle. One rushed down to the bar and showed up with a glass full of something that looked like red wine. Soyinka could not be tricked.”My friend, take it back; get me the real thing,” he fired back at the official whose smiling face had melted into some scowl of confusion. In a few minutes, the man walked briskly down the hall, holding a glass of wine, real wine, which he covered with a snow-white handkerchief. Soyinka tasted the stuff, nodded in satisfaction and smiled in triumph.

He had forced the hotel to change its policy. We were to learn later that the hotel was built with a grant from Saudi Arabia after it was agreed that alcohol would not be served there for 25 years.

Lunch over, it was time for the eminent lecturer to sign the guests’ book. Television cameras were rolling and photographers were struggling for vantage positions. Soyinka bent down and, in a few seconds, he delivered a potentially combustible verdict in Yoruba: “Iru ibi ti o daa bayi, otin to daa loye ka maa mu nibe” (we should be drinking nice wines in a good hotel such as this).

Amid laughter, later at his hotel’s reception, after learning that the book he signed actually belonged to the bank, Soyinka asked Femi to fetch it for him to write another comment.

The lesson: Soyinka’s sense of freedom is all-embracing. It includes even the right to drink a good wine. And Expresso coffee–his favourite, I suspect. Anywhere.

A young restaurateur was so excited at Soyinka’s visit to his place. He said his late father would have been glad to see the life time experience of the Nobel laureate’s presence at the restaurant. He urged Soyinka to accept as a mark of his appreciation, the gift of a 25-year-old gin brewed specially by his family. Prof. was moved. He thanked the young man and accepted to be photographed with him beside his late father’s portrait.

I recall vividly that night when the late Mr. Mac Adetoyi Alabi, our Night Editor at The Guardian, had a visitor who stayed unusually long, slowing down the first edition. Baba, as we all called him on account of his old age and long experience, even saw off this visitor. That was unusual. Asked a few minutes after he had settled down again who that visitor was, Baba looked up, his face expressing some incredulity. “You don’t know him?” He shook his head slowly and raised his voice. “That’s the last editor of Daily Times, Henry Odukomaiya.”

I left Baba, smiling and wondering… “the last editor of Daily Times. Prince Odukomaiya left Daily Times to midwife the birth of National Concord, which was financed by the late billionaire and politician, Chief M.K.O. Abiola. He was also the man who set up Champion, mentoring many journalists. Prince Odukomaiya deserves all the encomiums being poured on him. He has done well.

A friend of mine who was an editor at The Punch told me of how relieved he was when he stopped getting short messages from Chief Ogunsola. He felt the man was being fastidious, pointing out errors that many a reader would overlook and a journalist would explain away as the “printer’s devil”.

I disagreed with my friend. If Ogunsola had not been thorough, perhaps The Punch would not have been as prosperous as it is today. The paper was at a low ebb when he took over as chairman. Now, it is celebrated as a successful business.

My former boss, Mr. Lade “Ladbone” Bonuola, once said he needed to have a word with Ogunsola. “I will like to preach God to him,” he said. I don’t know if Mr. Bonuola eventually did. In case he didn’t, somebody should, even as the chief reserves the right to his opinion on any issue, including the existence of the Almighty.

Aremo Olusegun Osoba came into journalism by chance. Many do not know that he was a sub-editor, one of those guys who mould the character of a newspaper but who are never seen or heard, unlike reporters who are the glamour boys of the trade. For Osoba, reporting is the soul of newspapering. He excelled in it and became a reference point for editors telling their reporters how to do it. His newspaper days have been well documented by Mike Awoyinfa and Dimgba Igwe in his biography.

If Osoba is the Aremo (the chosen one, the favourite) of reporting in Nigerian journalism, Prof. Olatunji Dare is the Jose Mourinho (the Special One), the master satirist. To him, humour comes naturally. But many do not know that Prof. Dare was a Physics teacher.

I have gained immensely from his amazing talent. In fact, to him I owe the name of this column. Dare finds it so easy to write on any subject, making something out of nothing and spicing it all up with a huge dose of humour, forcing you to laugh in a country where there is little to provoke even a smile.

Like the late Baba Alabi, Dare detests errors. You dare not second guess him. He will reprimand you severely. But, ironically, he believes a newspaper is a miracle. “Every time a newspaper hits the newsstand, I know a miracle has happened,” says the professor, “because in the course of production, a thousand and one things could have gone wrong.”

Many have written about Dare’s resolute stand on the June 12 debacle, how he refused to join The Guardian team that went to burnish the late Gen. Sani Abacha’s ego for him to reopen the newspaper, which he shut down in a senseless show of power, how their week was incomplete without reading Matters Arising and how he quit Rutam House.

None has, however, recalled that  Dare actually wore a lush beard for months – in protest against all that he went through. It is a tribute to his forgiving spirit that Mrs. Maiden Ibru, the publisher of The Guardian, was at MUSON Centre last Thursday when  Dare was being honoured.

Mrs. Ibru spoke of how great and influential the newspaper was, ascribing it all to the presence of many, including Dare. That was a remarkable tribute.

How I wish we could have more of our greats to celebrate. But will the situation in Nigeria–another bomb went off yesterday, in Kaduna, killing scores–allow us to?

NEW things are always coming out of this beautiful country. Some of them inspire laughter. Others are strange and absurd, provoking tears.

I am not talking about the doctors’ strike and its harvest of deaths that has kept morgue attendants busy. No. Neither am I talking about the Super Eagles’ strike in Brazil – I won’t rake over old coals – and its deleterious effect on our soccer image. No. It is not about Boko Haram either. Rather than let go of the Chibok girls, the evil sect has been taking more hostages and spilling blood in a manner that has shocked the world, including – shockingly- Nigerians.

Politics hits the front burner today as Notebook takes lexicographical note of those words and phrases that may soon be forgotten if nobody attempts to document them as we go on with our daily struggle against the vicissitudes of these times. No Notebook worthy of its name will fail to record such words and phrases, lest its admirers accuse it of gross negligence or sheer irresponsibility, particularly now that the race to 2015 is taking an exciting turn.

Of the lot, “on ground” stands out. This phrase is not actually new, but it remains as relevant and fresh as it was some four years ago when it made its debut in political discourse. A politician is said to be “on ground” when he has a huge support base. His rallies are usually packed like a pop star’s show. It matters little whether the mammoth crowds are shipped in from other states at a price. The point needs to be made that he is “on ground” as this will be the foundation of  other things to ensure his victory. Populism.

But it is not enough for a candidate or an aspirant to be “on ground”; he must “connect”. In other words, he must convince the locals that he is one of them. A homeboy. The other day, I saw on Facebook Osun State Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) candidate in the August 9 governorship election Iyiola Omisore holding roasted corn in both hands, looking a bit troubled, as if he had problems sinking in his teeth and tearing away at the yellow stuff.

To many, it was pure corn, cunning and banal. But those who understand the game knew the con on the cob was all in a bid to “connect”. When a candidate of  another party lost an election recently, one of his failings, according to the army of pollsters, pranksters and fraudsters analysing the upset of the poll was that he failed to “connect”. Omisore would rather eat corn on the street than lend himself to the accusation of giving room to a “disconnect somewhere”. Smart guy.

The other day, he was photographed arriving at a rally atop a motorbike, otherwise known as okada. It is, no doubt, part of “connecting”. The PDP candidate in the recent election aforementioned is said to be a distinguished patron of commercial motorcyclists – a relationship that, some recall, began during his days as a city vehicle spare parts dealer. They voted massively for him, say the analysts, because they saw him as one of them. The thought of an okada man in the Government House thrilled them to no end, I was told.

However, a pragmatic politician who is “on ground” need not be told that apart from being able to “connect”, he must assure the people that governance is not all about smooth roads, fine schools, security and good hospitals. There must be “stomach infrastructure”.

The story is told of how a candidate in the recent election of which I had earlier spoken mounted the podium at a rally, brought out a white handkerchief and began to sob. “What is the matter, sir?” his anxious aides asked him, pleading with the fellow to take it easy. He then, I am told, raised up his head, surveyed the crowd, shook his head mournfully and said in a shaken voice: “Look at my people; they are hungry (sobs). Look at their faces; there is poverty (sobs). Don’t worry. As soon as I get to the Government House, I will uproot the gates and throw away the keys. There will be cooking everyday for you all my people to eat. We must banish hunger and poverty from this land.”

Needless to say, the crowd replied with a thunderous applause.  What the candidate did was simply to tell the electorate that their “stomach infrastructure” was guaranteed.  He then followed up with the distribution of small bags of Thai rice and transport fares. All you needed to get a bag was to show your voter card.

It worked like magic, our man’s aides say now with relish. The people, according to them, rose against the incumbent like the Israelites did against Moses, demanding to be taken back to Egypt because the road to Canaan was long and bumpy. Remember the story?

And talking about magic, there is what some who voted at that election described as “idan” (magic, in English). They spoke of how they pressed their thumb on the space provided for the party of their preference, but the ink would not stay. The ballot, claimed the disgruntled voters, was unusually folded before being handed out to them and, upon opening, it activated a space they never pressed. Besides, said the distraught fellows, the ink dried off their thumb in minutes.

“But, how about the talk that the people rejected your candidate, despite his sterling performance and unassailable integrity as against his opponent, who had so much baggage?”

“Honestly, something happened. Some hi-tech fraud. Why will the people reject our candidate in such a spectacular manner?”

Questions. The evaluators have an answer: “It’s the politics of Barnabas” playing out all over again. They alluded to the biblical story of Christ and Barnabas. When Pontius Pilate asked the crowd to choose who to release, they chorused “Barnabas!”.”What should I do to Jesus of Nazareth?” “Crucify him!,” they screamed.

The same principle, say the analysts, made the African National Congress (ANC) to reject scholarly and suave Tom Mbeki, a gentleman. They chose the polygamist and Zulu war dance enthusiast Jacob Zuma. Politics.

In fact, in the most recent Nigerian experience, the elite were crying that they would never agree that their “gold” should be exchanged for “iron”. What will they do now? Poor guys.

The Osun election is about one month away. There is already the talk of a “bandwagon effect”, following the success of PDP in recent polls. “Bandwagon effect” is not new; the phrase is only making an effective comeback after it had been pressed into service so well by the National Party of Nigeria (NPN) in the Second Republic. The logic is simple. Once you win a state, you are likely to win others because, going by NPN’s warped logic, nobody would like to be in the opposition. “Mainstream” is it.

NPN, for those who are not familiar with the politics of those days, was the forerunner of the PDP. Same parents. Same character. Same style.  It attracted so much odium for its strategy of seeing every election as a war. It hounded its opponents like a hunter after a game and cared little about governance and good conduct. It embraced corruption and abused people’s rights. It carried on like a drunken driver until the military pulled the brakes and stopped the nonsense.

NPN chieftains were fond of handing cash to would-be voters on queue during elections, luring them to vote for their candidates. Today, that trick is called “see-and-buy”. However, it does not really work, unless you belong to the right party. Otherwise, a special squad of armed security operatives riding in buses carrying Presidency number plates may seize you on the eve of the election after accusing you of planning to do “see-and-buy”.

This glossary, dear reader, is by no means comprehensive. More words and phrases will come up as we approach 2015. You will, as usual, be the first to know. I promise.

 

An elegy for Brazil

IT was a moving scene. Men lowered their heads in total exasperation. Women were all tears. Kids were crying as if some greedy old men had grabbed their lollipop. Soccer giant Brazil lost 1-7 to Germany in the last four of the World Cup. Incredible.

I was touched by the emotion displayed by the Brazilians who all turned out in their team’s yellow jersey. They were united in grief. Can Nigerians ever be united in any situation? The Brazilians were shocked that their pride was deflated, but they didn’t leave the arena before the final whistle. They didn’t walk out on their team.  How many of our institutions are we proud of?

The Super Eagles went on strike to force the government to pay them appearance fees. They crashed out of the tournament and now the officials are being asked to account for N2.591billion. Will they?

There is no need for Brazilians to cry. They have given the world a good tournament. Besides, they have taught us a lesson in patriotism. Will Nigeria learn?

AFTER dithering for weeks, President Goodluck Jonathan finally made it to Ado–Ekiti last Saturday.

Dr Jonathan, I am told, felt to be accused of gross insensitivity so soon after dancing with turncoat former Governor Ibrahim Shekarau in Kano while the nation was mourning the Nyanya bomb victims would have been too much to take. He would rather not repeat the offence. Besides, some of his henchmen thought the journey could be a wasteful venture, considering many factors.

The governorship election, which Vice President Namadi Sambo described as a war – his Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), with police backing, has been prosecuting it as so – is now nine days away. It was time the other day in Abuja to review the battle plan, a kind of reconnaissance – in line with the PDP’s language of war.

It was a long meeting. Jonathan presided. There were party chiefs, including an elder statesman whose counsel – opponents see it as foxy and wily – many have found useful in times like these. His bag of tricks seemed exhausted after the PDP lost major elections in his Southsouth home state. But, to many in the PDP, he remains the fixer. Pardon the digression. Also, there were presidential aides and top politicians of the conservative mould, those to whom politics is war and an election a battle in which heads must be smashed and limbs broken. All is fair so long as the prize is secured.

Details of the meeting remain the subject of a conjectural indulgence. There was no communiqué. An unconfirmed but usually reliable source, who swore to me that his uncle’s friend met at an Abuja pepper soup hang-out an influential fellow who claimed to have shared a drink with the son of one of those at the meeting, related what went on at the talks. Here is his account, which, as I said earlier, Editorial Notebook could not confirm:

The President walks in briskly, an aide bearing a lean file in tow. No cap. All smiles, he shakes hands with the group of men who are all standing, muttering greetings. He then sinks into a seat adjusted by the aide, the national flag resting behind him. He opens the file.

“Gentlemen, I greet you all. I thank you for finding the time to attend this all-important meeting. I’m sure you all know why we are here.Ekiti. We want to take Ekiti. Can we do it? Are we ready? What is the situation on ground?”

All is quiet for a short while as the message sinks. The old man stands up to speak. “Sit down, chief; sit down.” The chorus rings through the gathering. The man speaks softly, his voice inaudible. He then clears his throat, summoning from the pocket of his white ‘agbada’ a white handkerchief with which he wipes his mouth,

“Mr President, thank you for calling this meeting. I was going to call it, but you beat me to it. You see, an election is not an owambe party. Neither is it an obito where you call people to eat, drink and make merry. No. It is a serious business. A battle. Are we ready? And this is crucial as the election will say a lot about 2015, which concerns me more than any other thing. I suggest we fight the election with everything.

“You are the President. I don’t have to teach you what to do, but I will like to tell you that my style is not to lose elections. Some people may say, ‘but this is not a presidential election’. They are right and they are wrong. In case you don’t know, this is a fight between you and that man in Lagos. I don’t want to mention any name. I don’t have to.

“Give me the go-ahead to take charge. Logistics and all that. This is a battle we must not lose. Thank you.”

An aide struggles to stand up, rocking sideways before he eventually makes it to his feet. His seat moans as if in pains. It goes quiet as it is relieved of the massive frame.

     “Your Excellency, the President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria and Commander-in- Chief of the Armed Forces, Dr Goodluck Ebele Azikiwe Jonathan, our leaders here present, my colleagues. I thank you for giving me the floor. My position is simple. Whatever we do, we must carry the media along. Public opinion should be on our side. We must be seen to be in a position to win clean and clear so that we don’t face any backlash after the election. I would like to be assigned that role.”

The old man stands up again. The President shifts in his seat. His chin resting on his right hand, he listens as he takes notes on a little jotter provided by one of the attendees.

“Your Excellency, there is no need to start going up and down. There are three options before you and our great party. We can choose to go in there and use the federal might. We can get the military to put up a big show of force on the eve of the election. Armoured tanks will be positioned in strategic towns where our opponents are strong. Soldiers can storm the major towns, singing war songs and shooting into the air several times. There will be so much fear. Who will come out to vote the next day? Nobody. We can then have the ballot all to ourselves.

“Even before our man is announced as winner, you issue a message, congratulating him and our great party. INEC must be told in clear times where we’re going and that we won’t tolerate excuses, like that rerun in Ondo. No. There will be some noises. Opponents will remind you of Chibok, Nyanya, Jos and others. Well, you can’t stop people from doing that.  In fact, the place may be on fire. You allow the military to do their job, with the police providing some back-up. Our goal is simple; the prize or nothing. Remember you’re the President; you must not fail.”

He goes on to paint what he described as the second option, which he says is less strenuous.

“My President, you can also choose to allow a free and fair election in which the better side wins. Chikena! That way, you will be hailed at home and abroad as a statesman who allowed democracy to blossom. Fine. It’s up to you.”

Jonathan takes his eyes off his notes, shakes his head and sinks into a moment of reflection, a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind. The chief resumes his postulation.

“The third option, my President. You may wish to cut a deal with the incumbent ahead of 2015. You need only 25 per cent in Ekiti. That’s all. Tell him you won’t interfere and in return he should support you to have 25 per cent in your own election, which is what is uppermost in my heart. I rest my case, Mr President.”

All is quiet for a while. Jonathan drops his pen and the sound reverberates all over the room. He launches into a moment of deep contemplation.

“I thank you all. Honestly, I have been thinking about this election. Did we get the right candidate? Almost all the other aspirants have quit the party. Many Ekiti indigenes have told me we got it wrong. The other day I read the security report on our man; full of murders and other atrocities. Corruption. There are cases in court. They said he stole N1.3billion poultry fund. And I said to myself, na wah o!. Some of you here insisted that he was the kind of man we needed. Anyway, I have gone there to campaign for him. I have played my own part.”

The party chair, who has also been taking notes, stands up to speak. He adjusts his dress as if to ensure he is looking smart before the audience.

“Mr President, my elders and colleagues. If I got the President right, we need to mind the image of our great party. We can’t continue to be called a party of thieves, thugs and touts. I’m not saying our candidate is any of these o; get me right. But fee dee fee needs a new image. The party must wear a new dress. And this is where I come in. The President will eventually decide whatever we do in Ekiti.

“The other day I saw the video of how our man’s podium collapsed during his campaign. The story all over the place is that he didn’t spend the money he got to build a good podium. A village carpenter cobbled the podium together. I was disturbed. Where is the trust? He is said to be running the campaign all alone. There is so much bitterness in the party.”

The President looks up from his note-taking, smiles a little and closes his notebook.

“Gentlemen, I thank you, once again, for your time. The candidate will be here to see me. And whatever I decide, I will let you know. Goodnight.”

THERE seems to be some hope that the Chibok girls’ crisis will soon be resolved –somehow. Probably by negotiation; most likely not by bullets. Somehow.

President Goodluck Jonathan announced gleefully the other day at the World Economic Forum that the end of the devilish Boko Haram sect had come. Many Nigerians share this optimism. But I hasten to warn that we shouldn’t muddle it all up. The battle is not the war. Retrieving the 276 or so youngsters is different from hacking down Boko Haram, the fiendish group whose April 15 invidious abduction of the pupils from their school in Chibok, Borno State, has made Nigeria the focus of a global resentment and revulsion – that the black man’s hope could be this sick.

When all the world’s super spooks will have returned  home and the accursed crooks, murderers and plunderers of Sambisa forest are appeased. When the hostage negotiators and interrogators will have called it a day. When the ballistic experts will have rounded  off. When the counter insurgency specialists and the Special Forces will have signed off. And when the global media will have disbanded their camp in Abuja to move on to more urgent matters. When it is all resolved  – temporarily – it is most likely we return to our old ways. No lesson taught; no lesson learnt. Life goes on. And the morbid philosophy: oh! It was meant to be. Every nation has its own trying moment and all such vacuous postulations.

It will be fitting for us to put on record how a centenarian became the world’s sick toddler, bedridden by a debilitating ailment caused by the very offspring who should care for him.

On April 14, Boko Haram extremists stormed the Government Secondary School, Chibok in Borno State, corralled over 200 girls into an open space, ordered them into a line of trucks, set the school on fire and drove off with their captives. Unchallenged. By the time the gunmen completed their devilish mission, it was April 15.

The military were said to have got a report that evil was on the way, but a promised reinforcement never came, even after the deed had been done. Distraught parents hired motorcyclists, bows and arrows in their hands, and headed for the forest. They never got there. They were warned by villagers that daring to go on was nothing but suicide.

Devastated, Governor Kashim Shettima rushed down to the Presidential Villa to tell a heart-rending story of how over 200 kids were snatched off their hostels by Boko Haram insurgents. Incredible. The Villa, obviously, did not believe it was no fantasy, a farce, full of fury and drama, told by a politician desperate to discredit the Presidency for some cheap political points.

Then the headlines. The protests. #Bringbackourgirls. Rattled, the government set up a panel – whatever has become of the committee – to verify the truth of the matter. Were kids actually kidnapped? If so, could the number be right? Where are the parents? Are they among the protesters – former public officials and Abuja society women?

Defying security advice, Shettima and his wife travelled to Chibok to behold the ruins of what used to be a vibrant school and comfort the grieving residents of a once peaceful town that is now the scene of a global tragedy and crime against humanity, the girl-child in particular. He was all tears. So were many of the parents.

To dismiss all doubts that the girls had been snatched off their hostels, Boko Haram ringleader, Abubakar Shekau, released on May 5 a video in which he announced to a shocked world that he had the girls, bragging that he would sell them off. Their crime? Shekau said they went to school when they ought to have got married.

Before then, Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) Women Leader Kema Chikwe had issued a statement doubting the authenticity of the mass abductions. Many, who apparently felt hers was a mere expression of the prevailing feeling at the Villa, were asking: Is Kema also a mother? She swiftly reversed her stand.

As if to follow up on Mrs Chikwe’s proposition, First Lady Dame Patience Jonathan summoned a meeting – many insisted it was an inquisition – at the Villa. It later turned out that Shettima’s wife had earlier been there to tell her how it all happened. Apparently, Mrs Jonathan didn’t believe her. So she summoned a meeting, which has now become a box office hit, one of the most viewed – some colleagues in the online section swear it is the most – video clips on the Internet.

The First Lady is filmed throwing up her arms in exasperation after discovering that some of those who were to attend the meeting were not there. In the version of the clip that hit my mobile the other day, she is seen screaming:

 “Princepa,  do u come with two teachers? No…u wia not eform too eh? Ohkay. Kotinew! No ploblem. God will see us. Dia ris God. Dia ris God in everything we ah doin!! Dose blood that are shiarin in Boronu will answer! What of two teachers? WAEC. Two teachers dat can tell us dey coducted dat ezam; do u come with any? Princepa… Okay, na only u waka come too? Now the first lady is kolli you, kwom, ah wan to hep you! Kom to fine ya child, ya missing child… will you keep quiet? Chai..eh …chai-eh…Dia  ris God o!! Dia ris God, Dia ris God, Dia ris God oh! The blors wia sharing. Dia ris God ohhh … Dia ris God ooooooo.”

Why was the First Lady’s intervention for the camera? Wouldn’t a visit to Chibok to cry with those agonising parents have been better? Who advised Mrs Jonathan to do all that? So much for a PR stunt that turned awry.

After the Shekau video, there was a global outrage, with world leaders and celebrities joining the campaign for the girls’ return. UN chief Ban Ki-Moon, Pope Francis, President Barack Obama, First Lady Michelle, British Prime Minister David Cameron, Bill Gates, Kofi Annan, CNN anchor Christine Amanpour, Malala Yousafzai and actors Sean Penn, Ashton Kutcher, Justin Timberlake and Bradley Cooper, who backed a parallel hashtag:#RealMenDontBuyGirls.

Ever so protective of Nigeria’s sovereignty, the Presidency suddenly succumbed to pressure and cried out for help. Enter Britain, United States, France, Israel, China and others. They pledged to rush in their Satellite Imaging capabilities and other advanced tracking technologies to help find the girls.

The police announced on May 7 a N50m reward for information on the whereabouts of the girls. Nigerians sneered. Who are they fooling? Who does not know that the little ones were ferried away to Sambisa forest? Where are the troops who are said to have been in pursuit of the insurgents? Only N50m? Is this another Gulder Ultimate Search? The questions were many.

Former Head of State and All Progressives Congress (APC) chief General Muhammadu Buhari condemned the sect, saying its doctrine of forced conversion has no place in Islam. The Villa hailed his statesmanship.  APC National Leader Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu weighed in, suggesting how to tackle the matter. So did other dignitaries. When the APC Interim Chairman, Chief Bisi Akande, stated the party’s position, lashing the country’s leadership and noting that Nigeria was on auto pilot, the Presidency was enraged. He was accused of “partisan blackmail”. Really?

Meanwhile, the protests continued, with more celebrities signing up. Former Zamfara State Governor Ahmed Yerima – remember him? The senator who was accused of marrying an underage girl – was photographed on the internet carrying the #Bringbackourgirls placard. Strange? Well, these are strange times.

Perhaps to drive home his message more forcefully, Boko Haram followed up on May 1 with a car bomb in Nyanya, killing scores.The large settlement on the outskirts of Abuja had earlier been the scene of a massive suicide bombing in which many died on April 14. The Directorate of State Security (DSS) announced on May 13 that five suspects had been arrested. The speed of the investigation was remarkable, even by our fast-food standard.

Apparently basking in its renewed confidence, Boko Haram stormed Gamboru Ngala on May 5, killing and plundering. The abduction of the Chibok girls overshadowed the despoilment of the hitherto peaceful town. Many were killed and property that represented so many years of sweating were left in ruins. A bridge linking Nigeria to Cameroon was smashed.

The terror mission continued, with the abduction of eight girls, aged between 12 and 15, in Warabe, Borno State. Nothing has been heard about them since May 6 when the news was broken.

Just on Monday, Shekau released another video, showing the poor Chibok girls, a majority of who are Christians, renouncing their fate. He offered to let them go in exchange for his brethren in crime who are in custody. Now, the government is facing a big dilemma. Should it swap prisoners with the innocent girls and be accused of bowing to terrorists? Or should it stay firm–President Jonthan ruled out prisoner swap yesterday–and refuse to negotiate with criminals? Talk about being torn between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Forget about Shekau’s schizophrenic rambling; it’s all balderdash. There is little space for such characters to hide. When Mohammed Yusuf, Shekau’s predecessor, was murdered in police custody, the thinking must have been that that was the final solution. How wrong. We left intact all the factors that bred the likes of Yusuf. And so it is most likely to be after Shekau.

The battle will be won. My fear is the war. But, whichever way it goes, we should remember one fact: dia ris God oooo.

NIGERIA is a commentator’s nightmare. Just before you start putting your thoughts together on an incident, another falls upon you like a piece of brick on a construction site, leaving you numb and dumb. You pull yourself together and settle down to pour out your thoughts, then, another hits you with a greater force that leaves you devastated. Suddenly.

I was to join the revelry of the rebasing miracle that has overnight turned our dear country into an economic super power. Suddenly, all those arm-chair theorists and old school academics who mock our economy as poor, are taking back their word. By a stroke of the pen, our economy has become the biggest in Africa, knocking South Africa off the top of the ladder on which it thought it was comfortably seated.

Nobody ever thought it was this simple. Since 1990, Nigeria’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP) had been static. From a modest $305b, it has now leapt up to about $488b. South Africa’s is about $384.3b. Now, the G20 will be inviting us to take our seat. Won’t the UN Security Council be forced to create room for the new economic power house?

The rebasing feat that we are celebrating is simple. Many sectors, such as telecommunications and financial services as well as Nollywood – Aki and Paw Paw, Mr Ibu, Osuofia, Mr Latin and Baba Suwe – never featured in past calculations. Even now, some sectors are left out. When the last rebasing was done in 1990, our cities were not this flooded with commercial motorcycles and tricycles battling for right of way with rickety buses and smoking cars. Their contributions to the economy, I am sure, are yet to be calculated.

Instead of congratulating the government on this feat, some off-form economists and lazy politicians, who obviously think GDP is the name of a new political group associated with the ruling Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), are saying it is all a joke. They say it is all on paper and that the figures do not reflect the reality – of insecurity, hunger and disease – that Nigerians experience. Cheeky fellows. They do not seem to understand that in Nigeria, everything must be made to look good and great – in the spirit of the perception war among our politicians. No matter how sour a meal is, it doesn’t matter so long as it is dished in glittering china.

But the government seems to have developed a shock absorber to withstand the pressure as every inventive step it takes in its Transformation Agenda (TA) is pilloried by its opponents. The other day when the President approved that the families of those who died in the Immigration jobs stampede should get three jobs – those injured got automatic employment – the idea was scorned to no end by those jobless critics who would do everything to scupper any creative initiative. Now, what they derided as death-for-job has been tested in Uyo, the Akwa Ibom State capital, where an unemployed graduate went flat right in the middle of a busy road, an envelope containing his documents on his hand, waiting to be run over. Unconfirmed reports said he got a job after newspapers splashed his photograph on their front pages.

Another fellow who can hardly afford one decent meal daily has been chuckling confidently all over the place, saying in rebasing he has found an answer to his poverty. He says excitedly: “I will simply sit down, trace my past activities that those who call me poor may not have noticed, rework the whole thing and cry to the world: bye to poverty! Simple.”

Even before the rebasing wonder, the National Conference had taken off with great excitement. There were some teething problems. The manner of voting was an issue. There was also the culinary complexity. Delegates grumbled that the feeding arrangement was inadequate. Many would like to have their choice dishes and not just anything dished out by the kitchen. Some wanted Chinese rice with shrimps, butterfly prawns, hot and sour soup, spare ribs with spicy sauce, chicken satay, crispy fried won ton and such stuff. Others wanted simple Nigerian dishes, such as ogbono and pounded yam with bush meat – to hell with Ebola – and all that. All with nice wines for full effect. It was later discovered that after the culinary battle had been fought and won – thanks to the gourmets in the house, including Mrs Josephine Anenih – many delegates spent the afternoon sections dozing off.

Photographers were having a field day, trading their lens on those snoring off the day. This, a source told me, was part of the reason for some delegates’ suggestion that the media should either be barred from covering the conference or be told how they should cover the show.

There was also the question of grammar. Many delegates were quick to point out errors in the minutes. Besides, names were wrongly spelt. A traditional ruler said he should not be addressed as “His Royal Highness”, but as “His Royal Majesty”. Remember, it is no longer fashionable to be a “chief”; you must be a “high chief”.

Nevertheless, the conference has offered a cornucopia of ideas, thoughts and feelings. Besides, it has kept busy many of those busybodies who had time to lampoon the government for its seeming inadequacies.

Another traditional ruler flared up. Suddenly. The Lamido of Adamawa warned that his people should not be provoked to denounce their Nigerian citizenship and head for Cameroon where, according to him, his kingdom stretches. Then, he came under attack for promoting disunity and bringing bad feelings into a conference that had gone on under remarkable conviviality and camaraderie.

Till date, nobody has asked the Lamido of Adamawa why he spoke the way he did. As they say, there is no smoke without fire. What sparked the royal anger, expressed in so pugnacious a manner? We may never know.

An Ondo State delegate urged the conference to proclaim the castration of rapists. It was not immediately clear why Dr Yemi Mahmud- Fasominu made this seemingly bizarre suggestion. An insolent fellow asked in bewilderment: has he been raped before? I am surprised that our advocates of women’s rights – some of them are at the conference – have not seen the potential of Mahmud-Fasominu’s suggestion to stem the tide of rape in the land. Nobody – old women, housewives (some raped by their men), students and infants – is spared of this social aberration.

Those who have been saying the conference will make or mar Nigeria should, by now, know that they are merely justifying their participation in what many perceptive observers have condemned as a grand deception and diversion. It will neither make nor mar Nigeria. But, one fact is clear: it will rob the treasury of no less than N7billion – in the first instance.

The serenity of the conference hall was shattered on Monday when the news of the Nyanya suicide bombing was broken. No fewer than 150 died in that incident. The government said 75 died. The victims were poor Nigerians struggling to make a living in the city. President Goodluck Jonathan visited the scene. He was also at the hospital to see the injured after putting off a trip to Ibadan for the centenary birthday of the Olubadan, Oba Samuel Odulana, Odugade 1. It was a national calamity.

The scene was a huge canvass of blood and human flesh, symbolising man’s descent into Satan’s abyss. Horrendous. Many were crying. Hospitals and morgues were jammed. It was hell on earth. Apparently unwilling to waste precious presidential time on mourning the dead, the very next day, Dr Jonathan was off to Kano to receive former Governor Ibrahim Shekarau to the PDP. Before the Kano trip, the news was broken of Boko Haram’s abduction of more than 100 girls in a school hostel in Borno State. From Kano, Dr Jonathan hit Ibadan to join Oba Odulana in cutting his birthday cake. Nothing, it seemed, could get in the way of politics. But, Mr President, when will politics give way for sane governance? When?

PRESIDENT Goodluck Jonathan and Kano State Governor Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso have been locked in a bitter war of words. The governor said he regretted voting Dr Jonathan to become president. The President said Kwankwaso never voted for him. In fact, said Jonathan, the cash he gave the governor for Kano delegates during the primary was not delivered.

Kwankwaso chided Jonathan for embarking on “merry-making trips” and “gallivanting round the country in the name of PDP unity rally” when he should be mourning those who died in the Nyanya suicide bombing. He said if he contested the presidency with Jonathan, he would win even with only PDP votes.

If all was well, it would have been some comic relief, if our leaders are hurling barbs at one another. Yabis, said the late songster, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, “ is no case.” Nigeria has been seized by the throat in a season of unequalled fiendishness. Boko Haram. Fulani herdsmen against farmers . Kidnappers and armed robbers. Ritualists and other killers.

Our leaders should be more inspiring now or keep quiet.