Okon: Baba, wetin be difference between dem defection and dem deflection?
Baba Lekki: Ha yeye boy, so you no sabi dat one? Defection be when dem wan assassinate sitting gorbment and deflection be when dem sitting gorbment wan assassinate dem assassinators.
Okon: Thank you baba, make I go collect garbage.
Baba Lekki: Ha Okon, baggage be when gorbment collect corrupt politicians and garbage be when dem dump gorbment.
Okon: Thank you baba, I don see why refuse come be refuse now.
The ripples over the exit of the Green Eagles from the World Cup currently winging its way to a brilliant climax in Russia have not quite subsided. The recriminations have been fierce and unrelenting. Not even the coach, the dour and dutiful German, Herr Gertnor Rohr, has been spared the occasional bombardment. His tactical naivety, concerning the last ten minutes of the match against the Argentines, has come up for stringent and severe scrutiny.
Nothing spoil—as they say, well except some people’s Estacode and holiday in the sizzling land of Vodka and iconic Tsars. A book has actually been written by a professorial killjoy that demonstrates with exacting statistics that the four-yearly soccer extravaganza actually contributes nothing to a country’s GDP or the overall wellbeing of its people. Soccer is the opiate of poor people and poor nations.
Snooper is very sure that his bosom friend, Segun Odegbami, aka Mathematical, will be up in arms against this academic sourpuss. Mathematical has been sending snooper some dispatches from Stalingrad full of soccer gems and wisdom. But with Messi and co mercilessly upending the party, the great No7 will now have to find his way back to his rural domains of Orile Wasinmi.
Your columnist has nothing to add, except a small poser. When will Nigerians and Africans learn the lesson that African magic is no match for scientific football? At the 1974 World Cup, a cynical western commentator observed thus of the Congolese team: “Despite their witchdoctor and a generous supply of monkey meat from home, they succumbed to a 9-0 drubbing by Poland”.
At the 1982 World Cup in Spain, an observer noted thus of the Cameroonian team: “Since their goalkeeper [the great Thomas N’kono ] was the hero of their qualifying matches, not much is expected of them.” And so it came to pass. Eight years later at Italy 1990, Baba Bamenda, the Cameroonian witchdoctor, spread his grisly fare on a mat hilariously insisting that Cameroon was winning even at the closing seconds of the match when it was obvious that England had prevailed.
In Nigeria, it is now obvious that the fear of Argentina is the beginning of football wisdom. For many Nigerians, Argentina has become enemy number one when it comes to world cup ousters. Snooper can attest to the fact that the last encounter was not just a physical contention, it was also a metaphysical and occult duel.
Baba Lekki was in his mystical elements. Snooper sat glued to the television as the old contrarian shambled in, pole-hugging drunk and swigging from a huge bottle of local whiskey with Okon in tow wildly cheering on the ancient codger.
“Na today today I go show dem Pampas people dem mothers’ hind and behind”, the old man swore as he headed for the abandoned garage. The television began beaming images of a corpulent but gamey Diego Amanda Maradona waltzing with a delectable Nigerian lady who appeared to be having a swell time with the jowly rogue from the old inner city of Buenos Aires.
“Dat one na our Moremi who go show dem fat boy say Soponna still dey Nigeria”, Baba Lekki crooned with a sadistic grin.
Very soon, a huge bale of smoke billowed from the garage as fumes of native frankincense filled the air. This was the nearest you can ever get to a sorcerers’ sortie. Baba Lekki was exultant directing the smoke in the direction of Argentina with a primitive wind vane even as some fancifully attired musicians materialized from the interior.
In an infamous echo of Baba Eleran, the redoubtable witchdoctor of the great IICC “Shooting Star” team of the eighties, the old wizard began chanting.
Balubalu nta’dan, balubalu nta’dan
Y’obale y’obale ni labalaba fi wo’gbo lo
Amubo amubo ni t’adete.
Agbejule niti igi oyin
By this time, the drummers had begun panning out their subversive lyrics, hinting at the disorientation awaiting purblind bats that choose to fly by daytime.
Messi, gbabi ma gba be
Gbabe ma gba bi.
Everything ended in tears and much gnashing of teeth. The surreal party dissolved in disarray as a loud shriek of despair accompanied the final whistle. Once again, Argentina has taught Nigeria a memorable soccer lesson. A crowd of hustlers broke through the area demanding for their money.
“You see everthin na by lucky lucky, today Nigeria no get lucky”, a tall sprightly Alhaji with a golden voice observed, trying to calm the crowd.
“Shut up!” an irate urchin shouted at the man as Okon collared an absconding Baba Lekki.
“Baba, wetin happen now? Sebi you say we go win dem Argentina six tororo?”
“Ha Okon dis one pass African magic. Na dat mad boy dem dey call Maradona or Manradana. Na him come charm dem yeye girl. Moremi come become Maarele. Na God go punish him mama”, the old crook whimpered as Okon tightened his grip.
“Baba he get something I be wan ask. How come dem Argentina no get even one black player?”
“Ha Okon, black no dey dem dictionary for Maradona land oo. Dem don genocide dem dudu people. Dem Argentina don finis all dem black people. Dem kaput dem patapata. If to say na Brazil dem Africa magic go dabaru dem brain”, Baba Lekki sighed.
“So, how we go win dem when dem no get dem black people?” Okon said as he relaxed his hold on the old man. Baba Lekki promptly disappeared into an adjoining bush.
With Joshua Bichi Dariye kissing the judicial canvas after being poleaxed by the relentless and implacable Justice Banjoko, the list of executive convicts appears to be lengthening. There are reports that some of the prospective prisoners are considering fleeing into exile or some more terminal form of self-deportation.
Jeez!!!! Does anybody remember a legendary Lagos magistrate of the sixties known for his zero tolerance for criminality and social misdemeanour? Magistrate Ogunmuyiwa, aka Baba Ewa, was a dreaded scourge of criminals and social deviants. Any minor infraction invited maximum penalty.His nickname probably came from the fact that black beans was the staple diet of prisoners in those days, and Baba Ewa piled it up on them.
According to Baba Lekki, Baba Ewa has resurrected in Abuja to drive the fear of the lord into state criminals. To protect Mama Ewa, Baba Lekki has been consulting some crack herbalists for the charm of amuniti. As usual, Okon has been in the thick of things, berating the government for not being punitively proactive. The morning after Dariye was convicted, the crazy boy barged in waving a copy of a daily which captured the former governor heaving and sobbing after the law finally caught up with him.
“Oga dis go serve as dem detergent to all the crooks and criminals”, the mad boy screamed. Snooper noticed the grammatical howler but chose not to correct in case it might encourage the mad boy.
“But oga see dem yeye government, when you wan praise dem for better thing dem go do dem Abasha again. Why dem dey close border against rice. No be against them politicians dem for close border. I hear say one of dem dey dig tunnel from Shaki to Kutonu. Kai dis Yoruba people sef!!!”
“Okon, leave me alone. I am not interested”, snooper snapped. But rather than dissuading the mad boy, it actually encouraged him to inch closer.
“Oga I no say na becos of that una fat friend who dey come thief my soup after him wife don beat am finish. I wan make dem Abuja woman giam two hundred years as detergent”, the mad boy said and stormed away.
It never rains but pours, they say. The news at the end of the week was that Britain was to build a 700,000 pound prison in Nigeria. Considering that about six million Nigerians are already in prison in Britain, it does make eminent sense. It is a very British coup de grace, snooper had growled with early morning distemper. But when Baba Lekki was asked for his response, it was as interesting as it was intriguing.
“Shine your eyes very well my boy. In international diplomatic parlance, this is known as normal immigration control at source. Just tell them to make sure there is plenty of Yorkshire pudding and Cornish pasties or there will be a massive jail break”, the old contrarian and failed Lincoln Bar candidate told Okon and ordered the poor boy to get lost.
“Baba, but I get one yeye question, I been wan ask,” Okon insisted.
“Wetin now, Okon?” the old man demanded.
“Where dem people for hell dey tell dem people to go?” Okon demanded.
“Nigeria!” the old man hissed and charged Okon.
As the controversy over Papa Doc’s latest e-pistol ( oooops, or is it epistle?) rages on in the land with no sign of abating, it is meet to report on certain ominous developments which may presage some imminent trouble for the leta-bomber. Wading through tons and heaps of newsprint devoted to the satanic verse last weekend, snooper stumbled on an interview granted by a young Fulani aristocrat who vowed that insha allah, it was going to be baba’s last letter.
Worried by the terminal finality with which the threat was issued and knowing the fiery northern power brokers not to do things in half measures, it was a distraught Okon who went in search of the vagabond and footloose political diviner from Ibadan. The crazy boy caught up with the old contrarian at Igbo Efon borne aloft by hoodlums and hysterics singing lustily as they tossed a mock casket in the air.
A ti gbe baba rele, a ti gbe baba rele
A tigbe eee, atigbe ee baba rele
As a frantic Okon attempted to drag the old man away from his outlaw admirers, Baba Lekki stalled and put his foot down. “Okon, I have little time for your lumpen-bourgeois chicanery. You can only ask me three questions”, the old crook screamed as he dragged Okon to a quiet turf away from the rowdy din. Knowing when not to press his luck with the old man, Okon meekly complied.
“Baba, wetin be dem problem with dis Coalition for dem Change business, abi coalition na collision?” the crazy boy demanded.
“Coalition for change mean say old coalition don change. It means that baba don get a brand new band”, the old man sneered.
“Baba dem kukuruku people don write dem UN say dem done leave obodo Nigeria like dem Kanu boys. No be say market don dey close be dat?” Okon moaned in distress.
“A Republic of rogues will father rogue republics”, the old man thundered.
“Baba, this dem APC people dem done come with dem restructure wuruwuru again. Dem no get shame?” Okon rued half-aloud.
“Ha, Okon leave those ones. After they have finished restructuring their restructuring, there will be nothing to restructure again”, the old man snorted with cruel relish as he jumped up.
(An old classic from the Okon chapbook.)
As the presidential sweepstake stalemates into a geopolitical duel, political incontinence and foul distemper has taken over the land. Okon has been adding fillips to the disorder in his own unique ways. When he is not running abusive commentaries about the political elite, he is busy excoriating the major ethnic groups for bringing Nigeria into disrepute.
One sultry afternoon, Okon stormed out of the house after a heated exchange with Mama Igosun vowing to form his own party. He had asked the tough matriarch which party she would vote for in the coming election.
“Mabolaje Grand Alliance”, the old woman replied with a frown.
“Mafoluku abi wetin you call am? Which kind Yoruba Secret Society be dat one again? Abi na fuku dis mama think dem dey chop for party?”, Okon snorted.
“Na your papa dey Mafoluku. Na dem party of dem Adelabu, dem Akinbiyi and dem Akinloye. Abi no be dem Gbomogbomo (kidnappers) party your kobokobo people dey do for Ikot Olosi?” Mama snarled, eyeing the mad boy with angry disdain.
“Chei! Dem dead Yoruba troublemakers again! Nigeria don kaput.” Okon lamented bitterly.
“Wo tinba la orogun yi mo e lori waagba”, Mama cursed and charged at the mad boy.
You can then imagine snooper’s consternation when the half-crazed dustbin woman charged breathlessly into the sitting room to announce that Okon was on television fielding questions. And lo there was the crazy one dressed like a resource control chieftain running rings round everybody.
“Etubom Okon, thanks for coming again. It takes a lot of courage. It…” the adorable lady interviewer opened.
“See me see trouble ooo. I never come once and you don dey say again. Let me tell una, dis yeye thin no dey take courage at all”, Okon retorted with devilish hoopla. The poor girl squirmed in embarrassment. At this point, Baba Lekki staggered in thoroughly drenched with incontinence reeking of cheap illicit gin and shivering like a rain-beaten chicken. Okon took a scornful look at the human fiasco and burst into deranged laughter.
“You see, make una throway salute for baba oo. Him dey come from Ikorodu Island. Him come reach Majidun by boat and him come swim the rest,” the mad boy crowed.
“What is your name sir?” the other lady asked Baba Lekki.
“I am Lambert Adesokan, the Elegiri of Alekuso, Inter-LLB”, Baba replied promptly.
“Sir as they say, let charity begin at home..” the first lady began.
“Ah dem Ibo girl again! Dem Charity be dem Ibo girl wey im papa dey wire. When dem ask Ibo man why him dey wire him own daughter him come reply say Charity must to begin at home”, Okon sneered. The interviewers ignored the mad boy.
“Sir, what is the name of your party?” one of them asked baba.
“CAN. Comedians Association of Nigeria.” Baba replied.
“What is your motto?”
“Toyota Landcruiser”, Okon jumped in again and was ignored.
“And where is your party manifesto?” one of the lady’s asked sniffily and prettily.
“Nonsense. I don’t do bourgeois chicanery. A people’s party needs no manifesto. The educators need to be properly educated”, Baba Lekki spat in perfect English.
“Sir, what is your view of MEND?”
“MEND na emendation, so one mend equals ten emendations”, Baba growled.
“Come no be dem Okah boy com drive Babangida from dem Dodan before, before?” Okon screamed. At this point, the station succumbed to a massive power cut.
TO Orile Ikotun for a landmark interview on the state of the nation with an irate and irascible Baba Lekki. For students of what is known as Folk Etymology, or the popular origins of certain expressions that have achieved universal currency in the language, it is useful to recap that the word “lootocracy” entered the national currency after the collapse of the Second Republic.
It was used to characterize the widespread looting of the nation’s resources that took place during that inglorious Republic. Needless to add, a lootocracy is government of looters by looters and for looters. In a savage parody of a rather noble phrase, a wag later reformulated this as Aluta Continua meaning looting continues.
But as the Second Republic recedes in human memory, as the remains of our children absconding from the concrete hell of an unravelling post-colonial state are brought back in Maghreb body bags, the men and women of the Second Republic as well as the infamous ten-percenters of the First Republic are beginning to look like secular saints. The limit that we thought was the limit is no longer the limit. After the sharp, surgical stealing of military interregnum, kleptocracy—the rule of thieves-, reigns supreme in the Fourth Republic. It is a looter takes all situation.
As each new day brings bitter evidence of the bureaucratic and political disorder that has overwhelmed the country, as official response oscillates between languid cynicism and state paralysis, and as revelations of what is nothing but a widespread systematic looting of national patrimony tumble out of Mainagate, it is clear that the nation is suffering from sheer memory fatigue.
It was a furious and livid Baba Lekki that responded to these issues. After writing his last testament in which he dismissed the nation as an unviable and unworkable colonial torture wrack, he disappeared into a manhole off Akute until he was literally fished out by intrepid staffers from a popular television station who wanted his views on burning national issues. Before leaving amidst the usual retinue of riffraff, the celebrated contrarian warned Okon not to dabble in matters beyond the ken of kitchen kids.
The interview began with anxious and unctuous staffers trying to draw out the old scoundrel who sniffed at the surrounding wearing a surly scowl.
“Congratulations on your memoir, we hear it is hot stuff”, one of them opened.
“Don’t congratulate me, weep for yourselves. I have no time for bourgeois rituals”, Baba Lekki snapped. At this point, Okon began to sweat.
“All right sir. What do you have to say on this business of re-looting of old loot?”
“Isn’t that what is known as reluta continua?” the old man retorted with a bitter grin.
“Baba, kulu kulu tempa oo”, Okon remonstrated.
“Okon shut up. I don tell una say dis one no be add pepper and put maggi business”, the old man chided Okon with affectionate severity. The interviewers saw an opening.
“Baba, it is said that Maina is an American citizen?”
“Don’t be a fool. If he likes let him come from Siberia. They are building up a no-case submission. Have you ever heard of an American extradited to Nigeria?” the old logician quipped. At this point, the interviewers decided to switch to political developments.
“Sir, how do you view the suggestion that Atiku should visit Obasanjo for reconciliation?”.
“I support it. Obasanjo will give Atiku special pounded yam and rare mushroom and he would have solved part of the National Question.” The old crook crowed and then lapsed into Yoruba. “ Odigbere ni yen”.
“What does that mean sir?”
“It means Atiku is ku-— as they said of the Yoruba comedian”, the old man sniggered.
“Please elaborate sir”.
“What is there to elaborate? Are you not an educated man? Politically, it means Atiku-late.”
“Kai kai dis baba na dangerous man. I hope dem security dey tally wetin everybody dey say becos Efik boy no go go jail for Yoruba man oo”. At this point, one uppity fellow came forward.
“Baba, we cannot just abandon our country like that. A lot of political reconciliation is going on across board which augurs well for the country. What is your take on the Abidjan air-show?” the young man demanded.
“If you care to know, young man, that one na turugo turugo, a corruption of tug of war. Dede dey stalk Iku and Iku dey stalk Dede. Aburo, Abidjan is what they call Alujanjankijan in Yoruba. At this point, the crazy old man, joined by his retinue of infamy, started dancing and singing Fela’s famous song bringing the interview to an abrupt conclusion.
TO the outskirts of Orile Oworo where Lambert Alekuso, aka Baba Lekki, in a sudden burst of Oluyole nationalism, was threatening to deliver the first Alimi Yopayopa Memorial Lecture. Alimi Yopayopa was a famous magician of his time in Ibadan justly celebrated for his outlandish magical stunts. Among these was his uncanny ability to detach and decouple his arm from the rest of the body and to stitch it back in the twinkling of an eye as if nothing had happened.
In a landmark legal whodunit, the famed illusionist, on a tour of duty in Ilesha, was once arraigned before a Customary Court on the allegation of affray. In self-defence, Alimi had told the judge that his troublesome left hand must have been the culprit. Unfazed by such gobbledygook, the aging disciplinarian jurist promptly proceeded to sentence Alimi’s left hand to four months in prison with hard labour whereupon the rogue magician handed out his left hand for deserving punishment. The judge and the court fled in different directions and the proceeding ended in pandemonium.
It was a cool and wet morning in early August. It has been raining all morning in Lagos. The soggy atmosphere was hostile and inhospitable. Yet it was daybreak. But like Gregor Samsa, the famous hero of Franz Kafka’s novella, who woke up only to find that he had been turned into a giant insect, snooper found himself unable to get out of bed.
It might have been due to sheer tropical lassitude or enervation of the spirit caused by the Nigerian condition. And yet the wall clock, the instrument and symbol of merciless western rationality and efficiency, ticked on with relentless precision. Whether you like it or not, you will have to get out of bed even if it drizzles and drones till the end of time. Lagos is no respecter of idle bed bugs. The Ambode fellow was already on his way to Langbassa.
At Oworo-Ile it turned out that the aging crook had no intention of delivering any lecture and was merely interested in his customary subversive ranting against the state. He was already on a makeshift stage huffing and puffing with inflammatory rhetoric with a runaway Okon strangely remonstrating with the old crook. Snooper slipped through the back of the hall which was already packed full with roughnecks, ruffians and casual ragamuffins on the fringes of the society. A bleary-eyed sadist from the front row put up his hand.
“Baba, as dem police comes steal Jonathan dem funishore wetin be dat now?” he demanded.
“ Ha as Fela go say authority stealing don become stealing from authority”, Baba Lekki snorted.
“So equation don equalize be dat, abi no be so? “ the Island sadist demanded. At this point, a clearly unhinged Okon jumped up on the makeshift stage.
“Una people, make una de tally everything everybody dey say oo becos Efik boy no go go jail for wetin Yoruba people dey say oo. Na devolution baba say him wan talk about no be dis yabis oo”, Okon screamed.
“Omo ale. Who put kukuruku boy mouth for dis?” Baba Lekki demanded.
“Baba, you don make seven speech already and dat one na eight speech. Dem say make we no dey do eight speech”, the mad boy whimpered. At this point some hoodlums jumped on the makeshift stage to take out Okon. The stage collapsed with a thunderous bang. The crowd panicked and everybody took to their heels.
To the Olobeloloko Canteen of Shakirat, aka Iya Abolere, on the outskirts of Ipaja Village for a rousing meal of grilled porcupine and pounded yam served with Elegede and woorowo vegetable marinated by crushed mushroom of an aromatic variety found in only that part of the country and at a particular time of the year. Gastronomic legend has it that the mushroom was brought by Egbado or Yewa people fleeing from the ravages of the brutal King Gezo of Dahomey in the mid-nineteenth century.
A day after the historic Senate vote, a leglessly drunk Baba Lekki was sighted in the neighbourhood distributing leaflets announcing the arrival of a new political movement named MRN. When the old contrarian was accosted by undercover police agents to tell them the meaning of MRN, he went berserk with rage and insolence.
“Oga shine una Zombie eye well well. MRN na Movement for the Recall of Nigeria. Abi when dem vehicle get factory fault no be say you go recall am make dem factory fit am or finish am?” the old crook demanded from the security agents who strangely asked him to carry on.
It was such a delight to escape the political bedlam through the suburban backdoor to the Lagos country side and its amazing beauty of a landscape and soothing vegetation. Strange things are happening in the country. Some other groups are distributing leaflets about an e-country. Snooper is familiar with e-passport, e-ticket and e-visa. But what does e-country mean? We put the question to Okon who made a short shrift of his boss.
“Oga as I no sabi book, how I go know?” the mad boy taunted. “But how come you no know say e-country mean exit country?”
“And what does that mean?” snooper growled.
“He mean say country don exit, which mean say he no dey exist again, obodo don kaput”, Okon retorted with malicious gusto. For once the mad boy seems to be making a whole lot of sense. But people of his ilk are also part of the problem. With his incessant demand for a pay hike and paternity leave, Okon had become a nuisance and a source of domestic terror. When snooper asked the mad boy how he proposed to cater for the children he was siring, he had shot back that since nobody catered for him, everybody must find their way.
“Oga as dem Yoruba people dey say, when cow no get tail, na Baba God dey help am fight flies”, the mad boy snorted as he tucked into a bowl of rice and beans.
But to think of leaving Okon behind is to find him in front of you. The previous day the crazy boy had arrived home nursing swollen eyes and phenomenally inflated lips. When snooper asked him about the source of his injuries, he replied that he had just escaped kidnappers. Unknown to snooper Okon occasionally visits Ipaja to extort money from Shakirat under the guise of providing protection from kidnappers.
Snooper had hardly settled down to the wondrous meal when Iya Abolore, a big bosomy lady with elephantine girth, trundled towards us beaming her usual conspiratorial smile.
“Ha oga dat your boy Okon, na real olosha, He come yesterday with them e-boys. I give am food and money but him say I never give am real food. As him dey look me one kind, I come hit am with dem heavy spoon, but as dat one no do I come pound am with dem yam pestle naim him oga and dem exit boys come carry am go. When him reach heaven make him dey go do dat kind yeye nonsense with women who old pass him mama”, the woman chanted breathlessly.
It was then that snooper understood why Okon had been economical with the truth about his injuries. The shame of his misadventure would not allow him to come clean. A revolution is truly upon the land.
TO Ikotun-Langbasa on the northern outskirts of the metropolis for a most hilarious and outlandish interview on the state of the nation with Lambert Alekuso, aka Baba Lekki, failed lawyer, recovering anarchist, lapsed Mobolaji Grand Alliance stalwart and famed disciple of Harold Laski, the turbulent and iconic LSE star professor of the fifties.
It has been a dizzying time in Nigeria as the nation went into an ethnic tailspin with manuals of Siamese surgical separation flying all over the place and prospective pre-colonial kraals getting ready to address the United Nations. Baba Lekki has not been left out of the action. The old crook had disappeared briefly only to reappear slumming it out in a huge crater abandoned by NNPC. It was here that he was teaching locals on emergency drills after preparing his last testament. It was here that Okon caught up with the master rebel on a wet, rainy morning.
“Baba, which kind nonsense be dis one? You dey here dey smoke gbana when kontri dey kaput”, the mad boy screamed at the old man.
“Ha yeye boy, long time. I dey like kobiowu”, the old man replied with a miserly grin.
“Baba wereee! Which kind Yoruba nonsense bi kowukowu?” the crazy boy railed.
“Ha small kukuruku boy. Kobiowu na solid steel bar. You hit am na wahala. Him hit you na helele”, the old man crowed.
“Baba, if you no take time I go get dem Niger Delta boys who go finish dis Yoruba jibiti for una”, Okon railed.
“Ha Okon mewa babanla e won to be. He get time like dat when one man for dem village called Tonkere dey threaten Bola Ige. Him nickname be “Try and See” the old man shot back.
“Baba I no care about dat one. Dis kontri wan kaput,” Okon screamed.
“You see, Okon kontri be like dem Yoruba boy dem name Folorunso who dey climb palm tree with dem banana straw. Even God no fit save dat one. “ the old man snorted.
“Baba, wahala dey ooo. Even dem Evans come sue dem police”, Okon moaned.
“Ha, Okon, dat one na kata come meet katakata. Evans na Ivan the terrible or enfant terrible. There are thieves among emperors and there are emperors among thieves”, the old man sniggered.
“Baba, dis dem Biafra-exit I no understand at all”, Okon wondered aloud.
“Ha Okon dat one na Ibo confusion. Bia for Igbo mean come and exit mean go, so na come and go and go and come be dat one”, the old man replied with a scorning hiccup.
“Baba, where dem fit pack dem president jet?” the poor boy demanded.
“You park jet in a jetty”, Baba Lekki rumbled and then disappeared into the huge crater.