The Nation Newspaper

Tag: Okon

  • Now, Okon propounds a culinary theory of national chaos

    After an Easter celebration filled with bombs and bombasts, snooper had settled into a post-Easter rumination about the fate of the country. One is now slowly coming to the conclusion that things will not get better in this country in one’s lifetime. It is a psychological therapy called reconciliation under duress. No matter how you look at it, it is not a bad development.

    It consoles and soothes and helps you put a glossy sheen on things no matter how depraved and degenerate they may be. It allows snooper to reach back for historical comparison. Almost every Yoruba child born between 1823 and 1875 was born into a situation of great strife and turmoil. This was the period of the Yoruba Mfekane, or dispersal of the tribe.

    But Okon was having none of that. There is something to be said for the vitality and energy of youth. As snooper slipped deeper into this anti-revolutionary mush, Okon was all boundless energy and initiative. One morning, the bounder showed up in the sitting room dressed like a respectable Niger Delta chieftain.

    “And where is Asari Dokunmu heading for this morning?” snooper asked with a sarcastic leer.

    “Oga, I wan reach Abuja make man attend dem Congress of oil-producing Nationalities (CON) Dem say we dey meet for dem Hall 419 for dem Sheraton. We wan talk before oil scatter obodo as dem mala wan drive Jonothan comot with dem tira and dem wahala”, Okon replied with a frown.

    “ So what are you going to tell them at the conference?”

    “Ha oga dat one dey easy. I go tell dem say obodo problem be like dem problem of dem yeye Yoruba soup. As dem Yoruba soup get too much oil, obodo Nigeria too get too much oil. Make we remove dem oil and everybody go scram and we go get peace for obodo, When dem oil no dey again, you go dey hear dem mala scream, tefi mana, tefi mana”, Okon chortled with devilish relish.

    “Quite some culinary theory of national chaos”. Snooper mumbled to himself.

    “Oga dis no be time for grammar, na dem Yoruba grammar finis us before before, all dem Lagos lawyers and dem Shakabula journalists who dey answer Oyinbo name, yeye people”, Okon sneered. Snooper suppressed his mirth at the boy’s militant malice compounded by sheer ignorance.

    “So Okon, what else are you doing in Abuja?” snooper cautiously demanded.

    “I wan reach Aso Rock make I grab dem amnesty from dem Jonathan. He be like if dat one just dey distribute amnesty like dem Red Cross rice. Dem amnesty na for my brother sub-lieutenant William Oyazimo. Na dem Yoruba people finis dat one for Bar Beach becos dem think say na Ibo” Okon submitted.

    “Is that not the WAHUM armed robber of the early seventies?” snooper asked in alarm.

    “Him no be armed robber. Na dem Yoruba finis am becos him go knack dem Yoruba wife for dem barracks. You no say for dat time dem wuruwuru man for Dahomey come kill him number two dem Captain Aikpeh becos him say dat one dey knack him wife. Oga rubbing no be robbery” Okon flatly propounded. It was on that note that snooper wished the loony boy God’s speed.

  • Okon sets a cat among the pigeons

    Only an event involving two of Nigeria’s most illustrious sons could have attracted the stellar crowd that graced the formal investiture of Wole Soyinka as the first recipient of the Awolowo Leadership Prize. It was perhaps the greatest collection of eminent Nigerians since the great philosopher-statesman dined alone. The commodious Harbours’ Hall filled to its full capacity.

    Unknown to a snooper disoriented by flu and long distance gallivanting, Okon had slipped his domestic mooring and dressed like a traditional Efik chieftain, the loony lad was right there in the crowd glad-handing and back-thumping like a politician of the First Republic. Snooper was aghast by this display of social delinquency by this impossible boy. But the make-belief racket was unsustainable and a brisk commotion soon engulfed the reception foyer.

    “Where is your card?” Okon was asked by one of the delectable hostesses.

    “Me, I no dey carry card. I come represent dem paramount ruler for dem Jamestown for Calabar. Abi you no sabi say na him safe Papa Awo from dem godogodo soldiers?” Okon retorted with a devilish sneer.

    “So have you registered?” he was asked again.

    “Me, I no be politician. So I no dey register nothing. Na dem Lai Mohammed dey do dat one for Abuja. Lai na my friend. Him nickname na Okunrin Raufu”, Okon sniggered. At this point, having realised the opportunity cost of detaining the scoundrel, he was waved on. But fate intervened and Okon was accosted by a lone television crewman.

    “Sir, how do you see the occasion?”, the earnest and intense looking chap asked a self-important Okon.

    “Me, I no be woman. Na woman dey use Ladies Occasional pill”, the mad boy intoned with a swaggering gait to the squirming embarrassment of his stranded interviewer. The affronted chap decided to seize the initiative.

    “What I mean is this: how do you see the prize given to Professor Soyinka today?”

    “Hen hen, na dat one you for say. As for dem prize, na dem Yoruba people dey deceive dem Nigerian people. I like dem Kongi man, but make him no dey follow follow dem yeye Yoruba people. Abi you wan tell me say dem no find Efik man to give dem prize? When dem wan lift heavy crane na Efik man, but when dem wan award prize na Yoruba man. Abi you think say we know sabi dem trick?”

    “Now that President Jonathan has reversed himself over UNILAG name change, are you happy?” the interviewer asked Okon with a deadpan expression.

    “Wetin concern agbero with dem knock engine? You see the problem with dem Jonathan be say na reverse him dey drive. Him dey reverse into everything and everybody. Everybody dey run from am like dem Gaiser for permanent reverse. He done reverse into dem Obasanjo and Baba dey cry for inside him bedroom. Na no break no jam vehicle or wetin dem Yoruba people dey call pakaleke Express. But katakata go burst when he come finally reverse into dem abandoned mala petrol tanker. Na dat one Baba Lekki dey call holocaust. Dem locust go dey scream ho, ho ,ho!!!!” Okon intoned with feverish excitement. At this point, even the interviewer became overwhelmed with apprehension. Casting furtive glances across the place, he quickly melted into the crowd with Okon in hot pursuit.

    “Yeye Kobokobo boy, you don finish the interview? You no even ask me about dem Patience woman”, a viciously jubilant Okon screamed at his heels.

  • Mama Igosun haunts Okon

    Not even good old Okon could believe his eyes. The world is full of strange turns and twists. There are times when day dreaming turns into nightmares and when actual reality becomes a dream-like reverie. Is dreaming a slice of life or is life itself part of a huge collective dream? Whatever it is, when a child gets to the place of fear, fear must overpower it.

    Okon rubbed his eyes to make sure it was not a nasty dream. But there was Mama Igosun, now hunched and hobbled by age, leaning on a carved walking stick and blocking Okon’s exit from the kitchen. She was carrying her trademark apothecary’s pouch containing dangerous charms and fireworks. Her capacity for domestic confrontation remained undiminished by advancing years. Okon took a look and froze with fright.

    “God of Israeli, which one be dis one again? I think dem say say dis witch don die”, Okon mumbled to himself.

    “Iyanla iya baba ee”, the old woman began cursing in vernacular and then switched to her unique pidgin English, “na your grandma be witch.”

    “Mama , I hear say Ogunpa River don carry you go, abi na dem Tokyo boy?” Okon taunted.

    “Na your papa him grandma Ogunpa dey carry go like dat. No think say I no sabi say na you come set fire for house for Igosun. I dey take my time because pounded yam still they hot after twenty years. Now I come da sheria for you. Wey your oga sef?” the feisty old woman demanded.

    “Ha mama, dat one dey hide somewhere becos I don declare labour unrest for house”, Okon noted with a satanic smile.

    “Wetin be labour unrest? Your mama pregnant?” the old woman demanded.

    “Mama ..” Okon began and was cut off by the no-nonsense matriarch.

    “Shut up!!! If to say your mama pregnant, I fit deliver am. I train for midwife for Eku Baptist when my husband be PWD for Sapele, But we no dey allow oloriburuku boy like you to come out. Na for inside womb we dey finis dem, make dem no come cause trouble for ilu”, the old woman fumed.

    “Mama, you be illustrate woman. Labour unrest mean say I wan more money”, Okon jeered.

    “Who go pay yeye cook like you more money? I don tell Akanbi to fire you. I go bring am four Agatu for Mokola make dem come dey cook for am. Agatu pople no dey eat snail, but you Cameroon Kukuruku you dey steal sotey your belly go burst one day. Omo ale!” the old woman screamed.

    “Mama dis one you dey do na child abuse,” Okon protested.

    “I never abuse you. When I comot my knife you go see,” the old woman screamed. By now, Okon was considering the possibility of ejecting through the open window.

    “Okolobo, abi wetin you dey call dat your funny name? Set the kitchen, I wan cook olu and tata for Akanbi” the old woman raved and moved forward in a threatening manner.

    “Kai, mama, I know say Tata be one useless boy and Dan iska who dey write nonsense for dem internet but Olu be my girlfriend, make you no whack person just like dat.” Okon pleaded.

    “Wereeeeee!!! Olu na mushroom and tata na cricket,” the old woman fumed and lurched forward to hit Okon with her walking stick. Okon dived but hit his head against the sharp edge of the wall. It was at this point he woke up. It was a nasty dream.

  • Okon floors Father Kukah

    Okon floors Father Kukah

    (On the rise of Wa Jetzi}

    Just about the time one has finished praising the country for a healthy development in one department, one is immediately confronted by unsavoury developments at a more worrisome level. This one is a superior mess because it hints at spiritual decay and utter debauchery in the church. There is already a concurrent armed critique of the state and a major religion going on at the moment. The contemptuous invasion and desecration of hitherto hallowed spaces of worship by armed hoodlums may well be the beginning of another brand of the same phenomenon.

    Snooper has been monitoring the unholy kong-fu among men of God ever since Bishop Kukah detonated his grenade about the embarrassment of jet-setting spiritualists. The internet dogfight and proxy wrestling have seen supporters on both sides locked in a mortal clinch. For daring to upbraid their idol, some irate commentators have gone as far as dismissing Kukah himself as an AGIP. Temperance, my lords spiritual, temperance. In Kenya, it was the Wa Benzi or the Mercedes people. In Nigeria, it is now the church Wa Jetzi.

    In a bid to write a long objective piece on this development, snooper has had to seek an advance permission from Bishop M.H. Kukah to quote portions of an earlier private exchange between the two of us to illuminate the perennial dilemma of the civil society activist transiting to state actor. When no response came, snooper sent a terse reminder which elicited the following response from the feisty father confirming that he never got the first memo. “Is this [Name of suspect withheld]……the Master and Slave driver of poor Okon? Perhaps the guy swallowed it as protest over poor pay.”

    Like a practised spiritual insurgent, Bishop Kukah has set fire on snooper’s homestead, opening another front before one could subject him to a severe siege. Snooper has long suspected that Okon has some masters high up in the system who are urging him to declare a trade dispute. To the best of our knowledge, the boy enjoys free boarding and lodging, apart from generous stipends which allow him to indulge his satanic fancies.

    It was an irate snooper that pursued the crazy boy to the kitchen the following morning.

    “Okon, do you know Father Kukah?”:snooper demanded

    “Chei, kai kai, Oga dem Ibo thief don beat man to dem title,”

    “And whst is that supposed to mean?”, a furious snooper charged.

    “Oga abi father cooker no be baba for all dem cook? Na dem title I wan take. But cook na cook. Na too know dey make dem Yoruba people dey call cook cooker. So na me be father cooker, But he get one Yoruba man for Surulere dem dey call Chief Kuku. Dat one he don cook sotey he don become chief”, the crazy boy retorted with mad relish.

    “Okon, you are a fool. I mean Reverend Father Kukah, the Catholic priest”, snooper corrected.”,

    “Ha oga, dat one for Costain for Kaduna? I sabi am well well. Na to my village for Itigidi him come run as dem Abacha wan kaput am. For dem early morning dem man they cry cuckoo, cuckoo as if dem Abacha don dabaru him head. Him say dem small bird wey dey protect him from Abacha na dem him dey call, but dem Oyinbo engineer come tell us say cuckoo mean say him head no correct again”, the mad boy sniggered

    “Okon, Okon!!!! Father Kukah is condemning church leaders who buy planes,” snooper stated without excitement or flourish.

    “Ha oga for that case, na only god of man fit save man from dem men of God. But na too know dey worry dem yaro Father. Wetin concern Kukah if dem holy people dey buy plane? No be dem plane dem go take reach heaven? If dem wan go reach god quick quick no be dem plane go take dem go? Dis Kukah man sef, na bad belle dey worry am. Abi him no sabi say when overseer don oversee too much him dey go overseas be dat?”

    On that note, snooper quickly beat a disorderly retreat.

  • The rise and rise of River Nigeria

    (Okon solves a national mystery)

    Will the floods do for Nigeria what human adversities and man-made follies have so far failed to achieve? As biblical floods threaten to overwhelm this bewitchingly beautiful landscape, there are reports of strange rivers and their turbulent tributaries all flowing in one determined direction. River Niger is swollen and pregnant with inabortable possibilities. Could this be the watery endgame as foretold by the Holy Book? So, where is Noah’s Ark? Even the presidential country home is now a mighty pond bristling with toads and tadpoles.

    Amidst the utter confusion and epic helplessness, and as displaced humanity pile up in the remaining earthly redoubts of the nation, there are reports of the sighting of many strange creatures washed up from the watery depths. A clearly disturbed fellow, most probably a failed fisherman but claiming to be a refugee of some repute, suddenly showed up at snooper’s door.

    “And who are you?” snooper demanded.

    “I be dem chairman of dem FEDECOM?” the crazy man shot back.

    “Sir, and what is FEDECOM?” snooper railed in suppressed fury.

    “Na dem Federation of Displaced Compatriots”, the man brayed with an insane smirk on his face. Before snooper could ask another question, the man opened his Pandora Box. “I don catch two snakes, one crocodile, three baby hippos, one mami wata and one shark for River Orubebe”, he screamed. Snooper began to have a sinking feeling. If the crazy fellow were to unleash his arsenal on the house!…

    “And where is River Orubebe?”, snooper asked rather belatedly as a result of the initial shock.

    Na dem former Niger Delta area. Na dem big ship I take reach Lagos from Okpanam. If God wan answer dem prayer make him scissor us from Nigeria no be dis way at all at all. Dis water solution no be solution”, the man moaned in evident distress. At this point, snooper was convinced that he had a mad man as guest.

    “Okon, give him transport money and send him away:, snooper ordered as he firmly shut the door against the crazy man.

    “Which kind useless transport money be dat one? I tell you say wata don kaput kontri and you dey talk transport.” The man screamed. In what seemed like an eternity later, Okon slammed in wearing a comic frown.

    “Oga, I tell am say River Yamutu dey approach and him come pick race”, the crazy boy sneered.

    “Okon!!!” snooper exclaimed.

    “Oga, dis flood thing no be joke oo. Na di tingi dem dey call Wata Warfare. Na Hitler dey hit Nigeria “, Okon sniggered with mad relish.

    “And what is water warfare?” snooper asked fearfully.

    “Ah na dem Cameroon people wan use wata finis dem Nigeria. Dem get dem German engineer for dem Cameroon mountain. You no say dem German still dey dem Cameroon. So each time we dey make useless noise about dem Bakassi, dem German engineer go release dem water and dem rain. He good make we forget about dem Bakassi or dem Cameroon go turn dem kontri to dem obonge river. Dem get naija for blokos”, Okon explained with scientific finality.

    At this point, a fiery killer rain suddenly erupted sending everybody scampering for safety.

  • Okon speaks on Awo

    May we know you, please?” one of the interviewers, a born charmer, opened with smiles and easy charm.

    “If you no sabi Okon, wetin you dey do here? See me see trouble oo”, Okon demanded.

    “No, no, we mean can you tell us about your background?”, the poor fellow added.

    “Aha”, Okon began in an expansive mood. “My back no dey for ground ooo. I tell you ten Yoruba wrestlers no fit do dat. But my name be Okon Anthony Okon, my father be Uzor James Uzor. We don dey live for Slessor’s street so tey. I come from Calabar. My father come from Calabar. Him papa come from Calabar. Him own papa come from Calabar. Him own papa come from Calabar. Dem papa come from Calabar. Dem papa come…”

    “Enough of this rubbish and drivel”, the mean looking chap screamed.

    “Na your papa be rubbish and driver. My own papa be palm wine tapper”.

    “What? I’m gonna take out this stinking asshole”, the mean one scowled and was about to get up.

    “Twenty of you no fit. If I no wan go out, you no fit take me”, Okon shouted as he began an elaborate war ritual.

    “John sit down”, the leader of the team ordered the surly one with full authority.

    At this point, the fellow in traditional costume who had been eyeing everybody with mirth and relish got up and started singing an ancient Yoruba tune.

    Eyin te maja wa (Those who have brought the mad dog)

    E mo’kun ko le oo ( Do not relax the tight leash)

    Eyin te mu were wa (Those who have brought the madman)

    E ma jo’kun o ja (Do not let the leash snap).

    Everybody, including Okon, started laughing, and the interview got on an even keel all over again. The man in traditional dress sat down, beaming with mischief.

    “Prince Okon, can you tell us about your father?”the great charmer asked in a soothing and rather unctuous manner.

    “Ha, my papa, my papa, may god receive am if he don quench becos one day he come disappear say he wan go fight dem French for Bakassi but mama say na Owerri agaracha wey come turn him head with Ofe nsala. But na better palm wine tapper. Na him dey supply Awolowo with palm wine when he dey Calabar prison. At times sef, the Yoruba wizard go vamoose from prison to come drink palm wine”.

    There was total silence. Everybody was stunned by the gale of the revelation. It was the surly chap who recovered the initiative and went on the offensive.

    “That sounds to me like a load of shitty crap”, he moaned under his breath as the leader whipped him with his eyes into quick compliance.

    “Prince Okon, what we are saying is that Chief Awolowo was a teetotaller”, the leader opened cautiously.

    “Taller than who? I beg no vex me oo”, Okon said as he sprang up. “Awolowo na short man, he no tall pass anybody”.

    “Asiwere. (Madman)”, the man in traditional costume said with a superior smile. He seemed to have a full measure of Okon as the Calabar rogue avoided him.

    “Prince Okon, what we mean is that Awolowo never drank or smoked”, the leader offered with a calm mien.

    “No be dat you for say? All dis gbamugbamu grammar I no dey. Abi no be the yeye Sina boy who say grammar no be success? But you Yoruba people, I no get your problem. Anything that Awolowo man tell you you take am as if god don speak. Yeye people wey dey worship one man”.Okon said with a deflated look.

    “All right, all right. What do you think about the last census?” the leader asked Okon with all authority.

    “Which census? No be di thing we dey talk about for dis yeye kontri? You count all dem camel and cattle for dem north finish, you count all the oporoku and dem anoya people for the east, you count all dem Yoruba bush meat and goat finish but you no fit count all dem fish and shark for Calabar creek. So dat one na census?”, Okon snapped. Everybody started laughing, except Okon who wore an angry frown.

  • Okon is Commander in Chef

    Okon is Commander in Chef

    As tragedy blends fluidly and fluently with comedy in our daily existence, it is becoming impossible to separate the comic from the tragic. The old sub-genre of tragi-comedy does not quite capture the stirring monstrosity of our reality in contemporary Nigeria in all its brilliant chiaroscuro. Darkness is clearly visible. Welcome to Kafka’s Penal Colony. Welcome to sub-Saharan cinematography and the cabinet of Dr Caligari. Welcome to comi-tragedy.

    Imagine that the casualties from Monday’s Mubi massacre probably surpass the figures from one month of mayhem in Mogadishu even at the height of war and lunacy in that strife-torn country. Yet it is Somalia that we blithely refer to as a failed state. When shall we learn to call a spade a spade? Or the opium is just a flower?

    Snooper was deep in rumination about these tragic fatalities and the infelicitous gaffes and goofs they elicit from officialdom when he almost collided with a truly outlandish figure in the kitchen. It was the impossible Okon dressed in a crude travesty of the full ceremonial uniform of a Commander in Chief complete with silky gloves and bristling epaulettes. Before yours sincerely could finish marvelling at the kitchen Napoleon, the crazy boy exploded..

    “Oga, Okon now be commander in chief, no be like dem yeye Yoruba musician ooo. He get time like dat when I dey see dem fine and dandy young Yoruba Oba for Lagos. I come ask wetin be im name and dem say na Elegusi, so I come think say dem better Yoruba people dey give dem cook Oba title. I come say I be Elewedu and dem area boys come beat me sotey. Naim I come tell dem I be Emir for Tuwo Shinkafa. But dis one like dem Jonathan be commander in chief for inside dem Aso Rock, Okon be commander in chief for kitchen sef. Make dem area boys come try dem nonsense make I put better pepper for dem konta konta eye.”

    “But Jonathan is a real Field Marshal.” Snooper offered.

    “Oga, no be wetin we dey talk? Na for inside dem field for Aso Rock him dey do him road Marshal for independence ceremony. Even dem Ekwueme and dem old soldier Gowon dey hide under dem Aso canopy. I see dem with my korokoro eye. Dem mountain Anyim dey cry for Ibo, biko, biko, biri kem biri. Dem Boko be dem mama him husband. I don tell dem Jonathan make dem cancel dem independence day, abi na by force?”

    “Okon, have you been hit by shell before,” snooper demanded.

    “Plenty time. Shell no dey kill Efik man. Dem stupid Yoruba barber come throw dem cowrie shell at Okon for Bar Beach,” the crazy boy sneered.

    “Okon, you are a big fool, big time,”snooper noted with a comic frown.

    “Ha oga no be only dat. He get time like that for dis dem Oduduwa kitchen. As Okon come break egg from dem Ogbologbo Yoruba witch for Oyingbo market dem egg come do Gbuaam and dem shell come hit Okon and dem bird come comot and him dey cry tin o tin oo for kitchen. Naim I come pick race. Calabar juju come finis Yoruba witch. Who born Gbetugbetu for Creek Town?”

    It was on that note that snooper quickly shut the kitchen door at the Chef Commander.

  • Okon becomes currency controller

    Strange things are happening all over the country. Everything points at some apocalyptic convergence of malignant forces. The mysteries are mounting, and they are beyond the purview of ordinary people. Amidst rumours of mysterious ailments in high places, a woman was reported to have given birth to a goat and newspapers carried pictures of the horrid miscegenation without any sense of shame. There were reported sightings of a man on horse back riding through the clouds. Strange floodings and oceanic distemper are the norm. The end of time may be nigh.

    Snooper had been woken by a historic din. Thinking that the hour of man was at hand, yours sincerely rushed out half-naked to meet his maker only to be confronted by a truly outlandish sight. There was the sinister Okon in the uniform of a master workman supervising a huge boiling cauldron which hissed like a thousand vipers. There were about half a dozen hefty workmen who strangely deferred to him as he spewed a torrent of instructions. There was Baba Lekki affecting the solemnity of a professorial fraud. There was a man with the languid superior airs of a northern aristocrat who came with his own praise singer and drummer.

    “Okon, what is all this nonsense about?” an irate snooper demanded.

    “Oga, no be nonsense at all at all. We dey cook dem new naira note,” the crazy boy retorted with a fiendish grin.

    “Meaning what?” snooper snarled.

    “Oga as dem Yaro for Centre Bank say him wan print dem five thousand naira for dem local printers naim I say make Okon come tender before dem Ibo pikin come flood dem place with dem Taiwan naira. Okon don dey look for money sotey man come tire. I no dey play football with dem money again. Na penalty I dey play now. Person who no sabi how dem dey make money him go waka quench,” Okon offered.

    “So which line of business is this?” snooper demanded from the crazy boy.

    “Okon dey sell naira. Some people dey steal money, some people dey steal oil, some people dey steal dem aeroplane,some people dey sell dem people, but na naira Okon dey sell. When naira come jam naira for market, dem Centre Bank mala go no say even warder sef get master and no be only for Guinea dem dey make brocade.”

    “So who is this man?” snooper asked of the Sahel aristo who was eyeing him with calm disdain.

    “Na Alhaji Makuri, naira controller, na him dey supply dem chemicals,” Okon replied with a sheepish mien.

    “Na Malam Mercury be dat one,” a tipsy Baba Lekki interjected icily. “We don dey reach Weimar Republic gradual by gradual,” the crazy old man added with a scholarly guffaw.

    “Baba, shut up. I no dey like dem Wema Bank. Na dem Yoruba bank. And dem Yoruba no be better people at all at all. Na dem Yoruba cashier for dem Wema Bank for Okokomaiko who come steal dem first Yoruba wife from Okon .I beat dat one sotey he come forget him shoes.” Okon snorted in self-importance. It was at this point that the crazy boy lost his concentration. The witches’ brew exploded with volcanic gusto, sending everybody running for cover.