The Nation Newspaper

Tag: Okon

  • Okon romances Shakirat, as Baba Lekki unfolds MRN

    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.

     

  • Okon is national hero

    IT was just as well that Okon has been put away before the new phenomenon of suicide bombing and the Boko Haram scourge. Knowing the disposition of the feckless boy for suicide verbal bombing of the Nigerian state, he could well have been fingered as being behind the real McCoy. The only hint of complicity was the crazy boy’s occasionally hilarious insistence that he should be addressed as Mujahdeen Ayatony Okon.

    Strangely enough, the only group that expressed concern about Okon’s plight was a new NGO known as Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Human Beasts of Domestic Burden (SPCHBDB). The fiery, flamboyantly named group had issued an inflammatory release charging that having been denied a decent shot at the presidency, Okon is a victim of a plot by the majority monsters of Nigeria and should be regarded as a prisoner of war. AMNESIA INTERNATIONAL promptly adopted the crazy boy.

    On the day of the hearing, the entire route was lined with well-wishers and admirers, hailing and swooning about Okon, calling him Junior Jesus. And there was the man of the moment himself, dressed in full Efik regalia and waving a snow white handkerchief to the crowd like Ignatius Kutu Achaempong on the way to the stakes.

    The fireworks started immediately as a bleary-eyed Okon eyed his aging tormentor with saucy contempt. The old man shifted on the bench, threatened by a wave of amnesia.

    “And who is this man?” he growled like an ill-tempered bear.

    “You don send me to jail and your Yoruba coconut head no fit remember?” Okon cursed under his breath and was immediately whipped into line by Baba Lekki with a severe frown. The old codger quickly took over proceeding.

    “My Lord, Okon is a common cook”, the old man began with a smile.

    “Common cook? So where does he get all the crowd from?” the old president asked, nonplussed.

    “Ah my Lord!” Baba Lekki began with a wicked smile. “ In Nigeria there are two ways to that. You will pull a crowd if you are either a politician or a mad man. And Okon is both”.

    “I see”, the old man rumbled cynically as the court exploded in riotous laughter.

    “Point of incorrection, yeye people!” Okon suddenly exploded above the din. “I no be common cook at all at all. I be domestic secretary”.

    “I see, like Tokyo, Auxilliary and co?” the old man grunted.

    “Shine your Yoruba eye well well. Those one na dem Political Secretary. Okon na Calabar prince. I no be thug. I no be dem Ibadan motor park Tyson. Na chicken I dey fight for kitchen”, Okon snorted.

    “It seems to me that this mad boy has not learnt his lesson. By the time I finish with him he…” the president began with a surly scowl.

    “Objection my lord”, Baba Lekki screamed as he lunged at the aging judge.

    “In fact, who are you?” the old man demanded.

    “I am Lambert Alekuso, SAP, senior advocate of the proletariat”, Baba Lekki snapped.

    “And where do you practice?” the old man queried.

    “Campos Square and Idumota”, Baba Lekki retorted.

    “Listen, this is a law court. You cannot turn this court into a political rally”, the old man sulked.

    “That is the point. The court has become a political rally. This is not about law but about lawlessness.” Baba Lekki crowed.

    “Please read the charge again”, the president ordered the court clerk.

    “That you Okon married another woman after being legally married thereby committing bigamy punishable by Law”, the clerk drawled.

    “Objection”, Baba Lekki began with a fastidious frown. “Apart from the fact that this court has no jurisdiction to try bigamy, bigamy is not a justiciable offence in Nigeria because the foundation of this country itself is laid on bigamy. Lugard married one wife and then he added another. That is the cause of all these problems. So we request that Lugard be brought back as the first defence witness.”

    The court fell into a hush. The tension was palpable.

    Wahala dey ooo!!!”, one man exclaimed.

    “I no dey marry dem Yoruba women. I dey whack dem”, Okon objected belatedly.

    The president quickly gathered his papers. “The accused is hereby discharged and acquitted”, he whined and quickly retreated to his chambers. The crowd broke through the tight security cordon chanting praise songs as they carried Okon and Baba Lekki shoulder-high and to the street in a historic procession. And thus did Okon become a legend and national hero.

     

    • First published in 2011.

  • Okon duels with Buhari Jogbojogbo over Snail Revolution

    To the rural paradise of Abalabi and the dreaded domain of Ibrahim Buhari Jogbojogbo aka Obembeleku, the widely feared chieftain of the Yoruba supremacist militia, to try out the new amulet that induces hallucination and strategic political error in rival ethnic formations. As far as the old wizard is concerned, the Yoruba are the best thing to have happened to Africa and they have no business in a colonial intern camp for tropical savages.

    Whenever he was informed that other nationalities might harbour equally supremacist delusions powered by Zionist superiority motifs and notions of Hamitic refinement among autochthonous African cannibals, the rogue contrarian would retort in deep and recondite lingo: “ You see, a tree trunk cannot become a crocodile simply because it has spent some time in water, and only a foolish snail will join a gathering of horned animals”.

    With a testy and sullen Okon in tow, it was bound to be an interesting encounter. Okon had mounted a stiff opposition and resistance to going to Abalabi. It was understandable. The last time around, Jogbojogbo had threatened to add the uppity boy to the devils’ pastiche he was pounding in a huge pre-colonial mortar bristling with strange herbs and crocodile offal.

    “Oga, I no wan go to dem devil Yoruba jujuman”, the boy growled.

    “Who are you to tell me that?” snooper snarled.

    “I know I be houseboy, but dem no say make I come kaput for Yoruba land”, Okon retorted.

    “Okon, if you don’t like it you can resign”, snooper snapped.

    “Ha oga, how I go resign when I no sign anything? Abi no be when you sign something before before naim dem go say make una resign which mean come sign again?” the crazy boy whimpered turning the whole thing into a big joke.

    The journey to Abalabi was as pleasant as ever, except for the rains which drooled on forever. The lush country side opened up with farming fields rolling endlessly by even as the strong invigorating fragrance of aromatic plants filled the nostrils. It was the time of fresh corn and after a brief resistance, snooper quietly parked the car by the roadside to buy some. Another round of verbal hostilities from Okon.

    “Okon, will you like some?” yours sincerely offered.

    “No, I no dey eat dem Yoruba corn, sam sam. Na dem eze agadi nwanyin (old woman’s teeth) “ the mad boy taunted, lapsing into vernacular Ibo. But when one cob was thrown in his direction, the rogue leapt at it like a monkey.

    Hostilities erupted as soon as we got to Abalabi and Jogbojogbo sniffed his old quarry.

    “ Ha, Iwuanyanwu abi wetin you call this one again ooo!!!!” the racist rogue opened with great mirth.

    “Jogbus, his name is Okon”, snooper pleaded, trying to suppress his amusement.

    “And I am from Calabar, you hear ?” Okon snapped with child-like outrage followed by a serpentine hiss.

    “Calabar  ko, calabash ni. So, my friend, how market be?”  Jogbojogbo demanded with satanic relish.

    “How market go be after you don finish dem Ibo again?” Okon replied with surly disregard.

    “So as market don finish which time you dey leave for home?”Jogbojogbo pressed home.

    “We no dey leave. We no dey do seccedement, we dey do Snail Revolution, abi make we no farm snail again? So, as dem snail dey crawl with sense naim we go do get our own, so dis one na Snail Revolution no be gra gra”, Okon enthused.

    “Ha ha let Silifa come and fry and pepper this snail for me then” , Jogbojogbo ordered with a sinister scowl as Okon leapt into the nearby bush.

  • Okon raps Emefiele

    Godwin Emefiele is a chap cut very much to snooper’s taste. Yours sincerely like Central bank governors who do not induce panic and who get on with the job with the staid soberness of a traditional banker and glum bureaucrat, shorn of intellectual pomposities and attention-seeking controversies. But Okon is not impressed. After the bottom was knocked out of his latest money-making scam, Okon was inconsolable in his anger against the system.

    Last Friday, the loony fellow walked in looking desolate and devastated.

    “Ha oga Okon, what is the matter?” snooper asked with a scornful grimace.

    “Oga wetin remain? As dem Magu people don reach business, make man dey find him way back to Itigidi or Biakpan sef jeje, no wahala, but God dey sha and if him no dey na…..”

    “ What is the matter, Okon? “ snooper jumped up as he cut short the crazy boy from uttering a heinous blaspheme.

    “Oga, abi you know hear sef? Dem don blow whistle on dem whistleblowers. Dem mala boys don spoil business. Dem come throw dem inside Kaduna Kirikiri. Wetin concern mala with 419? Dem no sabi nothing,” Okon lamented.

    “Okon, look for another scam. Whistle blowing is a stupid job.” Snooper snapped.

    “Ha oga, I been dey come to dat one. Dis Emefiele man, na ogbologbo igbo 419 be dat one. Him dey announce everyday say  foreign exchange dey come down but price of yam no dey come down for market. Abi which kind yeye nonsense be dis one?” the mad boy screamed.

    “Ha, for the price of yam to come down, you must roll down your sleeves and go and farm. If I were in power, I would have driven all the useless scoundrels on the streets back to the farm”, snooper raved.

    “Ha oga, in dat case me I no be farmer. I be ordinary houseboy. Na Yoruba people be farmer and dem no dey produce nothing. Na palmwine dem dey drink for farm. And dem wan fight mala. Hunger go wire una senseless when dem mala cut off dem yam supply”, the mad boy sniggered as he recovered his malicious gusto.

    “Okon, go and find something productive to do”,snooper shouted as he slammed the door against Okon.

  • Okon shops for Arsene Wenger’s replacement

    Okon shops for Arsene Wenger’s replacement

    For Akinlawon Ige—a soccer aficionado—@ 65

    The real month of May is here with us, and it is more matters for a May morning, as William Shakespeare famously put it. You cannot beat the bard of Stratford Upon Avon when it comes to uncanny insights about the human condition. More than five hundred years ago, the great dramatist could foresee that the nascent Industrial Revolution with its insatiable hunger for raw material would eventuate in colonization which will in turn produce major global economic contradictions the least of which is the phenomenon famously described as unequal exchange.

    But as the Prospero-Caliban duet has emphatically demonstrated, Shakespeare was also immensely aware that unequal exchange in the economic department may actually lead to equal exchange in the verbal department. The old empire often strikes back in mysterious ways. When you gift a man with a new language, his first act of defiance and rebellious independence is to curse you back in the acquired language with much guts and gusto.

    Snooper hopes that this lengthy disquisition about colonization and its disquiet will put readers in the right frame of mind about what Okon the rogue cook is doing poking his nose into the issue of a new coach for Arsenal Football club in faraway England. But just as colonization has produced its contradictions, the actual colonial conquest and the endemic crisis of identity it has fostered on Africans have also yielded fantastic cultural dividends. Why are we so blessed!!!!

    In Nigeria today, the youths know more about what is happening in the English Premier League than what may be happening in the field of politics. They know all the coaches and the coached. They even know the uncoachables and the unsignables. In an infamous mix-up, when some youths were asked whether they know Obafemi Awolowo, they responded that the only Obafemi they were aware of was Obafemi Martin, aka Oba-Goal, the famous footballer. They view learning and reading as leading to entrapment in the poverty web whereas football leads to fame and fabulous riches.

    On Wednesday, Okon barged into the living room covered in feces, looking as if he had survived a fall into a pit latrine and oozing with an offensive odour like a walnut fairy.

    “Okon, what is all this nonsense, and where are you coming from?” snooper asked covering his nose.
    “ Oga na Yoruba shit. I go dig dem Yoruba NIA man’s house see whether dem dollar for Ikoyi apartment remain. Naim I come fall inside shit tank. You know say Yoruba shit na wicked shit after dem don take gbegiri soup, akara, bushmeat…..” the mad boy whimpered as snooper cut him short.

    “ Just shut up, you hear and go and clean yourself”, snooper screamed.

    “ No oga na change I come change make I go back. I go clean when I don come back. Even dem whistle I wan blow come fall inside shit tank. Kai dis wicked Yoruba people. Na juju dem man dey use. He get one big tortoise who dey guard dem house…” the mad boy drooled on.

    “ Okon, you will leave this house at once. By the way what is that paper bulging from your pocket?”
    “ Ah dat one na dem shortlist for Asiere Wanka, abi wetin you dey call dem Arsenal coach? We don tire for him tuketuke coaching. Make him go home, abi na by force? He get two Nigerian coach I dey eye like dat. One na Ibrahim Shukushuku, na him dey coach dem Benue Warrior when three Yoruba players come kaput for field. That one he go show dem oyinbo people African pepper. The second na Emmanuel Vampire, dem dey call dat one Air raid or ten-ten. When dem wound him player and carry him out, him go ask him own player make dem reduce dem tally. So dem know wetin Vampire mean. He get one match for Enugu like dat only six players remain so dem referee come pick race. Na him go finish dem premier league.”

    On that note snooper drove the mad boy out with a broomstick.

  • Okon and Baba Lekki in rowdy Easter celebrations

    There are more matters for an April morning—— to misappropriate the great bard of Stratford Upon Avon. William Shakespeare himself was no stranger to poaching, having been once famously accused of poaching deer from a government Reservation. There were rumours that the supreme deity of dramatic literature poached other things as well. But that is not before the board, as they say in the arcane lingo of bureaucratic mischief.

    With Okon, it is one trouble per day. A  week to Easter, snooper stumbled on the mad boy with Baba Lekki in festive mood surrounded by several kegs of fresh palm wine. The duo were already the worse for drunken wear. Snooper tiptoed away to avoid unnecessary commotion, but the mad boy was having none of that.

    “Oga come join us now. Man no be wood, even Tiger Wood sef no be wood”, the mad boy hollered and winked at his accomplice.

    “Okon, what is all this nonsense”, snooper charged.

    “Oga no be nonsense. Na pammy now and you know say na Palm Sunday”, the wicked boy sneered.

    “So, where did you get all this palm wine from when you are not a tapper?”

    “Ha oga dat one easy. As dem militant dey chase police for Majidun bush, gbuam, gbuam na him palm wine man come pick race na him I come take wine for protected custody”, the mad boy snorted. Sensing that the Okon may also take his master into protective custody, snooper held rapid conversation with his legs.

    A week later on Easter day, the mad boy had dramatically raised the stakes. As he was approaching the kitchen, snooper saw Okon and Baba Lekki scrambling away with Okon’s mouth swollen in gluttony.

    “Okon, what is that in your mouth?” snooper called out.

    “The boy him get menu-gitis”, Baba Lekki crowed.

    “I am not talking to you stupid old man”, snooper screamed. By this time snooper had reached the kitchen only to find the place littered with egg shells. By which time, Okon had also recovered the initiative.

    “Oga na poached egg for Easter. Abi no be so dem dey do for England?” the crazy boy snorted.

    “I hope this is not from my kitchen” snooper shouted.

    “If he be poached egg where him go come from?” Okon demanded.

    “Poached egg is poached egg, abi you no go school?” Baba Lekki sniggered as he dragged Okon out into the street singing and dancing. Happy Easter to you all.

  • Okon lets the bags out of the cats

    These are truly tough and trying times for politicians and political practitioners. A politician is a regular combatant on the political front whereas a political practitioner is an irregular political soldier, a non-commissioned officer—if you will, eking out a miserable existence at the margins of politics. Sometimes the political practitioner gets a rare mentioning in despatches from the warfront. Most time he is ignored as a mercenary who has been paid to supply fellow mercenaries.

    Snooper often enjoys watching the pilgrim’s progress. As it is in the army, this is when you know who and who will be allowed to take the conversion course leading to regular commission with some loss of seniority. If this is exercise is not properly handled, it can lead to a violent uprising. Those who know the story of Clement Dabang and the 1976 bloody mutiny in the Nigerian Army will surely know what we are talking about.

    Snooper was quite fascinated by a recent interview with Commodore Olabode Ibiyemi George, aka Lagos Boy. Omo Eko handled the questions quite competently and with a measure of diligence. He also wore an unusual air of sobriety and humility. Could this be a new Lagosian statesman in the making? Perhaps we are about to let the bag out of the cat. Bode George is a cat with many lives.

    Everything went swimmingly and chummily well with Boy George dismissing the duo of Obanikoro and Agbaje in unflattering terms until the old sailor was asked to reveal his strategy for the new political offensive. With his korokoro ears, snooper heard Bode George intone. “Ha you want to let the bag out of the cat?” Haba, these feisty TVC girls can drive a man to grammatical perdition.

    Snooper had completely forgotten that Okon was also in the room mopping the floor. The mad boy suddenly jumped up and crowed. “ Ha oga, you hear wetin dem Bode man just say? So na  for inside cat dem dey hide dem money? Dem go hear from me soon soon.”

    The following morning, snooper was woken up by the infernal wailings and miaowing of several cats in the garage. Behold, Okon had detained all the cats in the neighbourhood and was threatening them with summary execution if they did not reveal which of them was carrying Boy George’s money.

    “I give una three minutes. If you know talk then I go finish all una”, the mad boy ranted. Sensing mortal danger, all the cats began to wail like humans.

    “Okon release all the cats immediately and let them go” snooper screamed.

    “Oga make I release dem armed robbers, abi wetin I hear so?”

    “Just let them go before I get there”, snooper shouted

    “Oga so why una dey shout about corruption and stealing?” Okon jeered as he reluctantly opened the garage door  and   all the cats    jumped out.

  • Mama Igosun puts Okon in his place

    (An old classic for these testy times)

    For the past three weeks, snooper has been watching Okon’s discomfiture and domestic distress with quiet relish. It all began when snooper decided to bring to the house his oldest surviving aunt to recuperate from surgery. Ever since she lost her husband, mama has lived alone in her family house in Igosun, an old suburb of Ibadan.
    Mama Igosun is the last surviving sibling of snooper’s mother. In her youth, she was as tough as a cookie and had the reputation of being the first woman to acquire shooting skills in the entire district. She often accompanied her husband on shooting expeditions to Lalupon and Igbo Elerin and was known to have once saved her husband from a rampaging boar. Nobody messed around with her. A prim and proper seamstress of the old order, she took no hostages and immediately went about putting Okon in his place to snooper’s hilarious amusement.
    For the first week, Mama Igosun played deaf and dumb to Okon’s taunts and jibes, pretending to be an illiterate woman from the village. In the evening, mama would sit quietly in the corridor smoking an ancient pipe filled with raw tobacco from Shaki. “Egwe!!! Dem Yoruba woman dey fire taba. Which kind ogbologbo be dis sef? Where dem bring abami come Lagos? “ Okon would snort in deranged amusement as Mama Igosun nodded in quiet acceptance of her fate.
    A week into this ribald drama, the fireworks started in earnest. It was as if Mama Igosun had timed herself to precision. An early riser by discipline and natural disposition, the old woman had already polished off a meal of hot pap and akara by six in the morning. Then on the dot of seven in the morning, she called out to Okon.
    “Come oo, Oponu abi wetin dem dey call you. He no yet reach time for breakfast for old people?” she snarled as she eyed Okon with matronly disdain. Okon almost took to his heels upon discovering that the woman he mistook for a dumb illiterate was not only mentally alert but could speak passable pidgin. But he summoned enough courage to remain rooted to the spot as the tough old woman eyed him with contempt.
    “But mama I think say you don fire pap and akara”, Okon replied.
    “Dat one no be food na appetiser. Set dem table and go bring amala and okro soup my pikin” Mama Igosun ordered with vigour and authority in her voice. In the evening, Okon sidled up to the old woman with impish remorse still rattled by the events of the morning.
    “Oponu, abi wetin dem call you, wetin be dem matter?” Mama opened with a grin of girlish mischief as she eyed Okon with superior bemusement.
    “Mama, I don tell you say my name be Okon. Where you come learn pidgin sef?”, Okon answered in mock anger.
    “I been dey live for Sapele for fifteen years. My husband na PWD man”, mama replied.
    “So dem yeye PDP don dey for so tey like dem Methusela. No wonder kontri come pafuka sam sam”, Okon lamented.
    “ I say PWD, yeye boy”, mama corrected with a hiss.
    “So wetin you dey do for Sapele?” Okon demanded
    “I be seamstress”, mama replied.
    “You see dem Yoruba wuruwuru now? How come dem sea get mistress and Okon no get? Na only Sikira man dey manage. Mama, abi dem send you to me for inspection?” Okon crowed and winked.
    “Wereee! Mewa babanla e won to be”, mama cursed in Yoruba.
    Before Okon could say another word, mama had hurled out a short broom from her basket and had begun to stir the pot of ewedu on the cooker. This proved too much for Okon. He rushed to my room and started banging the door not knowing that snooper was enjoying the drama behind closed door.
    “Oga, oga mama don kaput ewedu soup oo. He come put short broom and him de do shakashakashashaka .Even dem dog no fit eat dem nonsense now.”, Okon screamed.
    “Foolish boy how draw soup go draw without broom?” mama demanded.
    “Oga, I don tire patapata. Yesterday sef mama come put dem tiny tiny insects for egusi soup. I come vomit” Okon lamented.
    “Ah wereee. Dat one na esunsun, ekuku and monimoni. Your people never reach dat level when dem go chop better thing. Alamu mi, where you come get this kanakana?”, mama sneered. Snooper will keep you posted.

  • Nollywood actor Okon robbed in Warri

    Nollywood actor Okon robbed in Warri

    Comic actor Ime Bishop, widely known as Okon, was robbed in Warri, Delta State on Tuesday.

    According to an Instagram post by his wife, Idara Bishop, Okon was robbed of his cash, gadgets and other valuables few hours to an event he was supposed to attend.

    “So pathetic that the more we pray for a better Nigeria, the more things become so sour,” she said.

    “Few minutes ago, I saw a strange number calling and the voice I heard was my hubby’s voice. I was surprised to see him used a strange number to call, I quote him “Baby pray for me, I’ve just been robbed by robbery men in Warri and all my gadgets and money have been taken away from me, threatening to kill me also, I’m stranded and the event I’m supposed to attend here, I can’t make it anymore, no contact to communicate with anyone for direction, except yours.”

    She however, said the thieves said they would return the phones if money is paid to them.

    “I pray only to God to touch their minds, and as they have said they will return the phones and other items taken, but only and if money will be paid to them without informing the police, which is not a problem.”

  • Okon survives execution by Ibrahim Buhari Jogbojogbo

    To the rural precincts of Abalabi and the dreadful domain of Ibrahim Buhari Jogbojogbo aka Anikulagbala, an implacable Yoruba supremacist and chieftain of the serially banned and outlawed, Oduduwa Descendants Rally, for a game of Ayo and to try out a new charm which stops bullets and grenades in their track. ( Ayeta).
    A rabid supporter and financier of Yoruba self-determination “in and out” of Nigeria, the rogue bricklayer and former itinerant Muslim preacher, had been threatening a unilateral declaration of independence for his enclave should there be no full official disclosure of presidential medical status with immediate effect. It is omens like this which made one to conclude that a full gathering of the tribes is quite imminent.
    Snooper had decided to take the rogue Okon along after he sent a letter demanding for paternity leave as a way of intimating the mad boy with the range of metaphysical possibilities available to his master. Ibrahim Buhari Jogbojogbo does not take ethnic hostages. The last time around, he had threatened to “ finish off” Okon if he persisted with his ranting that his people were the former masters of the Yoruba when it came to class and superior culture.
    Needless to add that this was also a ploy to prevent the crazy boy from burning the remaining priceless diesel in the generator. As the historic lightlessness entered its third week and with a nasty smell wafting from the freezer, even the government has run out of excuse. All the talks about sabotage in the creeks, collapse of the national grid, scarcity of gas and bla bla bla have now given way to an ominous silence. Nobody is ready to listen to any explanation anymore and snooper always knows when the fat lady is about to sing.
    As the ferocious heat pounded humanity and sanity to submission, you have a feeling that something must give very soon. The previous night after rousing from a hallucinatory condition induced by the heat, a scantily clad snooper collided with a fully naked Okon on the corridor and fled with the mad boy in hot pursuit. The following morning the crazy boy eyed his master with a mixture of contempt and malice.
    “Oga, as my people dey say na dem man with elephant blokos who must to run from naked madman who no dey hide him own blokos”, the mad boy taunted.
    “Shut up, idiot”, snooper snapped in mock anger. Sensing a thaw in snooper’s normally icy exterior, the crazy boy decided to play for higher stakes.
    “Ha baba mi no vex. You sabi say when strong river dey carry man with crocodile teeth away dem go think say na laugh him dey laugh”, the mad boy continued taunting snooper with gusto.
    “Okon, what do you think about this presidential medical vacation business? Everything has come to a halt.” snooper ventured.
    “Ha oga dis na one thing I no dey understand about dis your bukuru people. Dem Yoruba and dem Ibo people no gree make dem man work. Dem come tire dem mala with plenty wahala. Dem man say him don medically vacated dem place, so wetin be dem problem for dat one?”, the crazy boy snorted with malicious relish.
    A finely featured antelope darted across the road as we approached the bumpy outskirt of Abalabi forcing one to concentrate on the driving. But hostilities erupted as soon as we got to the threatening rural domicile decorated with skulls and hides of killer animals. A tall, well-built and impressively muscled stalwart, Jogbojogbo eyed Okon with a mixture of amusement and wry disapproval.
    “Ah welcome oo. But which one be dis one again. Kanakana abi wetin you call his name again? I have told you not to bring an Ogberi( an uninitiated) to the Conclave of mystery again”, Jogbojogbo rumbled.
    “Listen, I no be Ogberi. Na Yoruba people dey whack gbegiri”, the crazy boy retorted.
    “Shut up! Who is talking and kukuruku dey talk? Who is eating and the dog is wagging its tail? I suspect this boy is one of these Egbesu boys disturbing our peace.” Jogbojogbo exploded.
    “No be your Yoruba people dey whack dogs?” Okon mumbled under his breath.
    “Kilowi? Omo ale. Hold him while I go inside to bring his medicine”, Jogbojogbo thundered as he rushed inside to haul out his dreaded arsenal of charms and alternative Molotov cocktails. Okon briskly took to his heels and was not sighted for another week.