Tag: Okon

As the historic trial of looters assumes a national frenzy with the Labour people putting in their heavy proletarian boot while demanding the Chinese treatment for corrupt officials, legal fireworks are crackling across the length and breadth of the nation. It appears as if some legal snipers are at work and are bent on toppling legal colossi from their Olympian penthouses.

The crux of the argument is as legally recondite as it is politically transparent. Dear readers, can a person lawfully declare his assets when he has not declared his liabilities concomitantly? In this particular case, the weight of evidence may also torpedo the evidence of weight, apologies to Timi, the Law. Put in another way, when do political assets become economic liability and when does economic liability translate into political assets?

The evidence of weight in one may easily become the weight of evidence in the other. But can political weight aid economic weightlessness through assets shredding or the shedding of political weight? It promises to be a battle royale between the jurisprudence of living oracles and the oracle of living jurisprudents, apologies once again to Uncle Tunji Braithwaite.

But you can trust Okon not to be left out of this epic legal melee. On Friday morning, the fey fellow sauntered into snooper’s bedroom clutching a raft of rumpled sheets with a drunken Baba Lekki in tow. The whole room was suddenly invaded by the foul stench of stale palm wine and raw tobacco.

“Oga I wan quickly reach them ICPC for dem Abuja office make man submit him assets. I no wan make dem Buhari man come catch man for offside”, the crazy boy drawled with drunken gusto.

“ I see. Since when has it come to this?” snooper grunted with a cynical hiccup.

“Dem Yoruba boy say dem Sheriff don come. I don see one for dem American film. The way him dey shoot people, Okon no fit sleep again. I no wan make dem Sikira people see man come kaput. Na the thin dem dey wait for”, the mad boy wailed.

“Get lost man. Is it poor church rats like you they are looking for?” an exasperated snooper screamed at the boy.

“Ah oga, church rat no be dat poor ooo. Na church rat get church when dem human rats don vamoose. He get time like dat for Biakpan when I see with my korokoro eye as dem obonge church rat dey chase dem pastor. He come chase am sotey and he come catch am by dem organ and he come bite him blokos bad bad, Naim I come pick race”.

“Okon, get lost. You are just a crazy crook”, snooper charged at the boy, trying to suppress his mirth at the whole comic episode.

“Oga cook no kuku be crook. Dem crook dey Abuja, na dem dey cook book and na dem dey fry paper”, Okon sneered.

“Wo o ri yen so”, the crazy old man suddenly thundered and then turning to snooper. “Let me tell you, you have been indulging in argumentum ad hominid, the arguments of barbarians and primitive beasts of no nation”. Not having the stomach for an early morning confrontation, snooper decided to ignore the drunken contrarian.

“So Oga Okon, what are your assets?”snooper asked in a conciliatory mood.

“Ha thank you oga”, Okon began with an expansive flourish” I get am for two thousand naira for bank. He be three thousand before before but dem bank boys thieve am, I get six yams I thieve for Ketu market. I get six eggs I nab for kitchen. I get two goats I capture when dem dey do two fighting. I get one dog I come arrest when him knack him partner kaput and him come dey cry. I get one monkey I nab as him dey cross road under dem pedestrian bridge for Oshodi. I get two chicken who dey abuse me for dem Isolo market, and and I get dem lady corset wey dem Charity forget after I wire am senseless and he no sabi road again. Na only one liability I get and dat one na Sikira who dey thieve all from Okon”.

It was on this note that snooper threw out the drunken duo.

 

As the historic trial of looters and freeloaders of the national patrimony gets underway, fierce legal fireworks are crackling across the length and breadth of the country. Trust Okon not to miss the epic legal melee. The crazy boy has cottoned in on the latest road show and has been as busy as a bee hauling and logging hefty tomes of archaic law books in and out of the house.

“Okon, who is the owner of all these books? I hope you have not been burglarising some law chambers?” snooper demanded.

“Oga sebi dem say dem wan try people? Small time all dem Yoruba lawyers for Lagos go dey look for dem yeye  gown. Abi stealing of dem evidence na evidence of dem stealing?”, the mad boy retorted.

“But who owns these law books?” snooper  insisted.

“Oga leave me o jare. Na dis one dem dey call contract stealing. We don tell Okechukwu make him remove all dem books for all dem law office for Lagos. Dem Yoruba lawyers go cry. Bayelsa trouble dey sleep, Fulani and Yoruba yanga wan wake am. We don tell una people say stealing no be corruption. When all dem mala and dem Oloye dey steal  all dem oil money you no dey complain. Opiya man come thief dem remaining dollar and dem wan jail everybody”, the crazy boy snorted.

It was not surprising when Okon showed up early one morning with a retinue of riverine stalwarts and other menacing swamp-dwellers with an aptitude for fracas and urban affrays.

“Oga, I don take dem Buhari man to court and dem say make I come now now”, the crazy boy drawled with a triumphant glee.

“I see”, snooper grunted with muted relish, hoping that the mad boy will get his comeuppance in court. Even the normally contrarian Baba Lekki took a dim view of Okon’s prospects.

“O ma se o, omode yi a w’ewon. It is a pity Ogunmuyiwa , Baba ewa ,is late”, the old man lamented.

“Baba you don come again? Abi kainkain don scatter your head again? Who be dat Yoruba herbalist?” Okon demanded with a wicked grin.

“Ha wereee! Ogunmuyiwa baba ewa na old magistrate. If him dey alive na for prison you go die”.

After this sharp exchange, it was a sleepy and bleary-eyed snooper that followed the mad boy to the magistrate court as he was borne aloft by his rogue retinue chanting Efik war songs. As soon as we got to the court premises, snooper got a foretaste of what to come. With drunken gusto, Okon accosted a light-skinned policeman on duty.

“Ah Yellow, no accidental discharge today oo. My change still dey with you”, the mad boy scoffed as the embarrassed cop quickly slunk away. The fireworks started almost immediately as the magistrate, a genial matronly enforcer and obvious veteran of many legal skirmishes, swept in and ordered proceeding to commence without any fanciful rigmarole.

“Where is the plaintiff?” the magistrate demanded and Okon leapt to the floor.

“Point of incorrection!” the mad boy screamed. “I no be plain thief at all and I no dey steal for dem plane. Na dem Haric people dey do dat nonsense and na  dem generals dey thief dem whole plane  “.

“I see. What is your occupation?” the magistrate inquired with a polite smile.

“Ha thank you my sister, uwannem maranma. Na only for Sikira dem give me dem certificate of occupation. I beg dem Fashola  boy sotey, he no gree. As he don comot office now, if him come play football for Surulere again I go wire him labalaba leg bad bad”, the mad boy shouted.

“Look, what do you do for a living?” the magistrate demanded with a hint of impatience.

“Ha, ha, my sister, I get dem oil block for Arepo after we come drive dem Yoruba people comot from dem area. Dem come with them egungun and I beat dat one too, silly silly. Abi na dem Diezani give me dat one too?” the boy demanded as laughter rocked the entire court.

“In fact what is your locus standi in this matter?” the old lady demanded as she appeared to have lost her cool and patience with the impertinent lout.

“You see make una no vex. I don tell dem Yoruba people sotey say locusts no dey stand. Dem dey bite. He get time like dat one I dey farm for Itigidi and dem locust come bite everything, dem even bite dem old man blokos”.  Okon sniggered.

“This must be a mad fellow!  Case adjourned sine die” the ageing magistrate screamed as she packed her things and fled into her chambers leaving security people to throw out a screaming Okon.

And still on the confrontation between modernity and tradition. Marshal Goering, the notorious NAZI sybarite, once famously observed that whenever he heard of culture, he usually reached for his gun. In a multi-national nation, one man’s culture is another man’s horror. For some time now, Okon has been making some denigrating remarks about the Yoruba tradition and its people.

“Oga, how come all dem Yoruba people who dey dance kpalongo  round dem Buhari man dem come vamoose patapata? Abi agaracha don return home?”, the mad boy demanded from snooper.

“Who told you bloody fool that?” snooper snarled.

“Ha oga na hunger make dem Yoruba drummer waka go Sabo. But dis time he be like if say dem mala tira come scatter Yoruba juju”, the mad boy crowed before snooper chased him away.

As the rumoured death of the great Yoruba monarch gained traction, snooper devised a plot to give the mad boy his terminal comeuppance.

“Okon, you will go to my aunt in Ife and collect the herb known as ewe omugo”, snooper ordered with unsmiling sternness. The crazy boy eyed snooper with a mischief and genial malice.

“Ha oga no be dat one dem they call accidental discharge?” Okon snorted with street savvy.

“And what is accidental discharge about collecting herbs?” snooper demanded.

“Ha oga accidental discharge na when police kill person and come say na accident. He get time like dis one when dem Oba don kaput and dem Yoruba people dey hunt other people, dem dey kill dem, dem dey cook dem and dem come dey whack dem. Oga, Okon dey for discharge but him no dey for accident”, the mad boy sneered and quickly disappeared to our chagrin.

As it is to be expected, the Hasheem example has spawned many imitators and overweening wannabes. The Red Cross is hereby placed on Red alert. Among the imitators is the fey and impossible Okon who barged into snooper’s room late on Friday with his trademark basket brimming with mischief and gamey humour.

“Oga, I wan begin dem trek to dem  Daura make man give dem Buhari man dem fura de nunu and dem kulikuli. I go buy dem oranges when man reach Fiditi”, the mad boy announced.

“I see, but what are the papers in the basket?” snooper asked with mirth and incredulity.

“Na dem NNPC audit report. He get one Oyinbo man who come give Okon. He get names of all dem oil thieves and dem petrol ponsanponsan as Sikira him mama dey call am”, the crazy boy crowed.

“I thought you were a Jonathan supporter”, snooper asked the boy.

“Oga, I been dey support am before before but if him hand dey dis roforofo make dem Buhari flog am well well. Man pikin no be man pikin for dis one”, the crazy boy screamed.

“But you took money from the transformation ambassadors?” snooper queried.

“But dem transformer come burn”, the boy retorted.

“Do you know General Buhari?”

“Ha na my man for dem civil war. I come trek from Itigidi to Biakpan, to Ohafia , small time man reach Uturu Junction and Afikpo. Naim I come reach am for Abakaliki.” The boy sang.

“You say you are thirty six and the civil war ended forty five years ago”, snooper chortled.

“Ha oga, official age no be facial age. Obudu monkey dey sweat na hair dey hide am”, the mad fellow crowed.

“Okon tell me your real mission to General Buhari”, snooper demanded.

“Ha oga, I wan make him consider Okon for him kitchen cabinet. Abi no be dem people who dey cook for kitchen be kitchen cabinet?”, the boy asked with a sheepish mien. It was at this point that the mad boy was chased away.