Yesterday, I went to church. My neighbours are beginning to suspect my recent turnaround and dedication to God. But God is not man. He is the omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent, and knows my thoughts.
So yesterday I went to church, and contrary to my tradition, sat outside. When it was time for the final prayers, I opened my eyes briefly, looked at those around me before I muttered “God, thank you for the gift of Buhari”. That’s one of the most sincere prayers I’ve said in February, 2016. It was from the depth of my heart, but I also needed to be sure that there wasn’t any overzealous anti-Buhari nearby. Being confronted in church over a prayer I said isn’t one of those troubles I needed on the last Sunday of the leap month in a leap year.
Every sincere Nigerian should be grateful to God for this rare gift called Buhari. God alone knows what’s best for us, especially when we act like we know too much. God knows that we complain a lot. God knows that no matter what we get, nothing would change. So He gave us Buhari, who came down in all glory, robed with the anti-corruption linen. And true to script, Buhari set to work, drew up a work plan, and commenced implementation. So when Yola burned, Buhari looked at his To-do list. It said wedding, and party it must be. Nigerians as usual ranted, they cursed both God and the devil, but that changed nothing. On the other side, some danced, and danced, and danced. Competitions were even organized to raise dancers who could dance like the president.
In the US, Nigerians celebrated his residence at the Blair House. It was a glorious chance. A Daniel had finally ascended the throne. When asked about inclusive governance, Baba reverted to the rule. The percentages took the centre stage. The people rained thunder. Some invoked Amadioha and some non-existent gods. It didn’t matter. His quota system must stay.
Those who realized the beauty and the blessing that Baba Bubu was to Nigeria attempted building a ladder to heaven to show their appreciation. But God wasn’t ready for another round of confusion, and he sent them back. Buhari, the gift is still here.
And Buhari travelled, and mildly called Nigerians criminals. Nigerians as usual raised all forms of storm, denouncing such tag. But the storm was uncalled for. Buhari never called them criminals. He only referred to them as criminals. These two don’t mean the same. The other set, the more enlightened Nigerians knew this, so they took to the media to explain to others what the president actually meant, instead of what he actually said.
And we continued living, many expecting more from this gift, others holding on, aware of the template in operation. And Nigerians as usual, took to whining again. They said the economy was going down, they started calling Bubu’s name, expecting him to perform a miracle. Bubu didn’t like this. He wasn’t God; couldn’t do everything. So he replied them in similar tone, added to his media team, and travelled abroad.
And Nigerians cried louder. They said he should have formed an economic team instead of a stronger media team.
Don’t mind these Nigerians. Very ignorant people who know nothing about governance!
And the gift from God travelled to the Middle East, to seek the face of God over the constantly dropping crude price. Draped in white–depicting holiness-,shoulders and head bare, they took him to the place where God resides. He saw God, and they talked about the crashed cost of crude. God asked him if he had any plans, but he said no. None at all. Crude must go up. God asked him about plans for other sources of income, but he said the Nigerians were not trustworthy. ‘Fix this oil thing’, he told God. Nothing more, nothing less.
Nigerians whined at home. Cried over increase in the cost of commodities.
And he came out of the sanctuary, heard these cries, saw his pictures with the hairless head, shrunken shoulders, and visible bones like Nigeria’s economy. Bubu wasn’t happy. He was the prince, Aisha’s pretty husband, and that image must be retained. He must be seen as the most handsome. And he summoned his team, his trusted aides, his friends, sorcerers and marabouts. And they came, each with thoughts on how to lift Nigeria, and reduce the cries.
And Buhari stepped into the middle, sad, worried, and in a teary voice queried; ‘Look at my picture, what can we do about this?’.
Dead silence fell on the gathering. With no words coming from any of them, he continued.
‘I don’t like the way I look. I am hereby appointing a Special Assistant on photography. Thank you ladies and gentlemen. The meeting is over.
Dum Syl Aminikpo tweets as @dumsyl, and runs this column every Monday, for Ikenga Chronicles http://ikengachronicles.com/2016/02/29/from-the-lunatics-pad-buhari-gods-gift-to-nigerians/ |
