From the “ghosts” that “padded” the 2016 budget to the crooks at Central Bank that secretly employed the relatives of the high and mighty in the present administration after aiding and abating one of the most audacious acts of corruption in the history of Nigeria under Goodluck Jonathan… This is a tale of my chained country – a beautiful woman that will never fall in love.
Instead of falling in love through our eyes like a man would, we fall in love through our ears like women. So, we listen to gossips. If the major and credible news outlets are not saying what we want to hear, we resort to fake blogs. We share their fake news over and over and in different groups until our fellow roasters with broken hearts starts to recycle the fake news.
We fake everything; we fall in love with the old and new mistress simultaneously- Rotimi Amaechi and Nyesom Wike – two unholy angels. Our neighbor and enemy (not respectively) the Bible emphasized we must love, simple because they are the same. So, we wear make-up and go to bed with Amaechi – a steak of black in darkness. We also fake love to start a romance with Wike, the crude-fat-pompous little brat. The scene was thus set for an explosive romantic affair.
Then, the smoking cigar called election came like the harmattan rain and we willingly inhaled the flame of destruction – a romance gone sore as acts of mindless violence exploded in Rivers. We set our enemies on fire to satisfy the evil desires of our neighbor. But like a good wives, we forgive our husbands when we are wrong. Like the fat kid that loves cake and coke, we tread blame between PDP and APC and in the process failed to see the orgy of violence and the trail of pain.
After the violence, we Nigerians, like those beautiful women always in front of their mirrors, took to social media, working meticulously to cover the holes on the face our girlfriends (Amaechi or Wike) with dust. We share pictures of violent deaths attributed to the visiting and resident neighbor to suite our narrow narrative. But we refused to find out what made those that lost their loved ones cry. The love we get from Amaechi and Wike are like a promise delivered already broken. So, we all suffer in love.
We fall in love with our eyes closed. We commit acts of corruption and advocate for rule of law and justice when the handcuffs temporarily reminds us of where we belong. Dragged to the court and asked to prove our innocence, we remembered that the judge was our “classmate” thirty years ago and thus should stand down. So, we seek adjournment. If adjournment is not working, we (like Dasuki) simply refuse to show up in court to prove our innocence, the same innocence we claimed just yesterday. Now, we don’t want our fake love, like a chronic backache to show up under the X-ray of prosecutors and witnesses.
Transient love, reflecting the brilliance of our tectonic emotional outburst – bright and dark. We hate EFCC in the morning. We protest that our brother Metu is being prosecuted because he belongs to the “opposition”. But we love the same EFCC in the afternoon when Okorocha’s aide is arrested for mismanaging the bailout fund. We update our status to capture that singular ‘bravely’ of EFCC.
We blame marginalization for falling in love with ourselves – hermaphrodites. So, we reproduce asexually. As a result, we allow our heart to fill up with anger and resentment as our brain empties. We are deeply in love with ourselves and ethnic group, sometimes over head in love with a feeling of troubled suspicion that we tend to cheer when members of other tribes are killed in a vicious cycle of violence that is becoming a daily routine.
Facing west and with our eyes shut, we complain that we can’t see the rising sun. We fake our love for the educational sector. We stopped funding our public schools and watched the educational system collapse. The academia that went abroad for graduate studies refused to come back and political office holders started sending their kids abroad. Soon, the rich and even the middle class joined and somebody somewhere figured out that private schools is the solution. So, we gave license to corrupt politicians and some influential power-thirsty bishops that care little about the poor and the unprivileged in the society. Now education has turned to luxury in Nigeria with parents buying dollars to pay fees in the school under Obalende Bridge.
We fake our love for Ese. We swum in the rivers and hatch tag of free Ese but we never felt the buoyancy of the waters. We finally ‘freed’ Ese but still refused to show a little love to our maids. We fake our love for the victims of Aguta massacre. We shed crocodile tears for the innocent victims but we never bothered to ask why it happened or why it will happen again.
Every day, we mock the ‘change’ slogan by closing our minds and expecting to have a romance with a stranger. We refuse to respond to the overtures, caresses and touches of change because it’s coming from the Hausa-Fulani dictator. We refuse to look at the ugly-beautiful-ugly face of unprecedented massive acts of corruption with impunity being exposed simply because we don’t want to be seduced by the change agenda. We prefer the era of business as usual.
The crooks at the Central Bank and Budget office have also refused to be seduced by the change agenda. Their acts of corruption (under the watchful eyes of GMB) is an indication that smelly nuisance that will never fall in love are still writing love letters and signing marriage contracts. Buhari’s associates and cronies have just peed on their pants for everyone to see but they felt the warmth only to themselves. So, we continue to watch television with candlelight.
In the final analysis, my country Nigeria cannot fall in love because the air is still filled with toxic smoke from the incomplete combustion of the candle, covering our beautiful faces (together with the widening holes and cracks) and sickening the poor masses.
You can email Churchill at Churchill.okonkwo@gmail.com or follow on Twitter @churchillnnobi