To Gbayanrin and the upmarket Bantu Television Station where Baba Lekki was running rings around the\xa0 main anchor of the station and his colleagues over the vexed issue of the annulment of the June 12 1993 presidential election and the true heroes of the struggle to liberate
Nigeria
. It was a long time one had heard from the geriatric scoundrel after his last attempt to scam a nearby bank using AI generated images failed and he took to his heels. When he was finally apprehended, he claimed to be a ghost on spiritual sabbatical attached to a nearby church and everybody fled in turn. It is a scammers’ market and no one is sure of who is scamming who anymore.
“Sir, if I heard you very well, you just said it is June 23 that should be celebrated and not June 12. If my memory does not fail me, that was the very day the election was annulled”, the anchor asked the old man who was beginning to show signs of growing impatience and irritation.
“So, if you heard me very well, why are you repeating the question? Let your memory fail you that is your father’s problem. All I am saying is that June 23 is the real day or the McCoy. That is the day the soldiers finally overreached themselves and shot themselves in the foot. That is the reason we are enjoying this spell of democracy, otherwise they would have been back again with their gra-gra and this nonsense about I Brigadier Sukuniyan or Colonel Dodondawa”, the old man exploded. The entire hall in turn erupted in rapturous applause. A Lagosian-looking dandy in Edwardian bow tie and heavy parting inhaled his snuff with preposterous loudness which reminded one of an asthmatic baboon.
“Wo, omo eleniyan, o ri yen so”, he shouted and fell back asleep with thunderous snoring. Okon, who had staggered in moments earlier reeking of cheap alcohol and periwinkles and eyeing everybody with tipsy self-importance, saw an opportunity for his usual mischief and hanky-panky. He had fastened his gaze on a huge self-composed lady who sat quietly behind the crew taking notes and passing suggestions. He staggered up, ogling the lady with wild relish.
\xa0 “Bia, bia, no be you I been they check out for Mafoluku before before, abi na for Akowonjo sef?” the mad boy drawled, rocking on his feet in a drunken haze. The lady, a no-nonsense disciplinarian, rose to her full, frightening height ready to pounce on the urchin but was restrained by the crew who might have seen her in action before. She weighed at six foot six with ample bulk to match. Rumour swept the hall that she was a niece of the famous Giant Alakuku from Mbala in Isuochi and could beat up ten men put together.
“Idiot, I have been warning you, this is where you will meet your Waterloo”, Baba Lekki charged.
“Baba, water no dey for loo for Oshodi again”, the mad boy slurred and fell back asleep. The interview resumed.
“Baba, one last question and it is about this Amaechi fellow. How can a former minister say he is hungry in this country?” the youngest member of the crew asked.
“You have answered your own question. You see, government na wicked people. I used to like that boy. But when you suddenly remove the federal feeding bottle from an old man of sixty after feeding continuously for twenty four years, he is bound to develop some social psychosis known as Post Traumatic Stomach Disorder, a mad craving for anything ingestible.” The old man responded with professorial solemnity. After that, a massive power outage terminated proceedings. Okon was the first to jump out through the window.
Provided by SyndiGate Media Inc. (
Syndigate.info
).
