Opinion
The good thing was that the scandal ended well. The silly monkey bolt driver apologized to the honorable and received some goodies to take care of his wretched life. And there was peace.
I used to think that Nigerians needed more doctors and engineers. Now I know what we need is more shrinks.
Thank you, Afe Babalola, for making me understand this our peculiar madness.
When House of Representative member Alex Ikwechegh slapped a bolt driver, I was mad at the bolt driver. How could an ordinary bolt driver upset our majestic, honorable member of the House of Representatives right at his home? What an audacity of an insult from a riffraff.
The good thing was that the scandal ended well. The silly monkey bolt driver apologized to the honorable and received some goodies to take care of his wretched life. And there was peace.
Thank you, Afe Babalola, for making me understand this our peculiar psychosis.
A few years back, when Bishop David Oyedepo slapped that young woman who said she was a witch for Jesus, I was so mad at that foul devil of a young woman. How could she go to the holy man of God’s church and poop all over the place from her mouth? What an audacity of disrespect from a riffraff!
The good thing is that the nonsense ended well. Our daddy in the lord dispatched the young woman to hell because she was not ready for deliverance. But she apologized, and the man of God chased away the demons in the young woman.
Thank you, Afe Babalola, for making me understand this our peculiar mess.
When Dr. Reuben Abati put his junior colleague, Ojey Okpe, in her place for assaulting his majesty, Dr. Reuben Abati, on air, with the illiterate and nonsensical opinion of wailing wailers, I was mad with that little Miss Ojey Okpe for troubling Nigeria’s own Oscar Wilde with inconsequential feedback from Molue passengers. What an audacity of insubordination from a riffraff.
The good thing is that the effrontery to decency ended well. Dr. Reuben Abati gave Ojey Okpe a vacation to relax, think about her missteps, and regain her senses.
Thank you, Afe Babalola, for making me understand this our peculiar derangement.
So, when a legendary veteran senior lawyer, Afe Babalola, sent in his boy’s brigade squad from Ekiti to Lagos to deliver flowers to Dele Farotimi for scratching his hard-earned diamond-sealed reputation, I was mad with the retired roadside lawyer, Dele Farotimi. Somehow, youthful exuberant made me throw up at the feet of the actual owner of Ekiti State, Afe Babalola. How dare I? Me, a mere riffraff from the desert of YouTube? Who born me?
Thank you, Afe Babalola, for making me understand this my peculiar crap.
Please accept my apology, Chief Afe Babalola.
If it will make you happy, I have been gnashing my teeth ever since. I even slapped myself again and again and again.
Chief Babalola, when I sinned questioning your infallibility, you, a god of law, I did not know who you were. I did not know you were former President Olusegun Obasanjo’s personal lawyer, as well as other distinguished Nigerians and numerous multinational corporations. I did not know that your name appeared on the US embassy cable where US diplomatic documents said you bribed five Court of Appeal Judges with $1.125 million to buy Adamawa governorship judgment for your client, Boni Haruna. I did not know that you donated ten million pounds to King’s College, London. Come to think of it, with that money alone, you can buy the whole of my hometown, the people who live there, and the dogs, cats, and squirrels. I knew nothing about your exemplary services to Nigeria, which made the country a shining light on the hills of West Africa.
I now realize that you, Afe Babalola, can make me disappear, just like Honorable Ikwechegh warned the bolt driver after giving him three slaps. I now know that you can call the Inspector General of police and nobody will see me again for a long time. I know you can also give me one of those famous Nigerian dirty slaps, unlike the type Bishop Oyedepo gave that young woman, and I won’t remember the taste of my grandmother’s bitter-leaf soup. With a phone call, you can put me in the purgatory of your generator room, from where you will send me straight to hell.
Sir, I have come to my senses. I’ve acknowledged that I am the devil, not ready for deliverance. But please don’t come after me like Dr. Reuben Abati wanted to go after Ojey Okpe. Please, sir, I am just a foolish boy. I run my mouth out of ignorance. As the stupid idiot that I am, I do not respect my elders, which is evidence of a bad upbringing. If I had known the person I was talking to, I would not have disgraced my family by opening my stinking mouth.
Sir, please forgive me. You own a university and I’m not better than a church rat. How dare I, a silly proletariat, challenge an elephant like you?
Nonsense!
Africans, who did this to us?
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Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo teaches Post-Colonial African History, Afrodiasporan Literature, and African Folktales at the School of Visual Arts in New York City. He is also the host of Dr. Damages Show. His books include “This American Life Sef” and “Children of a Retired God.” among others. His upcoming book is called “Why I’m Disappointed in Jesus.”