The American president has become Nigerian power base’s replica of the legendary dragon, the giant-winged mythical reptile reputed with fire-breathing, sharp claws, and razor-sharp teeth. With an unpredictable Trump, the American president’s inexplicable fascination with Nigeria, 2027 presents as a fog of war. It blinds the most talented seer from seeing a clear path ahead. The X factor could be Trump, an ultimate deal-maker who could decide the pendulum of 2027. Don’t our people say that even wisdom can kill the wise?
By Festus Adedayo
In Nigeria, on Tuesday and Thursday last week, two precision airstrikes hit targets. As similar as the pains the airstrikes brought, they were also marked by dissimilarities. While one hit the country’s northwest target against ISIS terrorists on Thursday, Christmas day, earlier on Tuesday, the other hit the heart of state capture in Nigeria. But localities of the strikes were miles apart. The Donald Trump strikes were launched from maritime platforms domiciled in the Gulf of Guinea but the one that exposed the rump of one party rule in Nigeria was launched from the Agodi Government House in Ibadan, Oyo State. While the ranks of ISIS terrorists hit by Trump’s shellacking are in mourning mood today, the ranks of those who, without pestle and mortar, pound the evil yam of capturing Nigeria under the umbrella of a one party, is re-contextualizing its rout. In his track entitled “Agún’bàjé ò l’ódó”, Yoruba Juju music lord, Ebenezer Obey, sang of evil-doers who pound evil yam, who possess no physical pestle and mortar, but whose destructive mouths and deeds reverberate like the onomatopoeic sounds we hear when someone pounds yam.
Let us begin by approaching the Donald Trump airstrikes from the prism of libido. Among my people, when a notoriously known sexually infirm person, the tribe of whom is called Òkóbó, suddenly begins to wax lyrical about matters of the libido, exuding hyper knowledge on bedroom matters, his newfound expertise is confronted with mockery. To my people, it is a misplacement of virility. So, they say, in a sexually explicit imagery, that, rather than the Òkóbó inserting his member into the hole placed before him, he boasts of his dexterity and capacity in insertion matters. By claiming that, even if surrounded by pitch-darkness, he can insert a thread into the eye of a needle, my people see disability promoted to the level of ability.
Amid a fusillade of claps for the United States of America’s bombing of suspected terrorists’ hideouts in Northwest Sokoto State on Christmas day, the Nigerian government has suddenly become the village Òkóbó. Even when the response from those who conducted the onerous bombing exercise on the ISIS’ terrorists camp was a terse, measured statement, the village Òkóbó’s flippancy in the last few days verges on the incredible. Both Donald Trump and Secretary of War, Pete Hegseth, authors of the rout, have volunteered little about their shellacking. “Tonight, at my direction as Commander in Chief, the United States launched a powerful and deadly strike against ISIS Terrorist Scum in Northwest Nigeria,” Trump wrote on his Truth Social handle. Hegseth volunteered even less: “”More to come … Grateful for Nigerian government support & cooperation,” Hegseth wrote, before signing off with “Merry Christmas!”
“Support and cooperation” have however morphed into something else. In the Òkóbó, you are also reminded of the prattling African grey parrot, a bird called Òrófó. Though a very beautiful, sought-after bird, Òrófó synonyms talkativeness when all that is needed is taciturnity. Frustrated by the bird’s lack of precis in her self-underscore, my people say that in the bird’s beak lies her death. Juju music legend of the 1970s, Admiral Dele Abiodun, put this in perspective when he sang, “Enu Òrofó ni ó p’Òrofó”. Òrofó, he narrated, felt inadequate in the two children she sired so that, when asked of her home composition, she claimed it was filled with children.
The bombs had hardly landed than Òróoó, waxing flippant like the Òkóbó, went into her trade. It reminds me of Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart’s proverb that, when the moon is shining is when the crippled becomes hungry for a walk. It was a precision strike, the bird says, and it happens in the Bauni forest axis of Tangaza Local Government Area, Sokoto State. We were even told that “the operation was carried out under established command and control structures, with the full involvement of the Armed Forces of Nigeria and under the supervision of the Honourable Ministers of Defence and Foreign Affairs, as well as the Chief of Defence Staff”. Not done, we were told that “a total of 16 GPS-guided precision munitions were deployed using MQ-9 Reaper unmanned aerial platforms,” as if the bombs flew directly from Aso Rock. We were even almost told the colour of the munitions and their maker. MKO Abiola, God rest his soul, in his moment of unbridled humour, once said that when we are confronted with such superlatives and hyperventilation, behind it is drama. “Ètò ni!” he stammered in Yoruba.
Buoyed by the tacit claim by Hegseth that America was “Grateful for Nigerian government support & cooperation,” it was time for Òrofó the bird to thump her chest. So the hyperventilating bird continued, “the strike was executed between 00:12 hours and 01:30 hours”, and, listen to this, “in close coordination with the Government of the United States of America” and “following explicit approval” by the Chief Òkóbó. By the way, I forgot to give the concluding part of that ancient Òkóbó misplaced virility boast. Finding explanation and excuse for the Òkóbó after his thread insertion in the dark claim became a fiasco, my people then say that the sexually infirm cannot be expected to lose on all fronts. If he has nil libido, he can at least boast of the best farmland in the village. This they express as, “Ìyà méjì kìí jẹ òkóbó; tí ò bá l’ókó, á l’óko.” Indeed, ancient belief is that the tribe of the sexually infirm often finds different avenue to express capacity. When a farmer digs mounds of farm heaps beyond people’s expectation, my people say he digs like a sexually impotent.
For all we care, Hegseth might just have used that gratitude phrase as an avenue to water-down global hostile attacks on America as a sovereignty dis-respecter. The truth could just be that Chief Òkóbó was busy eating “àgbàdo” and “cassava” in the Villa while Trump’s missiles were flying across his backyard. Which is just as well. Successive Nigerian governments, from Umaru Yar’Adua downwards, have demonstrated incapacity to tame the shrew of terrorism in Nigeria. Under Goodluck Jonathan, the attempt to tame this shrew was even escalated into recruiting mercenaries who allegedly claimed that Nigerian soldiers snitched on them. It sounds like the fairy tale of Aladdin and the wonderful lamp to imagine that Trump would inform a long list of clientele, as the Nigerian presidency revealed, as those who “collaborated” with him in the Sokoto operation. This is a Trump who obviously sees no good in anything, anyone but himself, and who was about to carry out a major attack on ISIS base in Nigeria, an operation which would balloon his fame in America.
Beyond stealing, so say my people, what should make one ashamed (for those who have a sense of shame), are a legion. What Trump, a transactional American president, did to current Nigerian leaders, whose country he called disgraceful, is worse than castrating them. Donald Trump de-masculinized them, so much that little or no balls reside inside their pants. Yes, in modern times, the concept of sovereignty has gone beyond physical borders. Today, sovereignty has more to do with inter-state capacity than physical portions of geography. But, sovereignty has a lot to do with national shame and pride. The Yoruba and Igbo concept of land or geography explains this with more in-depth clarifications. Referred to as “Àlà” and “Ani” respectively, sovereignty for these two nations transcends boundary and limit, to define the people’s essence. They took the concept further to define inherent existence. To them, Àlà has a demarcation even within the borders of close relationships. The Yoruba ethical norm, for instance, warns that you must stay within your prescribed limits in order to avoid negative consequences. All said and done, the moment a nation loses its pride, its sovereignty is shattered and negative consequences await her. The nation becomes an old man who ties to his buttocks a waist-bead made of grains of corns who cannot stop hens from making mockery of him.
If you appropriately psycho-analyze Donald Trump, you will realize that he is too haughty to share intelligence with the crop of leaders Nigeria currently parades. Pardon my pessimism, the American president does not also appear to me like a person who can ask Nigeria’s Òkóbó for permission to strike ISIS terrorists. But, we heard from Aso Rock that the American intelligence community interfaced with Nigeria’s. Never were we told that Trump called Nigeria’s Òkóbó. Trump is too disdainful of Nigerian leaders to do that. When you leave your plates unwashed as Nigerian leaders did of Nigeria over the years, you cannot complain that the plates are besieged by green flies. Successive Nigerian leaders curated a country writ small. They sold the country’s sovereignty, its pride and worth, its Àlà, for a mess of portage.
To now complain that irascible Trump treats us with condescension and disgrace is akin to the proverbial African pouched rat whose juncture of regret and surrender was at the stall of the venison seller. This was after it had been killed, grilled and its hands forcefuly flung up in surrender. Our situation is akin to an ancient wise-saying which holds that there is no way you would share boundary with a wicked king without his hoes gashing at your feet. In the releases from the Nigerian presidency which, from their tone and tenor, indicated that Nigeria was forcefully weaving herself into the success of America’s precision strikes on ISIS terrorists in Sokoto, what we are doing is giving undue importance to a situation that does us little honour, over-prioritizing a shameful situation. Yoruba call this “pón jèbè l’ákìsáà”.
The terrorist war is however Nigeria’s war and not America’s. Unfortunately, decades of mollycoddling a potential calamity and turning it into an industry have ensured the multiplication of the cells of terrorism in Nigeria. In the name of political correctness and winning seasonal elections, Sheikh Ahmad Gumi is god of Aso Rock. He unleashes his loose canon on decent existence without reprisals. As America’s 16 GPS-guided precision munitions boomed in the Bauni forest, Gumi was unleashing his verbal terrorism, too. The attack was “war against Islam” and “an infringement on Nigeria’s sovereignty”, he said. He even called for an immediate cessation of all military cooperation with the United States. Rather than America, in the queer reasoning of Gumi, Nigeria should head Islamic-state-ward, to Syria, for salvage in its war on terror.
While Nigeria should be man enough to call for international support to fight terrorism, she cannot do this from the position of strength but of weakness. It looks to me like the equation of the sheep having an innate knowledge of Belau as an imbecile before he snatched his roasted yam. While Nigerian leaders are self-serving, election season-beholding, Trump’s only allegiance is to his American people, white evangelical Protestants and specific high-profile evangelical leaders and figures. Which is a legitimate fancy. The Christmas day bombing of Sokoto is for their attention. Let Nigerian leaders also be beholding to Nigeria and Nigerians alone.
Last Tuesday, another precision strike, the like that hit Sokoto-gathered terrorists, hit Aso Rock and its “agúnbàjé” crew. Oyo State governor, Seyi Makinde, in a media chat, had broken the pot concealing a pot-pourri brew of lies. While he is projected as an audaciously daring, bold man, who snatches whatever he wants forcefully, the like of which my musical idol, Apala legend, Ayinla Omowura, had projected Chief Adeola, 1970s road transport workers’ chairman, the Nigerian president may not actually have such grits. In characterizing Chief Adeola, alias Baba Salimon, Omowura had described him as “Ògba nkan pàtì l’ówó oní-nkan”. When Makinde spoke last Tuesday about the lord of Aso Rock, Nigerians came to understand why and how virtually all Nigerian opposition parties are in a state of suspension at the moment and why only APC is a thriving market square.
In the interview, we were told how FCT Minister, Nyesom Wike, promised the president that he would “hold down” the PDP for him without a word of dissension from the president. Nigerians have since began to wonder who were currently “holding down” the other political parties for the president. As I write this, apart from scums masquerading as missiles, the like of which we had from Ayodele Fayose a couple of days back, there has not been any rebuttal of this weighty allegation from the presidency. Rather than this, push-back is coming from regime piss-can carriers. Ayo Fayose, ex-Ekiti governor, who until recently when he coyly got EFCC manacles off his wrists, was embroiled in the “your chicken no dey shit” mess, led the pack. It is an oxymoron that Fayose would accuse any living being of fraud. But, come to think of it, which N50b and whose moneywas he talking about? That a 65-year old Fayose will elect to carry spittle-can for a living at his advancing old age is a huge shame. I am sure that Ekiti State, the land of honour, must be ashamed that a man of such low-character pedigree ever climbed its seat of power.
The Makinde interview, as harmless as it may sound, reveals one or two things about the president. One is that, though he revels in being revered as a tough hombre, an “Ògba nkan pàtì”, the president is mortally apprehensive of his 2027 re-election and is very vulnerable after all. Second is that, though he wraps round himself the shawl of a democrat, he is a despot who uses the tenets of Italian philosopher, Antonio Gramsci’s concept of hegemony to hoodwink everyone and anyone towards the realization of his ambition. In Gramsci’s world, rather than obvious coercion, the leader should dominate and maintain his vice grip on power, not just through force, but through ideological and cultural consent of the dominated. Governors are inside his pouch. Those that matter are his captives. This is achieved either through flashing their sordid present and past in their faces or deliberately disconnecting them from the power grid.
The Makinde reference to hunger as the ultimate variable that could turn the 2027 tide in the disfavour of those who pound the yam of evil for Nigeria is very profound. It is a variable that could turn out to be a game-changer. Between now and the electioneering time, I do not see the magic that can return life to what it was before May 2023 for the traumatized and shellacked Nigerian masses. The second variable that Makinde didn’t talk about is the Donald Trump variable. Nigeria’s Òkóbó and Òrófó is apparently highly afraid of the Mad Man of the White House. Can you imagine that Nigeria’s national jet’s engines are almost rusty now. But for Trump, the jet would have been to Paris and back, at least two times now. The American president has become Nigerian power base’s replica of the legendary dragon, the giant-winged mythical reptile reputed with fire-breathing, sharp claws, and razor-sharp teeth. With an unpredictable Trump, the American president’s inexplicable fascination with Nigeria, 2027 presents as a fog of war. It blinds the most talented seer from seeing a clear path ahead. The X factor could be Trump, an ultimate deal-maker who could decide the pendulum of 2027. Don’t our people say that even wisdom can kill the wise?
I wish my readers all over the world a prosperous and more fruitful New Year ahead.
Last Line: I was at the Agodi Methodist Church, Ibadan, on Friday for the burial of my friend, Wale Ogunniran. I met him about 15 years ago at the National Life newspaper. Looking at Wale’s remains locked away inside that white casket broke me. A restless journalist who didn’t believe that a bound or boundary exists that could not be penetrated, it was an oxymoron that Wale could not break the shackles of death and set himself free from the vice grip of death. His death drove forcefully inside my skull the brevity of life, its inevitability and the words of existential philosophers who say that man is old enough to die the very day he is born.
Wale’s death is a confirmation that death is an inherent part of life, from its very beginning and not just an appendage that creeps on man at old age. In Wale’s death am I taught that every breath counts and as we ooze out every breath, we move towards our end. To imagine that the brown silly earth is so audacious as to swallow a lively Wale is to come face-to-face with the reality that indeed, life and death are intertwined and inseparable from the moment of birth. Each of us will die our own death. While I will die mine, you will die yours.
Goodnight, my friend, my fan.
•Opinions, positions or thoughts expressed here are personal and strictly of the writer/author and do not represent the views of The Daily Crucible.
