If you said ‘silly season’, you are spot on.
We are once again in the season when grown men (and a splattering of women), will begin to dress in borrowed ethnic robes and dance to strange music in order to confuse the electorates into parting with their votes.
The world acknowledged and self-acclaimed ethnic jingoist and first grade bigot who would ratify the killings of Southerners in the North by land-grabbing ‘foreign herdsmen’ from ‘Chad’ and ‘Niger’, will put on a hastily sewn isi-agu, and dance around the Igbo line in Kaduna central market, all in a bid to confuse the Igbo traders into parting with their jealously guarded votes.
Not that it matters whether you vote or not; one thing that these politicians know how to do well, is how to play the ‘chop-one-chop-two’ with your already cast votes.
You queue up from morning till night under the blazing sun or pouring rain, waiting for an opportunity to ‘pless ya han for the ormblella’ or the chicken or even the mobile phone or whichever icon catches your fancy, and after you have finished and gone home, they will bring the broom and ‘come’ and sweep some stray votes into the ballot boxes.
Landslide victory sturvs.
This is also the season when odorless fufu, raw rice that you will cook once and forget you even saw anything like rice with your eyes, noodles and bread labels (the same one we wanted to take as credentials for voting in the President) will be flying around all over the place.
You collect one ‘mudu’ of rice and cook, and literally chop the ‘life of your head’ as you consume the end product.
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Four years of underdevelopment is what you have just cooked and it cannot even satiate you and your family.
One loaf of bread is the politician’s estimation of what it will cost you to turn a blind eye to that road that passes through your village, the one that has potholes so deep they could swallow a camel and the rider.
The same road he bought your compliance to it remaining unbuilt, with a packet of noodle and one egg in the last electoral cycle.
Come election day, you will be lining up in the sun waiting to vote in the city; and the ‘chop-one-chop-two’ will be happening korokoro in your village where the ward chairman and other party officials hold sway.
‘I have PVC of 40 people; how much will you pay me for it?’
‘1,000 per PVC’
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‘10,000? For wetin? Na gold? Las las, we just dey say make dem vote so that e no go be like say na we write de figures o. Oya, make I give you 1,200?’
All of you that are going to queue up somewhere to write down your PVC numbers for people who have either promised you jobs, cash incentives or one thing or the other, your eye is on the ojoro promise they made to you.
And the funny thing is that you do not even know they ‘are doing you ojoro yet’.
Their eye is on your destiny which you are handing over to them.
You will be at home relaxing and watching Nkoli Nwa Nsukka, while one underaged voter will be in Kano answering Chinedumije Okorommaduekwe, and waiting his turn to cast a vote like he has been instructed to.
The same PVCs that Jega spent hundreds of billions to produce, still did not produce enough on time to ensure that no Nigerian was disenfranchised.
And the thing still no dey gree communicate with card reader or headquarters.
I am sure the Alibaba cards will even be more ‘authe’ than the INEC cards.
In the coming silly season, we are already bracing up for the ballot box snatching, the thumb printing of multiple ballot papers by fierce looking, jobless men who will snatch even their own mother’s destiny for the price of one wrap of weed.
We are gearing up for the inconclusive results, and figures that write themselves after votes have been counted.
This is that one magical season when everybody puts on their silly cap and are not even ashamed to show it.
People sitting at home, ‘punditing’ and declaring results and predicting electoral victory or loss when even the Alibaba produced PVC, they do not have.
These same breed of Nigerians are going to be the ones that will protest the outcome of the elections and even scream louder than those that invested their time and effort into going out to vote.
“We have installed a new President. The will of the people has prevailed and we have sent out a clear signal to the politicians that we will be less tolerant of incompetence”.
You and who, mbok?
You that you were busy killing yourself laughing over dry guy Akpan’s jokes on DSTV?
Everybody is infected with the silly bug.
Everybody will be high for the next couple of months and counting.
Everybody eye go dey chook even for matters wey no concern them and the more ignorant will be the loudest as the days go by.
The shekpe that these politicians blow into the air before they kick off the silly season will slowly dissipate.
And we will return to clear-eyed, quasi normal human beings who suddenly realise that the joke is on us.
We have torn down relationships and built up impenetrable walls, fighting for politicians who are stealing our money to ensure that their children and their children’s children do not ever smell poverty for generations to come.
And when the tear gas clear for our eye and we gaze reality in the eye, the reality that tells us that ‘they don’t really care about us’, we then revert to wailing.
Until the next silly season when we take leave of our senses again and begin to act like those whose village people are consistently doing strong things.
“In a democracy, people get the leaders they deserve.” – Joseph de Maistre.
Lerrus share the grace, please.