I really really thought when I wrote my last article that the prevailing conversations of today would be when the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) would announce the results.
I did not see this latest postponement thing coming up.
In fact, I was planning to write something light.
Side chics always catch the flak of most conversations.
So, my plan was to write a ‘how-to’ article to teach the side chic how to get promoted to the main chic.
But yet again, our Fatherland is calling for my attention.
The permutations that are happening behind the scenes…only God knows the real reasons we have to wait till next Saturday to cast our votes.
But hey, Saturday na Saturday. Whether na 16th or na 23rd, it will be on a Saturday that Bubu will be handed his permanent retirement card.
So who are you voting for and why?
I am sure you all know who I am not voting for. And I have said why consistently since the last elections.
What is the word on the streets?
It is very easy to get carried away on internet feeds with stories being churned out from every quarter.
What actually gets filtered to the every day dude on the streets that is not following Tolu Ogunlesi or Reno Omorkri on Twitter?
I was sitting jejely in my office when Mr John came in (not real name off course). He is my colleague who will retire this year.
“Mr John, are we atikulated?” I asked jovially but not in an unserious manner.
“God forbid! It is better for me to throw my PVC or even to tear it into little pieces.”
I was taken aback by the vehemence. One would think that Atiku had personally burdened him with 16k per bag of rice.
So I asked him why he didn’t like Atiku.
“The man don steal our money sotey na im get half of Nasarawa State.”
I snorted out a laugh of disbelief.
“Na who tell you?” I asked him.
“Everybody know. Na one my brother wey dey go Nasarawa.”
Mr. John has never gone to the north and he is in his late 50s.
“Atiku wan come pack all the money finish.”
At this point, I had to calm him down.
“Do you think Buhari is a poor man?
All of his children schooled out of Nigeria at some point.
Whose money did he use to sit down in London for 3months?
Did you not see him endorse Ganduge in Kano?
Can a man sit inside a gutter and remain clean?
If looted funds were used to mobilize Buhari’s dream, is he not a looter by extension?”
Mr. John was confused. He is not really a fast talker but I am and I must admit, I did not give him breathing space in between questions.
“So, you dey enjoy Buhari handwork right now?”
I asked slowly and I paused.
“E go better for the next level. E go do something.”
I openly laughed at him.
“The man said he would bring change and he failed. Which next level are you expecting?”
“Na Obasanjo make Goodluck time to be good. He was just helping him so that everything will be fine. But now as Buhari come stop all the corruption wey Obasanjo dey do, Obasanjo come vex say he must spoil everything for Buhari. You know say na Obasanjo get kerosene for this Nigeria.”
Blood of Issachar!!!!
The fake news on the internet is a toddler compared to the moustached-with-grey-pubic-hair fake news on the streets.
“Mr. John, no be me and you dey this office when Obasanjo fight Goodluck finish? So tey e tear im PDP card and support Buhari to power. You don forget the letter wey e write? How Obasanjo spoil Buhari economy? Did he increase the pump price of petrol? Did he delay the appointment of ministers on his lacklustre cabinet? Is he the one making the decisions of the country? If Buhari cannot handle Obasanjo, then is he fit to run this country?”
I had to pause at this point to explain what lacklustre meant.
“Na true you talk….”
He really had not paused to make sense of all he had heard. I had gotten the jugular and so I pressed on.
“Do you know where the matter of the minimum wage is right now? The minimum wage you are always asking for updates about.”
He shook his head.
“Is life better under APC than it was under PDP?”
“…e don worse o….”
I let go at that point. I flexed my biceps and uncurled my fists. I can hear him repeating all my arguments on the streets.
If our lives did not literally hang in the balance between the broom and the umbrella, election period would be hilarious.
It is well my people, joor…last last God dey.