Stories and Tragedies

You are thinking of stories. Your special moments' quota for the week is exhausted. There is nothing ethereal, or scandalous, or epiphanic in the news, in your life, in the streets. Nothing spicy from eavesdropping on strangers, no special insight into their lives. Your neighbors are all behaving this week. And you desperately need a story for your deadline.

Even the weather isn’t inspiring. There aren’t ‘rays of the sun glistening through the mist’, no ‘shimmering lights’, nothing to make that gripping opening paragraph that you sometimes extend too long because you really have nothing concrete to write about. So you step out to buy a razor blade from the shack across the street from your house. For your toe nails that won’t be cut by your small nail cutter. 

Malam Haruna is away in some market, getting little cartons of milk, cigarettes, sweets in funny looking wrappers and cheap, too-sweet bread that is too heavy on some days and has more hollow spaces than dough on others. You ask his younger brother, who has the same type of tribal marks as he does, if he has razor blades. He always has a bewildered look on his face, like a stray puppy that has been cornered by screaming kids. He searches and searches. You are not exasperated like you usually are when you are in a hurry and he can’t find what you want. You just wait.

A guy you recognize as one of the motorcyclists around your area in Lugbe screams as he approaches the shop: ‘A bani Goodluck.’ Give me Goodluck.

‘What did you say?’ you ask, giggling.

‘Goodluck.’ He replies and with a hangdog expression adds, ‘magani ne.’ It is a drug.

You collect your razor blades and ask him to show you the pack when he receives it. It is Tramadol, a highly addictive prescription opioid, used for severe pain. It causes feelings of euphoria and well-being, a mild high that lasts for a few hours depending on dosage. You know this because you almost got addicted last year when the doctor prescribed it for the pain in your broken leg. 

You remember feeling guilty about lying to the doctor when he asked if your pain was still severe. It was there alright, but nowhere near the severity you implied by the vigorous nodding of your head when the doctor asked. On your way to the pharmacy, your body trembled at the thought of the feeling you were about to have. You stopped to check for your prescription again because the last time that you forgot it, no one agreed to sell the drug to you. 

You knew Tramadol well by now- it made you feel so good the first time, you had to google this crazy drug- you knew how it worked; the increase in the levels of serotonin in your brain, the relaxation, the blocking of the transmission of pain signals to your brain, the euphoria, the feeling that nothing in the world matters, that nothing can hurt you. 

You remember your bag of pills sitting by your old-fashioned steel bed on a small raffia stool, right under the bedside lamp, illuminated, so you could watch the pack, high, and marvel at the wonders of Tramadol Hydrochloride. You remember waiting, playing a game to see if you could tell the exact moment when the drug kicked in. 

You remember taking more than two 50mg pills because you convinced yourself the pain in your ankle was too much to bear and you floated in a hot balloon and your girlfriend suddenly became a fiend who hated your guts, to whom you needed to send a text message:  ‘I have had enough of this relationship.’ Your Tramadol induced thoughts rationalized:  I don’t need her. I don’t need her. She drinks too much. She loves her job more than she loves me. She is not even Nigerian. ..

You give the man back the pack of drugs. Perhaps this is a story, you think. 

As you sit to write, you think, the fact that drugs like Tramadol are sold so openly in Abuja, is not a story. It is a tragedy. 

SEX, SEX, SEX: THE SECRET FILES OF GOVERNORS LI(V)ES

*Because I Care #17

Ok let me just say this. I love sex scandals. I love studying them. And here is what I found. All the great leaders have them. If your leader isn’t having sex, then be scared, because he is doing something unthinkably sinister behind closed doors. All that pent up tension can’t produce anything good. Look at Clinton, arguably one of the best American Presidents in recent history after JFK. He made interns kneel before him. I don’t know what exactly for, but I hear that is something sexual in America. Look at Gandhi, great Gandhi, cohabiting with a girl in the name of marriage at the age of 13. Today, that would be a scandal. Add the likelihood of juvenile sex occurring, and you have a sex scandal. I would have added an example among great Chinese leaders, but it is a notorious fact that the Chinese are secretive about everything. No one can tell if or when a Chinese person is having sex. 

I have been thinking about Sanusi Lamido Sanusi, our able CBN Governor. I cannot help but admire any man who is still virile at 51. I mean, after reading the brilliant exposé on Premium Times one gets the clear impression that CBN is sprawling with Sanusi’s ‘girlfriends and mistresses’. Now unless being a mistress or girlfriend means serving tea, typing memos, or tying bow ties, Sanusi’s alleged shenanigans is a feat of unimaginable proportions. I have read that Premium Times story several times with a pencil and ruler. And I just need to ask Sanusi a few very serious questions. 

Sanusi, the opening paragraph of the story said you, the CBN governor were ‘badly in need of a kiss’, ‘grabbed [your] mobile phone’ and typed out a message: “Maybe you should come kiss me before board meeting tomorrow,” and then ‘squeezed the send button’. 

Questions arising from this include: Why would you allow your craving for a kiss make you violently ‘grab’ a phone - your official phone, bought with tax payers money? Why not just pick it up, calmly, instead of being reckless with public property? And do you have to ‘squeeze’ the send button? Does it add value to your text message if you squeeze it- will squeezing it make the text go faster? 

The Premium Times piece goes ahead to say that you Sanusi, in reply to a flattering text about your astonishing ‘performance’ from your alleged lover, Dr. Yaro, texted back: ‘Alhamdulillahi. Love you.’ Now, it is not the fact that you had sex that is my problem. Why bring God in a matter that was purely your own doing? The decent thing to have said in such a situation would have been, ‘I aim to please, Hajiya. Love you.’ That you did not say this makes me suspect that you are not a man that takes responsibility for his actions. Which is why, as brilliant a banker as you may be, I am afraid to hire people like you when I become President. 

One last question though. What did you call Dr. Yaro in those nice hotel rooms that Premium Times spied out? Did you call her Maryam? Doctor? Mrs? Hajiya? Or did you just whisper, baby? Because Premium Times left out this detail and I think the term of endearment you used while having a nice time will be important when the history of Nigeria is written. I use the term ‘used’ because I assume that this scandal has ruined any chances of that sweet liaison continuing. Accept my sincere sympathies. 

Recently, after our ‘Democracy Day’ celebrations, someone suggested we put up a monument to those who fought for this democracy. The person suggested many names. As president I am sure what to do. I will erect a 100 foot monument. A concrete Viagra pill. Smack in the centre of the Federal Capital Territory as a reminder of who (or what) the real hero of our democracy is. Because we did not get democracy from any struggle or insurgency. NADECO and all those others just screamed. What a thousand activists could not do, Viagra did for us. Which is why I hope Sanusi’s exploits come naturally without the need for any enhancements. It will be sad to lose one of the best bankers we have in this country to a little, exciting pill. 

All of this is why- and I will repeat what I said when I first declared that I was running for president- I will not marry. I will have sex (because the success of this country will depend on my sanity) but no, I will not marry. If Sanusi was not married, and Dr. Yaro was not married it would not have been a big deal that they were having carnal knowledge of each other. Like I said, as president, I will be like Sarkozy when he was president of France- have one steamy hot girlfriend who comes to the villa on weekends with a nice, open sports car, designer glasses and the wind in her hair. That way, no enemies of progress will cast aspersions on my person. 

Ps. So the United States through its ‘Reward for Justice’ program have offered 7million dollars for anyone who provides information leading to the capture of Abubakar Shekau, current head of Jama’atu Ahl as-Sunnah il-Da’awati wal-Jihad. My only problem is, the picture of Shekau they used is blurry and dark. Even I could have found a better one online or from one of his very many clear videos. Just saying.

Ps. 2. So, what’s up with Atiku? Me, I get confused when I want to write about him. Is he a member of the PDP or not? I think he should make up his mind, if not for anything, for the sake of people like us, who need to talk about him. 

Ps. 3. Finally, my rent is due. My landlord sent a letter coldly reminding me of the fact that he had the power to render me homeless. God will treat his matter appropriately, and judge all those who haven’t paid me for my work.

GOING SOFT

A margarita is your joker. It is what you order when the drinks menu is too creative for your liking, the list containing bewildering to ridiculous names for drinks and cocktails you know by other names. You don’t understand why a bar would want to confuse people; you have stopped vituperating about it because your friends give you that stop-being-an-activist-about-everything look, a look that says, chill man, all we want is some booze and light conversation. ‘Besides,’ Adamma told you once in a bar on Ademola Adetokumbo Way, ‘the names are quite sexy’. You almost launched into an argument about how we like complicating simple matters and how the problems of Nigeria are really straightforward if we just think of it, but she gave you that look and you realized you would be the one complicating a simple drink. You just closed the menu and asked if they had a margarita. 

Sometimes you wonder if you aren’t becoming like a mango that has stayed too long in the fruit basket- soft and without character. You wonder if the people in your parents’ generation you often criticize weren’t once like you would like to be thought of now- resolute in the determination not to take less than what is proper; if Nigeria didn’t act upon them like a big wooden bat used to soften meat, if they just stopped trying to complicate things and went with the flow, just like you are now going with the tide and drinking only margaritas. 

Some sort of reluctant margarita connoisseur is what this has made you. You know to order anything but a margarita in the bar downstairs at the Hilton since they served you something tasted more like an insult than a margarita. Now you have grades. C+ for Hootas Bar and Grill and A- for the bar on the third floor of Silverbird Galleria- you don’t give them an A+ because sometimes, it gets hot inside. 

You argue today with Tony at Hootas about your mutual friend whose father is a Senator and long serving politician- part of the sick system of filthy politics; your friend who always talks about the problem with Nigeria. It sometimes irritates you when he intelligently does the liberal activist our-problem-is-not-corruption tumble. And it annoys you more that Tony agrees. Tonight you feel you are too tired to explain your point and answer those really difficult questions like, What do you want him to do? Renounce his father? Say his father is corrupt and part of Nigeria’s problem? Move out of the nice house in Apo Legislative Quarters and take a revolutionary vow of poverty? Tonight you just want to have a margarita, especially after just watching the nerve-fraying Olympus Has Fallen in the cold cinema. You concede that being the child of a less-than-exemplary politician is a difficult position to be in.

The bar tender walks over to your table and bends over to ask if Tony likes his drink, with a look at once kindly and stupefied. The stupefied look transfers to your face when the bar tender walks away without even looking at you. Often you forget that Tony is white. Today you feel like the people who take photos with celebrities wearing an eternally-grateful smile and end up being ‘and fan’ or ‘and friend’ when the photos make it to the tabloids or papers You turn to Tony and he is already wincing in preparation for your usual righteous vituperation. 

As you leave the outdoor bar, Tony wonders why you didn’t say anything. ‘Or should I have said something?’ he asks, apologetic. You smile the half-smile you wear when you are trying to hide your irritation. Tony knows that smile. ‘Nah,’ you say, ‘sometimes one just gets tired of fighting all the time.’

It shocks you when you say it. It leaves a rotten taste in your mouth. You feel a sudden trepidation, along with that irritated soft-mango feeling. You breathe. And downgrade Hootas to a D-. In your head.

LETTER TO THE NIGERIAN GOVERNORS FORUM SECRETARIAT

*Because I care #16

Rotimi Amaechi,
Chairman, Nigerian Governors Forum
NGF Secretariat,
Abuja, Nigeria

cc Jonah Jang
The Other Chairman, Nigerian Governors Forum
New NGF Secretariat,
Abuja, Nigeria

Dear Sir(s),

My biggest problem was who to put first in the address section above and who to cc. Let me assure you guys that the order of the addresses in no way reflects my political leanings. If I got it wrong then from the bottom of my careless heart, I apologize. I would have written two letters but I am a recently converted environmentalist trying desperately to reduce my carbon footprint- more letters means more paper and more paper means more dead trees and god forbid that I contribute to the destruction of this planet. The bearer of this letter will pass it between you. 

I must begin by congratulating you on your recent electoral victory. It is not every time that one sees two winners from one election. Really, these nosy journalists are making much ado about nothing. If you let these journalists, (and worse the sleazy bloggers online) they will cause quarrels and separations between friends and lovers. The country is big enough for two Chairmen. I was only wondering if one of you could move his secretariat down south, for ease of access. Think of it, you will become like the Court of Appeal, different divisions across the country, but one jurisdiction. 

About that election, they say one of you got 16 votes and the other 19. The numerals 9 and 6 can be confusing because one is the other upside down. So I can’t even comment on that matter. Anyway, the purpose of this letter is to introduce myself to you both as the presidential aspirant who will succeed Goodluck Jonathan come 2015 and to share some thoughts with you. By the way, I hope you both are doing well, especially as I notice Rotimi has grown lean since this whole saga began. If so, doxology!

Another quick thing, Rotimi, have you really considered the possibility that you may have inadvertently made passes at madam and she is offended? You know how sometimes you talk plenty and quickly, perhaps when you were speaking to Her Excellency you said ‘maybe’ and she heard ‘baby’ and someone went and told His Excellency? There has to be a reason for all oga’s aggression. Maybe you should calm down and just ask. I am not saying you are proud or anything, but just swallow your pride and ask. 

Now this midterm report thing that Goodluck did, I didn’t quite get the marking scheme. I hear it is like 234 pages long. I can't find it anywhere. I keep asking the guys hawking in hold-ups if they have it but they say, they have never even heard of it. Honestly, I will ban trading in traffic when I become president.  

I wonder how much they paid Jesse Jackson. The thing is though, if I was in his shoes, treated to all that Abuja luxury, I too will say Nigeria is on the right course and that Jonathan has unequaled transparency and even add a halleluiah to that. 

I was just thinking, this week the House of Representatives did a voice vote in favor of the anti-same sex marriage bill. Baba Jang, what do you think? I am asking because as president come 2015 the burden of implementing it will be mine if Goodluck signs it into law. One thing is clear, and I must commend the House of Representatives for this, that it takes a lot of courage to take gay sex seriously when the country is burning. I commend them for taking time out of their busy schedules to devote time to the sexual lives of Nigerians. Because as you know gay people are really the problem with this country- you can trace every evil in this country to lesbian and anal sex, everything from blackouts to insecurity. Bloody gays.

Now, to the details of the bill, because, the devil they say sits there in the details eating point-and-kill pepper soup. The law says that any ‘public show of same sex amorous relationship’ will be punished with many years in prison. This confused me at first, especially as there is no definition for that long phrase which I will call PSSSAR. I clearly remember Obasanjo holding hands with a certain US President. Is that PSSSAR? Can I make the law take retroactive effect? Also if you send two men to jail for befriending each other, what should I do if they continue their relationship in prison, where I hear such relationships are rife? Obasanjo has been to jail before, he should know. Does any of you have his number? Is he back from endorsing Sule Lamido yet? 

Rotimi, I am not one who believes in rumours or talking behind someone’s back. So I will ask you to your face: Who printed those posters of you and Sule Lamido for 2015? If it is you, why do you want to complicate your already precarious position? If not why didn’t you come out and clearly say it is the work of your enemies, trying to truncate your hustle? I think you should be supporting my presidency, not challenging it. Sule Lamido is a dangerous man. Why do I say so? Apart from that wicked diagonal tribal mark he has, he spends too much time trawling Facebook. I love Facebook. And I love the fact that we can say anything we want there. Not too long ago, on January 19 last year, a man was detained for 10 days for insulting Sule on Facebook. Can you imagine that? Facebook is the one place you should feel safe talking bad about your boss, your stupid workmate who eats garlic, your ex-girlfriend who won’t return the earpiece you bought in London, your wife’s mother who stays longer than she says she will stay and your state governor. No one should take that away. Is that what you want, Rotimi? To kill Facebook and create a grumpy workforce and populace? Eh, Rotimi?

My hope for both of you is that you join my campaign (and for you Baba Jang, that you treat civil servants better and smile a bit more- one of my campaign slogans is: Adding Joy to Fresh Air.) It is the sensible thing to do. I wish you well. Again, for your victories I say, doxology!

Ehen, and before I forget, a happy belated Children’s Day to both of you.

Elnathan John
President-in-waiting, 2015
FCT, Nigeria.

Ps. I am just happy how the President says he will not probe Obasanjo. For this singular reason I won’t probe him when I become President. Or any of you for that matter. Because, I care.