To Ojodu-Onikolobo and its quaint Town Hall where Baba Lekki is fielding questions on the state of the nation with the indefatigable Okon acting as political batman and enforcer .As the friendship and collaboration between the two deepened and matured, Okon had come to accord the enigmatic contrarian a wary reverence for his sharp intellect and devil may care attitude to constituted authority. The old man on the other hand adored his ward for his waywardness and petty villainies.
This wet and soggy morning as tempers rose in the background as a result of recent increases in petroleum and energy tariffs, the fireworks began without any customary pleasantries.
“Baba Ogbologbo, how market now?” a rotund man with prominent tribal marks snorted with cynical relish as he watched the old man struggle to mount the podium. Okon rose to the occasion with a fierce push back.
“Zebra crossing, which kind market you dey ask for again? Market don close. Mala don vamoose. Oporoku seller don return to him mama place,” Okon shouted at the poor man.
“Ha, it is the rude Ibiobio yam fryer again. A periwinkle thief from Itigidi”, an ancient adversary shot back at Okon .
“Thunder fire your Yoruba pepper soup and ewedu mouth. Just wait for baba to finish dis nonsense. May the devil of Ambazona cut your blokos”, Okon screamed at the man as he trembled with rage.
“Okon shut up. I have told you that this is not a cut and fry matter. This is a serious meeting”, Baba Lekki brought the meeting to order by scolding the crazy boy. Things seemed to have quietened down after that as Okon withdrew to a corner, sulking and biting his finger.
“Sir, after sixty years of independence where exactly are we?” one wiry looking man with a scholarly frown asked.
“We are in the middle of nowhere and without a map. What the Americans call a shit creek without a paddle”, Baba Lekki responded with a deadpan expression. At this point, Okon who had lapsed into a sleepy stare, suddenly roused as if stung.
“I hope say dem security people dey tally wetin everybody dey say. I sabi say dem boku here. Okon no fit go jail for Yoruba people again for dis life. Na Yoruba people dey cause trouble for dis kontri and na dem go run pass Seme Border first”, the mad boy screamed.
“Shut up and get lost!!” several people shouted at the same time as Okon retreated in wounded self-regard.
“Sir, as I was saying, can we ever come back?” the wiry man resumed his cunning probing.
“How can we ever come back? You can only go back to what you have left. You are coming from hell and you are asking how to go back? Whether suffer whack you or na you whack suffer, no be dem same thing?” the old man demanded. One tough looking man got up at this point.
“Oga, me I dey for revolution now, now now. I no dey for yabis. When dis dem yeye soldier man came, we all clapped for am. Now we dey curse am. What happened?” he growled.
“What happened is that nothing happened,” Baba Lekki quipped with oracular wisdom. There was a hush as they all digested the import of the old man’s gnomic brevity. One ancient man got up.
“Why do we find it difficult to agree among ourselves?” the old man demanded with a wounded look.
“Once a people agree to be difficult, it will be difficult for them to agree”, Baba Lekki snorted. Dead silence followed until a young man got up.
“Elder, what is your view on Pastor Adeboye’s advice on restructuring?” he asked with a coy mien.
“Ha as for dat one, the Law of Karma followed the Law of Cama”, Baba Lekki rumbled as a grin of complicity split up his face. The entire hall dissolved into a delirious din. Above the bedlam, somebody shouted.
“Baba, what is your advice to the people in power?” the baritone voice boomed over the noise.
“ My advice is that they should continue to ignore advice”, the old man retorted.
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