Despite the fact that the federal authorities appear to have eaten the humble pie and have taken back their word on the ownership of the diamond-studded braziers, the public and an increasingly vocal bar were in no mood to let the matter pass just like that. It was a case of “trouble dey sleep and yanga go wake am” as the illustrious Abami Eda himself would put things.
A new organization with headquarters in the highbrow suburb of Victoria Island calling itself the International Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Politically Exposed Women (ISOPCPEW} has vowed to drag the Nigerian authorities before the International Court at The Hague for serial abuse of woman rights.
If you ask snooper, it was a case of shooting one’ self in the foot. It was badly cued and terribly misjudged. The public had long grown tired of outlandish tales of corruption and sleaze when it is obvious that the authorities themselves are not standing on ethically superior ground. Just get on with it and leave us alone. Besides, there is a local saying that if you are trying to remove a fallen log of wood and another falls on it, you must first remove the log on top.
As usual, Baba Lekki has been honing his legal skills to perfection in a series of mock trials held to uproarious legal adulation by the teeming hoi polloi of the land at Jankara and Sand grouse markets. His contention is logical and simple. To establish ownership of the bra, government must first produce in court the said Diezani for measurement and chest examination to determine the veracity of the claims.
To buttress his claim, the old contrarian and lapsed disciple of Harold Laski, has called for the files of the celebrated Iron Butterfly of Manilla, Imelda Marcos, and the secret tapes on an ancient Chinese dowager who was known to own about a thousand colourful girdles. There were also unconfirmed reports that the old man had made away with secret cuttings of Queen Victoria wearing a bra studded with sapphires from the Indian expedition.
This morning, Baba Lekki had arrived at the Ilabere Police Station with a half-drunk Okon in tow. Okon had been reluctant to follow the old crook on what could be a suicide mission. “Baba, I no fit. Dem say dat Ondo woman DPO na crazy asinwin. She no dey carry last. She dey shoot people and dem say she dey whack dem”, the mad fellow cautioned. But the old man was having none of that.
The lady in question was a tough, no-nonsense, thick-set woman who looked like a moving mahogany tree. She was justly famous for her rough and ready reliance on brutal interrogation technique and for hurling colourful expletives in her native tongue at just about anybody who crossed her path. Her breath was reeking of Absinthe and illicit liquor.
“Baba, what can I do for you sir? It is too early in the morning to start causing trouble.” But the old man was not interested in police politeness and customary niceness.
“Madam, are these yours?” the old man opened in classic Nelson Mandela gambit as he hurled out some ragged pairs of bras from the tattered polythene bag he was carrying.
“ Kai, kai, mba baba, mba. How can I wear this yeye nonsense from Tejuoso? Wetin my eyes no go see for dis yeye job?” the poor woman shouted.
“Iya, dem dey ask wether na you get dem bra?” Okon intoned with a sly wink.
“Soponna la beri baba re! (May the God of smallpox behead your father) the woman screamed at the mad boy. By this time, the din was attracting the usual crowd of ruffians and ragamuffin.
“Kai, kai, dis one na Komu gbigbona (hot bra) one detainee injected.
“Baba, is this the oracle of the living jurisprudence?” one scholarly sounding crook injected.
“No, no it is the jurisprudence of dead oracles”, Baba sneered.
“Come ooooo. Dis woman look like dem lady I been dey see before before for Lawanson”, Okon croaked.
“Eiye Ogbigbo la yoju yeye re!” (May the big bird gouge your mother’s eyes) the distraught woman screamed at Okon. “Armed robbers!!” she cried. Three shots rang out in rapid succession and everybody fled in different directions.
The Nation
