where sa-tyres never go flat
where sa-tyres never go flat
Once upon a happenstance, the people of the valley where the sun rises were beset by all forms of marginalisation, subjugation, intimidation, exploitation and all other —tions that bode despair. They were treated like strangers — nay, pariahs — in their own country. Who would blame them for seeking to break away and forge a new path? There is a limit to what a people can endure.
The last time I coughed, I looked around to confirm that Banku was not at my back to demand a tax. Anything you do here, you must pay for it. This is how we live in the Bolebaji community. The only thing Banku and his bloodthirsty boys are satisfied you do for free is shedding tears of agony. Tears of joy are not free.
Before long, Nigeria, with its wealth of experience in the fine art of fighting corruption will extend its Masterclass to many African countries—because who is better to lead the charge than a seasoned expert in the field?
My grandfather? A jolly old chap he is! But he forbids politics and all government-related palavers. Such things bother him a great deal. Only two things matter to him – pool betting and palm wine. He is simple like that. Anyhow, when I got home and my grandfather pulled me aside to lament how the hardship caused by some imbecile government policies had affected pool betting and the price of palm wine, I knew there was trouble.
Our leader–Man of the Pee Poo pulls out the car manual, but it’s written in Chinese, a language he can’t comprehend except the “one-year warranty” part. So he begins the journey with the words, “We go run am.” But not long after, a stench reaches the noses of the passengers. With concern, they suggest he hand over to Obi, a more qualified driver, as the journey is too far. However, he dismisses their worries with a nonchalant, “Just get me quality diapers.”
The worker ants are those government workers commuting between anthills of metal and glass, wearing threadbare suits and those fancy puppy leashes they call ties. They weightlift crumbs of the national cake bigger than their own financial size to pay homage to the colonial masters before ultimately falling apart, appendage by appendage, to be sustained only by the trickle of nutrients we call pension.
Wole has never cared much for politics. But when Bunu ran for president, he whipped out his voice and dedicated every second of his Internet hours to support his campaign. He doesn’t know about the man’s ethics or competence, but he’s from his side of the map and his neighbour’s in-law’s cousin used to work at his company. So you never know.
Recent developments have cast doubt on the bravery of the once-feared lion. The Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) beckoned on the former governor to explain how ₦82 Billion was looted. In a character unexpected of a lion, he has been hiding in the woods. The Lion, who is renowned for hunting, is now being hunted. How the might has fallen!
His Excellency Bola Tinubu became the best option during the campaigning period the moment he screamed ‘Emi lokan!’ We just knew he was the one for the job; thus, the reason we went out en masse to vote him into power, leaving other top candidates with one or two votes.
When things get worse, we don’t rise to the occasion and actively seek a solution, we only raise the volume of our prayers.
