A re­quiem for Saint Alamieyeseigha and oth­ers

Daily Trust - - OPINION -

Iknow that the en­e­mies of truth have ac­cused the Gen­er­alis­simo of the Izon na­tion, the great Die­pri­eye Alamieyeseigha of fak­ing his own death. Their rea­son is not usu­ally un­rea­son­able. At a mo­ment in life the po­tent gods of Egbesu flew him out of Brutish dan­ger but safely landed him into the wait­ing arms of the wicked Wiz­ard of Ota who sul­lied his al­ready bat­tered im­age and sen­tenced him to jail. His saga had noth­ing to do with the god of Good­luck that se­ri­ally ar­ranges calamity for any­one stand­ing in his way to be­ing pro­pelled to heights higher than his in­tel­lec­tual ca­pac­ity. Neo-colo­nial en­e­mies of the African juju would never at­test to the ef­fi­cacy of these gods. The en­e­mies of the great Alams in­sist that he left Heathrow air­port, dis­guised as a woman!

I weep for the demise of this hero of the Izon na­tion who was the epit­ome of ex­cel­lence as a fel­low James Onanefe Ibori could now tes­tify. Un­like Alams, Ibori chose to suf­fer the ig­nominy of Brutish prison, know­ing fully well that time oblit­er­ates ev­ery­thing that mem­ory chooses to ig­nore. Ev­ery re­gion has its hero, and one re­gion’s hero may be another re­gion’s vil­lain. Saint Ibori, who is await­ing his na­tional par­don and ought to have been given an MBE for in­creas­ing Her Majesty’s sag­ging eco­nomic for­tunes now white­washes cor­rup­tion with the im­pe­rial au­thor­ity from the vaults of Her Majesty’s prison.

Where would Eng­land, Europe, Amer­ica or even Dubai be to­day with­out the stolen wealth of Naija’s prodi­gal sons and daugh­ters? There are those who swear on the graves of their own dead moth­ers, that the gold, di­a­monds and other pre­cious stones on the Queen’s crown were stolen from the mines of Africa. Saint Ibori’s om­nipo­tent eyes has de­scribed his hero, the great Alams a man of good heart with only one house in Ama­soma when his bulk frame could have done with a dozen houses strewn all over the uni­verse.

I weep for the demise of this hero whose heart has been de­scribed as an­gelic by his Ex­cel­lency Dig­bolugi Ay­o­dele Fayose who in protest has stopped tak­ing his med­i­ca­tion and see­ing his shrink. This same Fayose, who in­creased the mileage of in­san­ity with the bi­tu­men of the barmy and in­tro­duced a new lingo -stom­ach in­fra­struc­ture - into the lex­i­con of gov­er­nance in Naija where so­cial mis­fits are the win­ners of votes and the crown he­roes and hero­ines of gov­er­nance is also a saint.

I weep for my gen­er­a­tion and those be­hind me who were un­con­sciously trans­formed from the ana­logue king­dom of slates and chalk, to the dig­i­tal world of cheap Chi­nese phones with space in the bl­o­go­sphere cour­tesy of Pres­i­dent Jones’ in­ven­tion - Face­book! I weep and wail for those that call my cor­rupt dead evil and theirs good - they should re­move the log from their own eyes and leave the clas­sic mote in mine. They should re­al­ize that bad had a dif­fer­ent mean­ing un­til Michael Jack­son re­leased BAD.

I weep for what would hap­pen to those who would travel to Nasarawa Quar­ters in Kano city, hire a mega­phone, raise a podium and there pub­licly de­clare Sani Abacha the worst looter of Naija’s public trea­sury just be­cause the Swiss re­turned some stash of cash lodged in Sani’s name. I weep for those who think that Diezani Ali­son-Madueke’s tra­vails are not or­ches­trated by her en­e­mies, in­clud­ing those jeal­ous of her god­dess looks for­get­ting that she is some peo­ple’s hero­ine. I weep for those who be­lieve that Sai Baba is not per­se­cut­ing Bukola Saraki. I weep for those who think Joshua Dariye is bad news. I weep for those who be­lieve that the man they say in the movie - The Leg­is­looter - is Farouk Lawan. I weep for those who be­lieved that Sal­isu Buhari truly forged a Toronto cer­tifi­cate and that Bola Tin­ubu is not guilty of the same crime.

Yes, I weep for those who be­lieve that Bukar Sukar Dimka truly plot­ted and killed Mur­tala Ra­mat Mo­hammed. I weep for those who doubt Peter Odili’s saint­hood just be­cause he got a per­pet­ual in­junc­tion against pros­e­cu­tion. Yes, I weep for those who ex­pect not to share their space in Na­jia heaven with Abacha, Dimka, Eji Gbadero, Isola Oyenusi and Lawrence Anini. I weep for those who be­lieve that Orubebe is a thug. I weep for those who dis­be­lieve that Abubakar Audu is not a saint. I weep for those who be­lieve that Abubakar Shekau and Osama bin Ladin are ter­ror­ists.

I weep for any­one who is sane sane but shares the same space in the mud­dled po­lit­i­cal wa­ters of in­san­ity called Naija where one man’s cor­rupt is another man’s benev­o­lent phi­lan­thropist. So RIP Saint Diepr­eye Alamieyeseigha, your gen­tle heart was hounded to the hottest part of hell, by Sai Baba’s body lan­guage by those who re­cy­cled an old story for­get­ting that you have a frag­ile heart that ar­rests when no man pur­sueth. Your demise and the furore it gen­er­ates is hope­ful lessons for Bu­ruji Kashamu.

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