Buhari, bushmeat and bush fish

By Prince Charles Dickson Ph.D.

The defects and faults in the mind are like wounds in the body. After all imaginable care has been taken to heal them up, still there will be a scar left behind. Francois de La Rochefoucauld.

A gossip is one given to tattling, idle talk or rumour especially about the personal or private affairs of others. A gossip is a busybody, chatterbox, and a parrot, in local parlance, here in Nigeria, we call such persons an ‘amebo’.

So let me start with this story—(sic) amebo story.

Venomous snakes were being shipped from Africa to Europe in a plane.

Unfortunately, the person who packed the snakes forgot to lock the box in which the snakes were placed. Once the plane had taken off, the snakes began to respond to the movement of the plane. Immediately, they found their way out of the box.

Passengers in the plane could see various snakes on the isle. They screamed, some fainted and the brave ones took refuge wherever they could within the plane.

The air-hostess ran to the Pilot to inform him of this scary incident. The Pilot quickly informed the Air Traffic Controllers on the ground.

Pilot: We are extremely sorry. The Passenger who got these snakes had forgotten to lock the box. These are deadly poisonous snakes. So where can I land? Please advise me before passengers get bitten.

Air Traffic Controller: No, do not land. Stay there for a minute, let me think.

Surely this sounds like a bit of stupid advice to the impatient Pilot. But the Pilot has to follow the orders of the Air Traffic Controller. A minute is too long to wait for such trouble. After a minute, the Air Traffic Controller contacts the Pilot.

Air Traffic Controller: At what altitude are you flying?

Pilot: “300”

Air Traffic Controller: Go higher

Pilot: But the snakes will…

Before the Pilot could finish his sentence, the Air Traffic Controller shouts “I said go higher!!”

And the Pilot acts in accordance with the Air Traffic Controller command.

Air Traffic Controller: Now, what’s your altitude?

Pilot: 500.67

Air Traffic Controller: Go higher

Pilot: But Sir…

Air Traffic Controller: I said go higher, Captain.

He complies. By now, the snakes are all over the plane and it becomes unbearable. A few have been bitten and some have become unconscious. But still, the majority keeps on seeking refuge.

Air Traffic Controller: Now Captain, keep on going higher.

The Pilot complies and keeps on going higher and higher.

Air Traffic Controller: Now what’s your altitude?

Pilot: Now I am on 1200

Air Traffic Controller: Now stay there. Tell the cabin crew that at this altitude the snakes are now harmless. They can just pick them up with their hands and return them to the box and this time they should not forget to lock.

One cabin crew tried holding a snake. It was numb and harmless. Soon it has become a game within passengers in the plane. Some for the first time were holding snakes in their hands and returning them to the box.

“Look at this black Mamba, it was really after me. Now I can even throw it and catch it like a ball”, said one Passenger.

This was the end of the seemingly dangerous ordeal in the plane. Even those who had fainted were resuscitated and gained consciousness.

Snakes at high altitude usually stop moving and eventually die. I will come back to this story!

Can anyone confirm that one of the three musketeers’ smokes weed, after all our generals and top shots also take Benylin with codeine cough syrup to stay ‘high’ to the whims and caprice of an impoverished populace?

Did you know one governor is said to be sleeping with one woman. As if it’s a crime to sleep— we also hear that another of the musketeers was exemplified as making an armed robber your bank manager. While another was responsible for the murder of his kinsmen at some river in the East.

I won’t bore my readers, so while on a trip just this week, 15 of us in the bus, discussing Nigeria and leadership and the next elections and step up that Buhari conversation and 12 persons in the bus were sure that he was Jibril, it became heated, with respite only coming from a passenger who wanted to buy bushmeat.

The conspiracy spun away as the passengers insisted that soon Mr. President would be dispensed with having served the role; a woman even insisted that she read the condolence letter to Nigeria by the late queen ‘Eliza’.

The whole bus was heated, the passengers were a reflection of the country. It can’t be Buhari, that was what they wanted to do with late President Yar’Adua but Turai refused. Can’t you see Mrs. Aisha is not happy. Narratives that were best served with the absurdity of bush fish and palmwine.

Nigeria, we tell all kinds of tales by moonlight, you hear all the kinds of stories. Like the snake and altitudes. Like Mr. Babangida that stole Mariam from Bongos that made him sing searching for true love. Do you remember that late Dora was cooking for Mrs. Turai, or that Mr. Obasanjo and Mrs. Iweala were very good friends. That one former vice president was not straight, even the media is not left out in our bush fish, have they told you that everyone that Mr. Buhari shakes or meets is trailed with bad luck, (sic) go and verify from Anthony Joshua. Super cops become super culprits, monies are found lying on the fall of the national assembly, when they are not found on the Kaduna Airport fall, or in some highbrow apartments, and have no owner. Let me not bring into this conversation the animals that are either eating, or absconding with public funds.

After all a former University Vice Chancellor, Prof Nebo was one of the top government officials that attributed the cause of power outage in Nigeria to ‘witches and demons’.

However, I assure you in Mr. Buhari’s voice that the only story that’s true is that a great nation with potential is now one where the middle class live an existential threat and the upper class now ‘japa’ sell their properties, give up well-paying jobs, withdraw their kids from top private schools.

Nigerians now forfeit everything they are and have just to leave for an unknown. From bushmeat to bush fish. With stories everywhere, it’s near impossible to differentiate the ethnic agenda and bias, while others are stifled because the story is from their religious hood. No one indeed worries that the world is leaving us behind,  we are telling snake stories, indeed, our defects and faults in the mind are like wounds in the body. No efforts at healing, we beat cats unto they submit to being leopards, will we ever find out who started the Jibril story—Only time will tell