ABUJA (Sundiata Post) So man decked up real nice in a voluminous and colourful agbada. He borrowed it from a friendly tailor shop. With a small brush, he gave a little shine to his bushy salt n’ pepper beard, put on cologne. He looked a prosperous Nigerian politician. He strolls with verve into the venue of an ongoing party’s primary election. Then he slips into a rowdy line of delegates whose palms were being greased with $500 each. He collected. Then he moved deftly into another line and collected. Then another line and another and another until his pockets were bulging with dollars. He was very pleased with his large haul for the day. It was a great day at the market. He reckoned the haul made him a millionaire and some.
But as he made for the gates to get away with his loot, two uniformed olopas with pump action rifles stopped him. They told Mr Agbada, point blank, that they patiently watched his crooked weaver bird moves, in and out of lines of party delegates, flashing false IDs and collecting kola handsomely. They congratulated him for his silky skills of roguery. Then with beady hard eyes they announced with menacing glee, that they were taking him to the police station to face criminal charges including forgery, stealing, 419 etc.
Mr Agbada was sweating profusely. Police station was out of the equation. He quickly begged for release and reached a deal with the olopas. Like a man vomiting chocolate ice cream he lovingly ate, few minutes ago, he grudgingly emptied his pockets of his dollar loot. He even added the N500 note he came with, to take Okada home in case business didn’t click. The olopas promptly shared the money, pocketed it and smiling like sharks, they advised Mr Agbada to go try his luck among the delegates again. Of course, they told him, they would be waiting for him. Only this time they would be nice and would share his haul three way, a third each for two of them and the other third for him.
With blurred teary eyes, Mr Agbada stared at the two uniformed policemen like a mongoose at cobras. He turned without a word, shoulders stooped, and began the three hour walk on dusty roads to the tailor’s shop to give back the agbada. He would thereafter walk another two hours home in his faded sleeve-less brown T-shirt. He had no kobo to his name. No food at home either. Bad market day.
• I thought I should let fly some creative thoughts to mark this strange season of political party primaries where stranger things happen.
Source: Facebook
