BOLA TINUBU’s ENTANGLEMENT IN HIS OWN VICARIOUS LIABILITY WEB: A Potpourri of Gaffe & Controversies (Part 1)
By ‘Tunji Ajayi
I recall one of the epic tracks by the legendary reggae music maestro Bob Marley, entitled “Who feels it knows it”. He sings: “Ya running and ya running away . . . But ya can’t run away from yourself. Ya must have done something wrong.” Bob Marley added: “Why you can’t find the place where you belong? It is better to live on the house top, than to live in a house full of confusion . . . .” Our Bola Ahmed Tinubu, alias the city boy and the All Progressives Congress (APC) leader has more adversaries in the “city” than in the outskirts. The city’s vindictive and rancorous men know their Tinubu inside out. That explains why the Yoruba dictum states: “Èhìnkùlé l’òtá wà. Inú ilé ni as’eni n gbé. Ení mo’ni ló n se’ni.” Yes. A man’s arch-enemies are persons of his own household. It is he who knows your secret that can easily harm you. Even the Holy Bible attests to the veracity of this in Mathew 10:36. The APC’s 2023 anointed presidential candidate is in a beautiful mansion but full of confusions and commotion. But Marley warns: “Why you can’t find the place where you belong? It is better to live on the house top, than to live in a house full of confusion . . .” Unfortunately, “. . . ya can’t run away from yourself”. BAT cannot run away from himself now. Hmm! Only the Deep calls to the deep.
First, I must admit that I do not like the hateful and disdainful commentaries being made against the aristocratically powerful APC leader, especially those bordering on his frequent gaffe and endless “faux pas” on the political campaign podium - his chosen constituency. Tinubu has two key enemies. First is Himself. And second – the insidious enemies in his political camp. Though he enjoys the loyalty of his die-hard fans. But the more his adherents attempt to present him to the electorates, the more he “un-presents” himself. The more his diehard followers attempt to market him, the more he de-markets himself. But to be frank, everybody commits gaffe(s). Sophism or sophistry is not everyone’s passion.
To me there is nothing like foolish talks. Because a wise man makes sense, even from foolish talk. Hear this story. As my secondary school football goalkeeper in those days of “if you miss the ball, don’t miss the leg” cliché;parrying three successive goal-bound shots and saving my school from an embarrassing defeat in a competition once earned me accolades from our fierce-looking and rod-wielding teacher-cum coach. Oh! . . . I remember the great Mr. Ashaolu of blessed memory. He could flog out both crass indiscipline and divine wisdom out of any belligerent student! But I had more than accolades on the day in question. Behind me, at the back of the goal post on that memorable day were a bevy of girls, most of whom I had no courage to whisper into their eardrums the most simple but often throat-chocking three-words of affection “I love you”, either due to shyness or fright. In our days of stern discipline, you needed to be strong to say “I love you” to a girl; even after seven days rehearsal of how to impress her. And you were lucky if she didn’t report your presumptuousness to any of the stern-looking teachers thereafter. Otherwise woe betides you!
Back to my gaffe issue? I say everybody commits gaffe. Yes. Everybody does it. I recall in those days that one other prank we young boys played to impress and make overtures to our “targets” in school was memorizing “big” vocabularies to whisper into the choice girl’s ears. I got one after much research into my Michael West Dictionary: “Can you be my inamorata?” Whatever message it conveys didn’t really bother me. It sounds impressive enough than the humdrum and seemingly hackneyed “I love you”. I often trembled and stammered to say the latter. But here were many girls behind the goal post who carried me shoulder high after the unforgettable football match, which transformed me into an instant hero, who no longer needed to memorize grandiloquent vocabularies for making overtures to any girl in school. I became a celebrity, walking stylishly with my right shoulder tilted at about 45o angle while junketing around the school premises in the midst of my admirers. Don’t ask me their gender.
Yes. Like Bob Marley exclaimed above: “Who feels it know it all”. Our youths must stop making mockery of our presidential candidate’s gaffe and his incoherent “bala bulu… blu blu… bulaba… boo beeh” or his “when we made Atiku Abubakar a Senator” goof. My heroic status amongst girls was short-lived. Barely a week after my sterling performance on the football field, my school was to have her literary and debating day - an often competitive intellectual exercise amongst the representative egg-heads from each class. My female class teacher who also became my fan instantly as a skillful goal-poacher kept gifting me her left-over 11.00 a.m. breakfast almost every day. We called the meal “Oúnje aago mókànlá” which everyone always longed for. What a great honour in those days when teachers were honored like the gods! Who dared look at teachers’ face! Abomination! . . . A sacrilege! And here was a teacher gifting me her left-over food. Oh! Why wouldn’t I feel like a King? And here again she selected me to represent my class in the following week’s literary & debating contest. What a popular decision unanimously applauded by all the students in my class whose shouts of joy and my Àtùnjè alias rose to high crescendo! My class teacher had so much confidence in me to win the coveted honour for that month. So was the entire class membership. My assignment was simple. So simple! It was just to memorize and recite a popular rhythmic nursery school poem by Stevie Ray Vaughan: “Mary had a little lamb. . . . Its fleece was white as snow. Everywhere that Mary went. The lamb was sure to go. . . . It followed her to school one day. Which was against the rule. It made the children laugh and play. To see the lamb at school . . .”
Wasn’t that simple enough?Andthat was all I needed to recite and win the cup! Hmm! Insult! Was it not “infradignitatem” to give a whole me this simple task? A school football hero reciting a mere poem! Anyway, the fateful Thursday came to earn yet another honour. Every participant before me earned ovations. Now, it was my turn, the Hero to dazzle the entire school. Yes. Here stands the great goalkeeper in front of thousands of students in the hall! . . . I mounted the podium with unblemished pride. But I noticed my eyeballs were just blinking inside the sockets irregularly. I struggled to regain composure. . . Next, my head went blank! My jaw locked, I saw nobody thereafter. I kept stammering: “ Em . . . em . . . Mary . . . Mary . . . Mary Magdalene marries her lamb . . . Mary . . . feet snow, snow white. . . Mary marries little lamb”. Fear andamnesia gripped Àtùnjè the football hero! That was all I could remember. The Hero becomes a Villain. I lost my pride! Mockery songs rented the air. “ . . . Olodo upon forty. Olodo upon sixty . . . “Oh God! Hero yesterday. Zero today. Any Lesson? Let those who think they stand take heed lest they fall, so warns the Holy Scriptures. Success has many friends. Failure often suffers ostracism. I thereafter found myself off the rostrum at the back of the assembly hall all alone; gnashing teeth and savoring my dishonor.
My girls and admirers? None left! I managed to be in school the following day. But my seemingly heavy legs wobbled on the same ground where I had walked stylishly as a hero. Endless mockery made me a truant for almost seven days. Back home my alibi was “sickness” which I had learnt to feign since my kid days to avoid being taken to the farm; the alibi for which my mother was applying medication for nothing. No more girls loitered around me courting my attention like before. I had no fans anymore. That I could parry away goal-bound shots doesn’t mean I could perform well in intellectual barnstorming exercises. Our politically suave BAT may not be an eloquent speaker, but that doesn’t disqualify him. After all, there are eloquent fools.
You see, like Bob Nesta Marley reminded us all “He who feels it knows it”. I may never mock Tinubu for his endless gaffe. He may be good in other spheres. But certainly not in sophistry, eloquence and elocution. After all, it is not easy to tell sweeping lies and make vain promises - the trademark of most Nigerian politicians whom Bob Nesta Marley must have had in mind when he sang: “Them belly full. But we are hungry”. Marley went on: “But a hungry man is an angry man.” Trying to placate our beleaguered world, he added: “Forget your sorrow and dance”. But I wish Nigerians could ever rejoice and dance in their endless torment made worse by the thousands of “Emefielous” draconian policies often enunciated by their leaders. Thus, they bear on their necks huge stress and strains like a beast of burden. Sophistry is an art. It is learnt as a useful tool especially by our politicians to sway unwary gullible electorates to scoop their votes. A dictionary defines it as a clever but false argument, especially one used deliberately to deceive. We the electorates are often requested to ask our politicians what they had in mind to do for us when finally elected. But I have never seen any politician who doesn’t have endless promises to make. And so, they keep admonishing us to have trust and place implicit confidence in their promises. But Duncan in “the tragedy of Macbeth” had implicit trust in his friend Cawdor. But when Cawdor showed his true colour with candor, Duncan lamented in a mournful tone: “There’s no art to find the minds construction in the face.” What a truism! So, the electorates are the gullible “Duncans” who often trust the ever-ambitious and wily politicians. Our sly politicians are “Cawdors” in whose claws the citizens may remain subjugated until they are more pragmatic than being emotional and sentimental in their choice of leadership.
And so the citizens had reasons to become so emotional in 2015. Sai Buhari had earlier contested presidential elections three times and broke down emotionally also in three successions, weeping profusely and gnashing teeth painfully each time he lost. It was a painful story of a war generalissimo being overridden by emotion. The rich men also cry. The powerful also sob. The presidency vehemently denied that neither President Buhari nor indeed anybody in the presidency was working against Tinubu’s success at the next poll, as evidenced by the President campaigning for BAT across the nation. But what really does Buhari’s campaigning for Tinubu mean to a perceptive mind? A decoy? A subterfuge? The Greek philosopher Aristotle once asked: “What is a friend?” And he answered himself: “A single soul dwelling in two bodies”. His fellow English philosopher Francis Bacon retorted: “The worst solitude is to be destitute of sincere friendship”. Yes. Only the deep calls to the deep. (*To be concluded . . .)
………………………………………………………………..
*Tunji Ajayi, a creative writer, author and documentary producer writes from Lagos, Nigeria. (+2348162124412; +2348033203115)
1. Please Like, Comment, Share, and Subscribe to Henrisol Entertainments Ltd. on YouTube Channel https://youtu.be/-XaKx3HyBb0.
2. Visit: https://web.facebook.com/tunji.ajayi.946 for updates on Henrisol Entertainments/LOTO Projects.
3. Buy this new Book via Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/KING-SUNNY-ADE.../dp/B09FSCJX78
You must be logged in to post a comment.