Tuesday, December 6, 2022
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igeria is left in the doldrums in the global race towards progress and well-being of her citizens. Nigerians are living through a period of uncertain passage. Political foundation is cracking and orthodoxies breaking up with no public space in which conditions can be raised, discussed and new compass forged. Our childlike trust in the past has proved us wrong. Yes, it has gone awry. Under our dreamy mood, we mistook Buccaneers for saints and allowed delirium to sit on the throne of truth, causing a climax of absurd. In this regard, our thoughts bubbled and jumbled. Selfishness, poor vision and artificial road blocks by autocratic fiat have wedged fruitful yields of economic dividends.

Past misrules and exposed epic wastage remains a constant subterfuge. Failed to deliver the goods of governance, political weaver birds beguile the ruled with sugar-coated propaganda delivered in honeyed eloquence. As they play with sounds of word in the kingdom of folly, our desire for positive change is slain. Our youth with shattered dreams are seen walking with bamboo crutches, groaning under the back-breaking burden of pain like patients suffering severe idiopathic and scrotal edema.

�Citizens, mainly youth are left to mourn the barren future of their sovereign state, as they see the ongoing political gimmicks as a negative syllogistic premise upon which not to erect the hopes and aspirations of the citizens. They see most of the contesting politicians as the same driver but another taxi, and that the leopard does not change its spots and the zebra its stripes. Under such actors� leadership, they contend, a fox will be made a saint and a dove, a carrier criminal and the man with depressing situation would continue to ride the waves of the misty orb. They question whether the deprived citizens are not the most of the nation�s constitutive element? The same youth question whether we have not come of age divorced from medieval mindset to recognize that religion and politics are an explosive mix in a nation with diverse ethnic nationalities and turn our back to the triumph of might over the rule of law.

�With their hopes lost and future bleak, youth are compelled to partake in the orgy of sacrament of madness by consuming the deadly drug, guzoro and after its consumption, dance the frightening music of death. Instead of heap of gold, they now stagnate in the hill of sorrow folding their hands and abandon themselves to the path of ruin, while vultures and gods jeer at us, as we watch our nation, blessed with abundance drifting due to man-made economic drought.

�Many of them with ruined desires have the misfortune of chewing bent nails and digest them. Like chained gangs they have found solace in the back bench of hall of shame and solitude, gnashing their teeth, and their quaking leaps seem to be conjugating tongue twisting irregular verbs on daily basis. They are forbidden by circumstances beyond their control to sing the gracious epithalamia or recite the poems of Catullus.

�With their mind in a whirl, they are unable to divine why the alphabet X is used to designate the unknown quantity in algebra as they watch their desires drifting away like nebulous dream, and not sure whether after the ill wind of political harmathan has gone, their spring will blossom with flower.

Political actors are unable to learn lessons from our chequered history and unwilling to shut the door to our unfortunate past and shift forward for progress. Our nation has lost its national grace and position. Ethnic and divisive politics subordinate the governance of inclusiveness.

I had on many occasions spent minutes watching the waterfalls as it cascaded down from the cliff and emptied into the water below in a thunderous music of calm that soothes jitters, it spread wet winds spiced with lovely smell to all and sundry, including the wood and moss. The music from the splashing rhythm echoes and swells the sky with flavour and cadence of folk music. Even though it is not good dance, it is beneficial to the vicinity and the eyes that appreciate it, compared with the prevailing political waterfalls within the polity, the difference is clear. The waterfall of the polity does not spread positive winds. Its gale sweeps across the nation, bending trees, slamming doors, uprooting flowers and cassava roots, caressing the polity with sharp pebbles. The wine tappers waist girdle is not spared. It is shaken as he clings tenaciously like a drowning man. The political waterfalls have turned to an awful tsunami, loaded with bad omen.

Gentle Warning; History has list of personalities who had surfaced to command the political tempest to remain calm and still and desist from disturbing the ship of the nation from sailing in a zigzag and rudderless fashion. Presidential candidates have positioned themselves, promising to tar dilapidated roads with gold if elected. Others have promised to accomplish what Chaka the Zulu could not do. Many of them are weavers of political fantasy. Let us therefore NOT anchor our political boat within the slippery harbor that is dire and dark but in a harbor whose equilibrium is stability, and where the peace of cerebral congestion represents not the peace of mind. Let us cast our votes for the canidate who will give a listening ear to the wails of our children, to the screams of mothers and pains of our fathers who suffer in the midst of plenty, the cry of a father whose basic needs have turned to luxurious wants. Vote for a presidential candidate who has what it takes to navigate Nigeria out of the bugs and marshy economic and political terrains.

I prefer a genuine coin to a counterfeit currency note.