“That which became a mountain, like play like play, began as an ordinary leave.”
- Robert Mugabe, 2059
You see ehn, it all started when our daddy; Bubu the incorruptible, just like any other agile leader on the face of the earth, who has the weight of an entire nation resting on his shoulders decided to go on leave as was his due.
I remember vividly the day he left – it was my birthday afterall- all conditions had been met. To the Senate two letters he transmitted… One informing them of his decision to go on leave for 10 days, and the other appointing his trusted lieutenant Le Professeur as President in his stead. (Remember Yaradua?) Sorry, pardon my wandering thoughts.
Anyways, everything went on smoothly – Chai my brother… it’s true what they say about short men o… you see that Professor? na small but mighty… – until it was time for baba to come back home…
Na so everything dabaru o… our Baba was nowhere to be found. I mean, we knew where he WAS, but then again, we did not know where HE was. Where was baba? where was baba? Our Baba no go come house again? That was the question on all our lips.
Then started the laments… our baba was dead, our baba could no longer perform in the other room, (astaghfirullah!)… what a wailing we had of it… but like the mahogany and the iroko, unshaken Kings of the forest, our baba stood firm gidigba gidigba in his silence.
Then came the selfies… Confirming that which we knew all along… Our baba was hale and hearty… But the Thomases we were, we would not stop screaming photoshop. All we wanted was an outpouring of baba’s love for us. Or was it not our same baba that spoke to Trump and Mohammed? So how come he would not speak to us his children? Were we no longer important? Where was all the love and emotion we received from our baba when we gave him our mandate?
But you know, our God works in mysterious ways (can somebody shout a big hallelujah). Our baba was coming back home to us, after 51 days, our beloved baba had finally exhausted his leave… What a day of rapturous joy it was when our baba returned hale, hearty and fit as a fiddle ready to take up the mantle of leadership from Le Professeur. And though the naysayers said he’d only come home to rest, we knew in our heart of hearts that our baba was back to calling the shots in Aso Rock…
And the naira improved against the dollar simply because our baba was back to shower us with his love. Yet Shekau the prodigal and his gang of inglorious bastards would not stop screaming haram.
By Femi Ojosu