THE CAGED BAT
A Playlet
Series: A Sound Mind in a Sound Body, Part 1
The editor of Python Dance Magazine, Mr Maxwell Otapiapia, having like his counterparts in the other newsrooms in Magomago Republic collected 25 Manila from an arch anti-Christ, anti-Christians, anti-Christianity, Chief Jagajaga, an unapologetic Fulanist, a very scandalous, notorious and an obsessive compulsive looter, very well-known nationwide and globally for his zero integrity and principle, sent one of his reporters to interview the despicable, much despised politician, hated nationwide, internationally, and even in space, and in the Great Beyond.
In what was supposed to be an image laundry interview for the very rotten politician who trebles as the worm, the vulture and the chichi dodo of the Magomago Land, the reporter against the briefing he had received from his editor, decided to dig deeper than was expected of him by his gluttonous, greedy and kile jeku (?) editor and thus, landed himself inside a very big pot of okra soup, full of hard pomo, bony bonga and tilapia fishes:
I know why the UNKNOWN caged BAT can’t sing the song of restructuring any more, (Psalm 137:3-4).
Photo Credit: Davelowe.blogspot.ca
Press Man: Excellency, other people are mindful of your health, and they think you are not sufficiently mindful of your health, and just don’t care about your health at all, at all?
Chief Jagajaga: Health oshi wo…? Eh? Ani health oshi wo?
PM: Sorry, sir. Don’t be annoyed, sir. But other people….
Chief Jagajaga: Other people oshi wo? Kilo kan won pe lu state of health mi?
PM: E sir, but health matters.
Chief Jagajaga, (Gyrating in anger): E wa ba mi wo ele yi……ewa ba mi wo eleyi-o! What’s your problem? I say what’s your problem? Nonsense!
PM: Excellency, (Nervous and stammering): True to God, I’m not here to provoke you…yet your health ma..ma..matters, sir.
Chief Jagajaga: (Worked up with temperature now rising very sharply to an unusual level): Look at me properly: Am I a labra?
I don’t want to go to hell!
Am I a grave digger?
I don’t want to go to hell!
Am I agbe po?
I don’t want to go to hell!
Am I a cleaner?
I don’t want to go to hell!
Am I agbegilodo?
I don’t want to go to hell!
Am I alagbe?
I don’t want to go to hell?
Am I a construction worker to be climbing a 32-storey building with pon pon on my head, full of kenkre and a shovel on my hand to pour the ki ni nkan mbe on the last floor?
I don’t want to go to hell, lara, lara!
I’m not an iron bender nor a stone cutter nor a carpenter like Baba Nazareth.
Or am I nkan-kan, pure water seller or pafu seller or one of those jati jati, gbongo-gbongo counterfeit politicians?
I’m a politician canvassing for a political post and office!
PM, (On the issue of eschatology for all those doing common labour, the pressman was overruled each time he had tried to interrupt to ask Chief Jaga as he was fondly called by his political egrets, hordes of political flies and the Ki le Je ku (?) journalists - some of whom have now taken over the news rooms in Magomago Land just as bandits and unknown, unidentified uniformed men and women have taken over the country): Sorry sah, I don’t mean to offed you, but on the issue of hell fire for labourers……
Chief Jagajaga: (Still seething in extreme anger, continued to glue his reddish ball-like eyes on the nervous and frightful journalist, having been intimidated to submission by the cantankerous and shamelessly boastful politician – and like a super-eruptive, super-sensitive volcano, he spewed out bouts of uncontrollable verbal molten magma on the poor reporter): You subversive element….a-a-a-after I-I-I-I gave each of your…your..your editors 25 million Manilas, they yet sent scums and scavengers like you to disrupt my campaign…., eh?
PM, (The journalists who now caught a pitiful sight before the Bolekaja or Ma n’e perplex politician as he was known and referred to by his foe. The reporter was visibly shaken to the point that a book he had pressed against one of his sides fell. Written by an internationally renowned Professor of Psychoanalysis and Morbid Anatomy, Professor Robert Achaba Amala – the book was titled: THE MAKING OF AGBEROCRACY): E sah, (said he feebly after he had picked up the book), but oye ke take care of your health…. mens sana in corpore sano.
Chief Jaga, (ignoring his advice, broke out in paroxysm): Tell all those dregs and wretched of the Republic not to attempt to go and pollute and contaminate the polling booths with Covid in the name of voting for our great party. To be forewarned is to be fore armed. And let all those who cannot summon Ichabod to question him about the source/s of the 100, 000, 000.00 Manila he had bought the nomination and intention to contest form with, face their front and mind their business. This is not what Baba Nazareth told them to do. And by the way, how does condemning my freedom of choice oppose the fulfilment of the Great Commission and rapture? Let all of them following Baba Nazareth all over the place go to blazes or go to hell, which ever one suits them. They are all nkan-nkan-bility! They never, ever reject my money or talk about M & M whenever they collect my money. I have made my choice and they must respect that choice of mine just as I will respect their collective choice not to vote for me. This is what democracy is all about…. democracy and the rule of law. Did not they hear the President when he said he would hand over to me?
And for that very stingy labra, Obi pon pon and his okrika attire, hell fire awaits him and all those now following him excitedly. Let him go to hell with his OBIFERVESCENT! And who kias (cares) about Obism or Obi bubbles?
Exeunt, Chief Jaga and the journalist, each going their separate way as the light gradually fades, with the curtains drawing to a close at both ends. And could be heard in a nearby chapel, was the great and ancient Christian hymn: “THE CHURCH IS MARCHING ON; THE GATE OF HELL SHALL NOT PREVAIL….”
EPILOGUE
In this our season of sorrow and anguish, it is not about political yayaya (politicofervescent or political effervescent) or bolekaja diplomacy or the jagajaga one-man recruitment exercise, but about Nigeria and our collective destiny as a people.
It is therefore, simply demonic when a man’s inordinate ambition takes a hold of him such that he consciously and deliberately ignores his own very health and that of the nation, and goaded by his very selfish, intensely and ravenously ambitious house wife, he thinks neither his health nor that of our country matters in the crazy and mindless pursuit of that ambition, eventuating in the disenfranchisement of a whole people and all that look like them without the IGP nor the bread and butter activists nor the parasitic so-called public intellectuals nor journalists, perpetually perching on the hunchbacks of the corrupt politicians for their daily bread nor all Nigeria, asking questions.
At the end of the day, it is not democracy, but THE JUDICIARY THAT IS ON TRIAL AND ALL THE WORLD IS WATCHING.
THE END.
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