A requiem for Saint Alamieyeseigha and others

I know that the enemies of truth have accused the Generalissimo of the Izon nation, the great Dieprieye Alamieyeseigha of faking his own death. Their reason is not usually unreasonable. At a moment in life the potent gods of Egbesu flew him out of Brutish danger but safely landed him into the waiting arms of […]

I know that the enemies of truth have accused the Generalissimo of the Izon nation, the great Dieprieye Alamieyeseigha of faking his own death. Their reason is not usually unreasonable. At a moment in life the potent gods of Egbesu flew him out of Brutish danger but safely landed him into the waiting arms of the wicked Wizard of Ota who sullied his already battered image and sentenced him to jail. His saga had nothing to do with the god of Goodluck that serially arranges calamity for anyone standing in his way to being propelled to heights higher than his intellectual capacity. Neo-colonial enemies of the African juju would never attest to the efficacy of these gods. The enemies of the great Alams insist that he left Heathrow airport, disguised as a woman!
I weep for the demise of this hero of the Izon nation who was the epitome of excellence as a fellow James Onanefe Ibori could now testify. Unlike Alams, Ibori chose to suffer the ignominy of Brutish prison, knowing fully well that time obliterates everything that memory chooses to ignore. Every region has its hero, and one region’s hero may be another region’s villain. Saint Ibori, who is awaiting his national pardon and ought to have been given an MBE for increasing Her Majesty’s sagging economic fortunes now whitewashes corruption with the imperial authority from the vaults of Her Majesty’s prison.
Where would England, Europe, America or even Dubai be today without the stolen wealth of Naija’s prodigal sons and daughters? There are those who swear on the graves of their own dead mothers, that the gold, diamonds and other precious stones on the Queen’s crown were stolen from the mines of Africa. Saint Ibori’s omnipotent eyes has described his hero, the great Alams a man of good heart with only one house in Amasoma when his bulk frame could have done with a dozen houses strewn all over the universe.
I weep for the demise of this hero whose heart has been described as angelic by his Excellency Digbolugi Ayodele Fayose who in protest has stopped taking his medication and seeing his shrink. This same Fayose, who increased the mileage of insanity with the bitumen of the barmy and introduced a new lingo -stomach infrastructure – into the lexicon of governance in Naija where social misfits are the winners of votes and the crown heroes and heroines of governance is also a saint.
I weep for my generation and those behind me who were unconsciously transformed from the analogue kingdom of slates and chalk, to the digital world of cheap Chinese phones with space in the blogosphere courtesy of President Jones’ invention – Facebook! I weep and wail for those that call my corrupt dead evil and theirs good – they should remove the log from their own eyes and leave the classic mote in mine. They should realize that bad had a different meaning until Michael Jackson released BAD.
I weep for what would happen to those who would travel to Nasarawa Quarters in Kano city, hire a megaphone, raise a podium and there publicly declare Sani Abacha the worst looter of Naija’s public treasury just because the Swiss returned some stash of cash lodged in Sani’s name. I weep for those who think that Diezani Alison-Madueke’s travails are not orchestrated by her enemies, including those jealous of her goddess looks forgetting that she is some people’s heroine. I weep for those who believe that Sai Baba is not persecuting Bukola Saraki. I weep for those who think Joshua Dariye is bad news. I weep for those who believe that the man they say in the movie – The Legislooter – is Farouk Lawan. I weep for those who believed that Salisu Buhari truly forged a Toronto certificate and that Bola Tinubu is not guilty of the same crime.
Yes, I weep for those who believe that Bukar Sukar Dimka truly plotted and killed Murtala Ramat Mohammed. I weep for those who doubt Peter Odili’s sainthood just because he got a perpetual injunction against prosecution. Yes, I weep for those who expect not to share their space in Najia heaven with Abacha, Dimka, Eji Gbadero, Isola Oyenusi and Lawrence Anini. I weep for those who believe that Orubebe is a thug. I weep for those who disbelieve that Abubakar Audu is not a saint. I weep for those who believe that Abubakar Shekau and Osama bin Ladin are terrorists.
I weep for anyone who is sane sane but shares the same space in the muddled political waters of insanity called Naija where one man’s corrupt is another man’s benevolent philanthropist. So RIP Saint Diepreye Alamieyeseigha, your gentle heart was hounded to the hottest part of hell, by Sai Baba’s body language by those who recycled an old story forgetting that you have a fragile heart that arrests when no man pursueth. Your demise and the furore it generates is hopeful lessons for Buruji Kashamu.