The Humiliating Troika Of Obasanjo, Shettima And Bakare -By Tunde Odesola

The hand of nature is upon Iseyin, a land whose rivers, hills and sky drape a brocade of dignity around duty, diligence and dare to produce a historic town famed for farming, aso-òkè, dyeing, carving, pottery and drumming, encasing the memory of one of its earliest settlers in this immortal chant, Iseyin órò omo Ebedí!

Unraveling Iseyin! Iseyin means the rig where the palm kernel is mined. It’s the fabled three firestones called àrò méta that don’t spill the oil. Palm kernel is to Iseyin what cashew is to Okigwe, a town in Imo State. In Okigwe, cashew plantation owners encouraged students to freely pluck and eat cashew but you must drop the nuts. As a student, I kindly helped cashew farm owners eat their cashews regularly.

Baba Iyabo said respect should be put on age and position. Abeokuta, the homeplace of Obasanjo, is a 19th-century creation established in 1830 while Iseyin is an 18th-century phenomenon created in 1732. By age and historical position, Iseyin is superior to Abeokuta, the rocky place of refuge that shielded Egba forebears from enemy bullets.

Iyabo, the true daughter of her father, called OBJ ‘a liar, manipulator and two-faced hypocrite’. For now, I will stick with ‘hypocrite’, and locate Obasanjo’s hypocrisy in his own words, “The governor has a higher position than any oba when he’s in power. Even when I was president, I prostrated to kings, but when we are indoors, kings prostrate to me. Let’s uplift our culture.”

This statement exposed the Iseyin ego trip of Obasanjo, the anti-corruption messiah, who, as President, spent trillions of naira on electricity while light remained elusive at the end of the tunnel called Nigeria.

I’ll borrow another noun – manipulator – from Aunty Iyabo, and use it as an adjective, manipulative. OBJ wasn’t perturbed about the obas not standing up to greet Governor Makinde. He was angered that the kings didn’t stand up to greet him, Obasanjo, the father of modern Nigeria.

He started his argument by first recognising the supremacy and incumbency of the governor, and he thereafter wangled himself into situational relevance despite not being situated in power himself, extolling his self-importance after barking at the kings.

“The governor has a higher position than any oba when he’s in power,” Obasanjo began sweetly, even when I was President, I prostrated to kings, but when we are indoors, kings prostrate to me. Let’s uplift our culture.” Págà! Àgbàlágbà o gbodò sorò bí ewe! An adult mustn’t trifle the Oro cult. What culture is Ebora Owu uplifting by saying in public that traditional rulers prostrate to him? Baba Gbenga, that sucks. Soothingly, however, Aunty Iyabo had rightly alluded to her father’s vainglory, warning, “Dear Daddy, you don’t own Nigeria.”

When he had the floor, the ex-President could’ve expressed his disagreement with the attitude of the monarchs in an omoluabi manner, cautioning: ‘owo die die ni ara n fe o’ or ‘ki kere labere n kere, kii se mimi fun adiye’. All the monarchs would’ve stood up to greet him and the governor, and also apologise. Probably, they would’ve revealed if it was exhaustion from the long wait for the governor’s entourage that got the better of them. But OBJ, owing to his khaki brashness, lost the opportunity to earn the apology of the rulers he enrobes in public but disrobed indoors.

Makinde, an Americana, didn’t seem to care whether some old men greeted him or not. Ajise bi Oyo la a ri… He appeared more focused on the job than on greetings. If he feels slighted by the kings’ action, he knows the strings to pull.

I pity the Council of Yoruba Obas headed by the Ooni of Ife, Oba Enitan Adeyeye. The Iseyin situation is both a fart and salt in the mouth. In trying to spit out the fart, the salt may be lost. I commiserate.

Remember that banker-turned-politician, who turned up looking funny in a baggy suit, red tie and a pair of sneakers at last year’s Nigerian Bar Association conference in Abuja? He’s the Vice President today. His name is Kashim Shettima, an Excellency.

I had a smart classmate at Archbishop Aggey Memorial Secondary School, Mushin, Lagos. His first name was Hakeem. I’ll keep a lid on his surname, in case his children read this. We nicknamed him Slate because of the flatness of his occiput (back of the head), which the Yoruba call ògo.

Hakeem was tall, yet he wore small shirts and shorts. He didn’t know how to play football but he was always the first to get to the football field. Leave him with the ball and an empty net, Hakeem won’t score. Girls made jest of him but he thought he was Romeo. Oh, Hakeem! This is Isaac, your mate in classes 1, 2 and 3. I formed the Love Brothers group. Do you remember my nickname? Don’t say it o. The world must not hear it. I told my children about some of our escapades as Love Brothers, they laughed till tears streamed down their faces. I told them about how we emptied the various beers your foster mother kept in the fridge for sale, and how she dragged you by the ear to the school the next morning.

Shettima is brilliant upstairs but clumsy in manner. He knows what is right but in trying to do the right thing, he missteps, sometimes. Shettima wants to speak with charm but lacks the Obama grace. He craves sartorial elegance but when his red tie winked underneath his suit, he became a butt of jokes.

A few days ago after Shettima hosted his classmates at the university, he said, “We’re the luckiest among Nigerians. We are not better than our next-door neighbour. Yesterday, I hosted my classmates from the University of Ibadan, the MSC class of 1991.

“The best-graduating student in my class was one Oladipo. Oladipo is languishing as a DGM in one mediocre bank. He was the best-graduating student, that goes to show that we’re here not because we’re the best of the best…”

I don’t think Shettima was trying to ridicule Oladipo because Oladipo dusted him in class. I think it was just a case of not knowing when to stop talking, a plane overshooting the runway. It’s what the Yoruba call alásojámù. “Oga Shetty, it’s not everyone that has access to the public purse as politicians do.” Equating Oladipo’s dignity in labour with languishing was a highhanded i-k-a. Calling his workplace mediocre shows why small banks won’t grow in the four years of your administration. What would Oladipo’s children, wife, friends and co-workers think about your loquacity? What lessons are you teaching the Nigerian youth when you rubbished academic excellence and extol materialism? Mr Oladipo deserves an apology, Mr VP.

The third and final horse in the tro-i-k-a of highhandedness was mounted by popular Lagos pastor, Tunde Bakare, who said the late Afrobeat singer, Ilerioluwa Aloba aka Mohbad, reaped the harvest of ‘smoking and associating with evil men’.

Speaking in Leicester, United Kingdom, where candlelight processions were held in memory of Mohbad, some days ago, Bakare said, “My wife and I listened to a tape last night on MohBad. How many of you know MohBad? The Nigerian artiste who died at 27? MohBad. When he was drinking and smoking and associating with evil men, he did not know that the harvest would come so soon and that he would soon be cut down at the prime of youth. I am not blaming him, I am just telling you. Is MohBad a good name? Moh Bad.”

Because I’m a child of God, I’ll not say Pastor Bakare is lying. But I’ve repeatedly read his above-quoted comment on Mobad’s lifestyle and his submission that Mobad deserved the end he got. One word fit and proper to describe Bakare’s comment on Mobad is sophistry. Saying that he wasn’t passing judgment on the singer was the father of all lies.

I’m not going to pass judgment on the blind presidential vision of Bakare which couldn’t land him in Aso Rock as he predicted, after spending N100m to purchase the All Progressives Congress presidential form. I won’t judge Bakare because I know that for everything there’s a season, a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to mourn, a time to rejoice, a time to talk, and a time to keep shut.