(Congratulations! Welcome to August!)

On the last day of July 2016, I was in a bus where I had the misfortune of sitting opposite the conductor who was stinking drunk, and who, when he opened his mouth, unleashed poisonous gas on the atmosphere that pierced right into my soul, like an arrow. And he was very talkative. When on the way some passengers alighted and moved away and breathed fresh air for the first time in a decade, I said independence day for me which attracted a few laugh. The match your was struck. The conductor went wild and began to abuse me and insult my person with the strongest language possible, but I sat quietly, scrolling my phone in search of Arsenal transfer news on twitter.

In 2011, I would have attacked the conductor and beat him up right in the moving vehicle.

In 2012, I would have fought him at the next bus stop.

In 2013, I would have cursed him.

In 2014, I would have abused him.

In 2015, I would have rebuked him.

But in July 2016, I, Kingsley Jega Okechukwu just sat quiet while the dog barked.

Crazy! In a way, this is a perfect sum of a month that tried my wit and strengthened my character like steel. Of course, I am not here to blog about a conductor. Woe betide me if I go from dissing Lai Mohammed and Amaechi to dissing a pitiable bloke who probably has more kaikai than blood in his veins, a man whose ambition might not be exceed the bottle of Shnapp where he’s buried his number 6. No, it is proportionate to killing a rat with a grenade. And this chap is a wretched of the earth for whom I blog. He is alobam. Pass.

But last month we saw that there are people worse than this conductor ruling us. Seriously look at ‘senator’ Dino Melaye and tell me how he’s better than a drunken conductor shuttling from Nnewi to Ekwulobia for a little more than a bowl of burnt plantain and beans. I won’t dwell on this. I don’t care about Dino, nor Mrs Tinubu whom he fought, nor her husband, nor APC, nor the senate. In fact, if you empty a tanker of fuel on the senate building, I will not bide an eyelid, if the senate building crumbles before me I will look for passage in the debris, or take another route, while very careful not to stain my white caftan.

Tied to this but even crazier is the case of the women who demonstrated against Dino Melaye. Bullocks. And the women who gave press conferences and abused Dino or asked him to apologise, or asked for his head. Where were these ‘women groups’ when Evangelist Eunice Olawale was butchered in a way you do not kill rats? These ‘women groups’ don’t care because the deaconess was a Christian preacher, a poor woman, a wretched of Jesus Christ, and fighting for her has little political and financial return on investment. Presently, Evangelist Olawale is seated at the right hand of the Lord Jesus Christ while these ‘women groups’ are seated at the right hand of Tinubu. Measure that.

Also in July, Rochas Okorocha came out to say he will reduce working days from five days a week to just three days, and reduce the salary of civil servants. Sigh. Honestly, I am tired of Rochas who I believe has a cement mixer in his stomach from whence cometh these Donald Trump inspired nonsense. Last May, I passed through Owerri on my way to Aba, the atmosphere (in Owerri) was charged with a foul smell that hung tight on the air like bad news. We didn’t breath properly until we left Owerri. That was Rochas’ policies stinking, and I
tell you Imo people deserve better.

Also in July, former Super Eagles captain and coach, and my namesake Stephen Okechukwu Keshi was buried without government honour. When asked, the minister of sports said it was better to invest in

the future than in a burial. Oga, clap for yourself. Just look at you, yes you, above, defending the middle finger of the Federal Government shown to one who served Nigeria for majority of his adulthood.

And what is this future he’s mouthing on investing on because less than ten days to the Olympics, athletes were on social media begging for fund to represent us in Brazil. Yes, I was alive in Nigeria, in July 2016, when athletes were looking for money, doing babu Allah on twitter, to represent the nation. Dear future grandchild, I
was there, too when Mikel Obi dipped his hand in pocket to foot Dream Eagles bill, I was there! Yeah, they have recovered trillions from corrupt PDP and launched the most exhausting budget in the Milky Way but there is no single kobo for sports people.

It’s a shame, shame, shame, shame, shame!! But I am not that surprised. The sport minister is a certain Dalung, the Che Guevara of Nigerian politics (cough), a man on red beret 25 hours a day. This Dalung reminds me of my JS 1 days in a backwater school in Kaduna State. In that school every one wore green beret (sigh), prefects wore berets of colour (sigh, sigh). So our red house prefect wore red beret and had the attitude of scratching his buttocks right at the assembly ground!

‘Stand at attention (scratch) for the national anthem (scratch) after the count of (scratch, scratch, scratch)…’ This is the guy Dalung reminds me of. I suspect that Dalung too has a scratch scratch problem, so I totally understand him placing his buttocks above national interest by budgeting nearly 200 million naira for furniture in an Olympic year! Never criticise anyone until you have worn his beret and worn his trousers and scratch his scratches.

July was really a very Nigerian month, I could go on and on. The rambleable happenings in Nigeria are like evil pimples, when you break one two sprout out to replace it. Sigh… And as if that wasn’t enough shame and comedy, on a personal note, few days to the end of the month, I got a message from someone asking me to dash he or she the sum of 100,000 naira. Dash! Hahaha! How much is this? Pease help me count the zeros. My heart is in your calculator and I shall purse while you do the counting.

I am outta here (for now).

Tweets to @Oke4chukwu