The Youth Presidential Debate

It was past 4 PM. The only sound that filled the cavernous Ladi Kwali Hall of Sheraton Hotel and Towers, Abuja was the reggae music from a live band rendition. Touted as one of the most significant political youth events in recent times, it was the occasion of the Peoples’ Senate Presidential Youth Debate. Expectations were high. As people milled around, a member of the Peoples’ Senate walked in and promised that the meeting will kick off in five minutes time. Twenty minutes later, he came on stage and called on a fellow senator to give the opening prayer. He gave the opening prayer wearing his cap. Then the national anthem was sung.

The Minister of Women Affairs-Mrs Anneih’s speech was a pointer to the drama this debate would pack. She came on stage and spent some painful, awkward minutes hastily re-reading her speech and making corrections. She finally looked up with an apology ‘I did not get it printed out so I’m trying to correct it’. Then she read the ‘speech’ which was full of a lot of talk about sabotage; her enemies who thought she would die on her return trip and references to the Youth Leader of the PDP who is sixty years old with a head full of white hair. She tore the hall apart when she canvassed for the women to vote for Goodluck Jonathan. The politically variegated crowd erupted into loud murmurings and not a few senators shifted uncomfortably as they saw their unpartisan edifice crumble before them. She finally left the stage, but not before reminding the crowd of the fact that she owned an I-Pad; the ticket to be referred to as a digital leader.

The amiable moderator-Mr Onifade came on stage and the debaters were introduced. There was an awkward moment as the PDP representative clambered eagerly onstage and was verbally restrained by the moderator. The seating arrangement was conducted by picking numbers from a bowl where the PDP representative ironically got the last slot, this was not to determine the debate’s happening as he gallantly defended el presidente’s honor.

The debaters were all seasoned gentlemen in their own rights; Sunday Ogidigbo, lead pastor of the Holyhill church, Adeolu Akinyemi who modestly explained that his friends call him a genius, Ohimai Godwin Amaize, the social advocate whiz kid is the youngest campaign manager in the country, Ajufo Ajufo who hails from a royal family and Uche, the contractor for the ICT Centre in Abia State university, he definitely represented the incumbent.

The debate started in an easy format, the moderator called out a line of policy and each debater within an allotted time pontificated on how his candidate would deal with that area of public policy. This period allowed for them to posit at length on the new slants their candidates would bring and did not allow for sparring. Ohimai was the first to draw blood though as on the area of corruption, he replied with a poker face ‘My candidate will not spend 18 billion naira on a presidential jet or five hundred thousand dollars to refurbish his kitchen’, the PDP candidate flinched visibly and this opened the gateway for this repartee reproduced verbatim:

Deolu: Nigeria’s problems cannot be swept away with a broom

Ohimai: We need candidates who have managed a million naira of their personal money before getting into power

Uche: We have seasoned economists like Sanusi to manage the economy so when people say candidates have not managed a million naira of their personal money; I sincerely don’t know who they are talking about

Soon, it was question time and the debaters unsheathed their claws, as with questions deceptively laced with my brother, my big brother, my pastor…, they mercilessly attacked each other’s candidates. The PDP got the short end of this deal as Uche was questioned on the power probe, excess oil account… Ribadu was questioned on his support of Saminu Turaki of Jigawa who he convicted while in power for a six billion naira scam and allegations on his ‘selective prosecution’. The representatives gallantly parried these attacks; Uche with calm confidence and sometime inane answers like requests for ‘the newspaper where you saw the story’, and Sunday with analogies like ‘Ribadu can’t solve all petitions he received, it’s like pouring a whole bowl of rice into your mouth’.Ohimai also explained to applause how Dele Momodu intended to provide 50, 000 jobs on first day of assuming office, by giving a million naira loan to youth for farming and fertilizer production. Deolu in a blame-shifting tactic, explained Buhari’s detention of Shagari and Ekwueme with the revelation that Ribadu found the duo guilty. Deolu shook his head wistfully when Uche challenged the debaters for their candidate’s wives’ inactivity on the campaign trail. Ajufo’s lackluster performance was covered with an ever ready smile.

The crowd was allowed to throw questions and a few minutes after 9p.m, the debate proper was ended. The ballot papers were collected, furiously counted on site but mysteriously the results were not announced.

The debaters milled around snapping photos, giving backslaps and exchanging bb pins, it was an amiable event and one wondered why the candidates themselves could not adopt this brave and non-zero sum approach to politics.

At the end of the program, the youths were enthroned, for organization, their stellar display and their belief.



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Parody of the 2011 Presidential Elections

Its selection time, the various actors step out and dance to new tunes. The one dancing apala switches to alanta, since the spectators seem to like that while the one that swayed languidly in the breeze like a maize stalk jumps and danced frenziedly.

 Its selection time, everyone is making adjustments in a bid to sway the spectators.

Its selection time, the spectators cluster and lean into the circle.

One of the dancers runs and hugs the village’s pariah, welcoming him back to the fold of civilized community. ‘aburo, se o wa pa? I hope the food was manageable, don’t worry, you are out now, I want you to just relax and enjoy the fresh air…fi free’. The convict smiles in return and makes a two finger salute, peace from the cells.

Another of the dancers , to gain support, cuddles one who he has previously maltreated for wrongdoing. ‘Ah! man mi, are you ready to take on this role? Oh! That six tubers of yam issue? he waves his hands dismissively, ‘that was in the past, a phase I don’t like to remember, you know not even being able to spend time at my friend’s burial…chai!’ He stops to shake his head sadly ad pulls his friend closer. ‘Well, I hope we can put that behind us and win this dance’.

Another seems to realize the dance is drawing to an end, and this is the time to show hidden skills. He is galvanized into action and dashes from one end of the crowd to another; leaping into the air and throwing cartwheels within a beat. His knickers billow in the afternoon sun; the sun’s rays catch and throw reflections from his bronze scrotal sacs, dazzling everyone. ‘Ahhh!  So he could do this, so he could do that? ’The spectators stare in awe at this new revelation’. Some keep him in mind while other dash to his side of the grounds. Whatever happens, this bronze balled dancer will be remembered.

Another fixes his glasses rims more firmly over the bridge of his nose and executes carefully  practiced steps, he does not make any moves to impress and the spectators are convenient to forget him. ‘I have danced in Rome and in the Grand Hall at Britain, let those who check out my profile know I am fit to win. I don’t need to leap into the air or fraternize with criminals to win’. But the people don’t want a staid dancer, they want to see energy and leaps so they cast glances of commendation at him, wish their pikin will achieve his laurels and the romance ends.

Another hypnotizes a group of people to his side of the ground, he achieves this by swinging a  glittering rosary and muttering unknown phrases, they approach like moths to a lamp and he dances to impress only these few, he makes choreographs to the rosary and they are infinitely  pleased with that. No one is leaving and no one is entering this household.

There is a stringy man at a far corner, all weathered skin and a royal posture. He comes from a large clan and they scream themselves hoarse at his slightest of moves. ‘He is our father incarnated, you should select him, see what he did for us’.

Now the drummers beat the drum more fiercely, and the head drummer is in rapture. ‘Pour more water on my sweat bathed torso’ he shouts, ‘Pour palm oil on the drum skin so it does not burst, throw roasted crickets into my mouth whenever they hang open and I want six maidens to fan me with the widest cocoyam leaves that can be found in the land.’

They all hasten to do the drummer’s bidding-there can be no dance competition without music and the dancers have come too far to be let down, so they dispatch twelve maidens to the stream with large gourds for the drummer’s cooling water, six young men are given sharp machetes and kegs to get palm oil for the drum skin and all the children are driven into the forest to get the fattest brown crickets for the drummer. Now the audience is largely depleted because the music has to go on and some grumble about the wisdom of a dance which oils the drummer .The drummer smiles and promises the best of music if his desires are met, ‘More oil, more breeze, freshhhh air…’ he screams hoarsely.