By Omoh Giwa
Former Commander of Uniformed and Non-uniformed Forces, Father of Nepotism, Patron Saint of Fulani Herdsmen, Architect of the 97% and 5% Democracy and High Priest of Selective Anti-Corruption, accept my greetings from the land of the still-suffering. How ironic that you now recline in a realm where even sachet water is cheaper than in Nigeria.
Your Excellency, I will not ask how you fare in the afterlife. Anywhere at all, even the Sahara desert, must be more forgiving than a country where one egg now costs N250. You escaped at the perfect moment, slipping out like a man sneaking from a burning house with nothing but his prayer beads and a faint smile.
At first, I doubted the news of your departure. You will recall how, under your regime, rumours of your death spread with the frequency of NEPA blackouts. The Jubril from Sudan farce kept us entertained when a bag of rice was still within reach of the poor. So, when they finally confirmed your passing, it felt like déjà vu, a joke told one too many times.
Do you remember my earlier letter to you, back in 2023? I had threatened my friends and adherents with exile from my circle if they dared to choose you over common sense. I thought myself prophetic, casting words like thunderbolts, but alas, we never learn. Now, even after your exit, your ghost lingers in our politics like the smell of kerosene after a stove explosion.
But fear not, my Nepotistic General. I have not resurrected you today to rehash past grievances. Rather, I come to place before you a fresh theatre of absurdity, another chapter in the endless tale of arms deals and empty promises. You may have thought that with your exit, the baton of failure would rest, but no. Your successor has picked it up with the enthusiasm of a relay runner chasing gold in a race already lost.
Do you remember the Dasukigate saga? That grand banquet of $2 billion, eaten with the hands of generals and contractors, while Boko Haram laughed in the background. Nigerians wailed, but you rode into power, sword drawn, claiming you would end corruption and defeat the terrorists in “three months”. Three months became eight years and in those years, you too borrowed $997 million for weapons that never seemed to manifest. Even your airstrikes sometimes fell on farmers instead of terrorists, as though the planes were also confused about who the enemy was.
And now, from the discomfort of your grave, behold your successor! The King of Bullion Vans has unveiled a $346 million arms deal. The same Boko Haram you declared “technically defeated” has staged a Lazarus-like return, except, unlike Lazarus, they show no appetite for repentance. One wonders: are these billions for weapons or for political herdsmen, oil cabals and loyal thugs to silence hunger riots?
Tell me, General, is it not poetic? You borrowed, he borrows. You promised, he promises. You failed(No be me suppose tell you say garri dey swell for water). Truly, Nigerian politics is a circle and you were merely the compass that drew the line.
Yet I must confess: he lacks your artistry. You, at least, had the grace of indifference, smiling faintly while the nation burned, letting silence masquerade as wisdom. He is less subtle: he stumbles through like an overzealous actor who has forgotten his lines. Where you were a slow poison, he is a blunt machete, less refined but no less lethal.
And then the opposition: do you remember your eternal Northern rival and the Igbo trader, the darling of the internet? Once on opposing fields, now whispering of a coalition. Nigerians cheer as if they have not seen this play before (I nearly forgot they had stood against you but their efforts could never rival your unrivalled talent for rigging.). Our coalitions are weddings without vows, consummated only by shared bitterness. If they triumph, they will squabble over the national cake faster than your kitchen cabinet ever did. Same dance, same music, same dancers.
But back to arms. What is it about weapons deals that intoxicates your kind? Every administration comes clutching its holy grail of billions, swearing to buy jets and tanks. Yet Boko Haram multiplies like cockroaches after fumigation. One begins to wonder whether the real warlords dwell in the forests or in government houses. This latest arms revelation, I must admit, adds a fine garnish to your legacy.
But I digress. The point of this letter is simple: history repeats itself and you are a fine template. He may pretend otherwise but every stumble he makes is a reflection of your gait. The rising hunger, the decayed institutions, the arms deals without arms, the selective justice,are all the inheritance you left behind.
I hope you laugh when you read this. For what is Nigeria, if not a tragedy performed as a comedy? You, the general who promised change but delivered chains; He, the democrat who promised renewal yet delivers ruin. And the opposition, forever rehearsing their roles as rescuers, only to turn villains once the curtain rises.
Keep fighting, General, as we, the living, continue to fight, not terrorists, but hopelessness.Your successor continues your spectacular work. And we, the living, continue to write letters because satire, unlike weapons, cannot be stolen and cannot be technically defeated.
Yours-in-Perpetual-Service,
Omoh Giwa, University of Lagos
P.S I did warn you about that pesky crown and headaches. Kindly extend my regards to Shagari.
