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The rude game

14th Biennial Police Games begins in Ibadan

The rude game

By Livy-Elcon Emereoye


In commotion, the pestle and mortar politics can be likened to fetching water with a tattered basket. It comes with an initial enthusiasm that would end in frustration, alienation, isolation and regret, leaving more enemies than friends. The painful aspect is the inability to sustain the false life cultivated when the phone stops ringing. When the table turns, and it’s a question of time, ants will eat bird. But then, to every law, there might be exceptions.


Had it occurred to those wanting to have an erection for whatever reason that uncontrolled erection can be dangerous and lethal, some won’t have dared. Think of priapism and guess the benefit in it, or is it not erection?


Before elections, the all motion no movement mentality would be activated by some based on conviction but more on primordial sentiments to market or de-market a chosen candidate.


The smart players would have cleaned their cupboards of every skeleton to prepare for public scrutiny or propaganda: those without legs would get one decorated with an artificial knee cap; those whose kiosks were licensed on fraternal grounds would claim to be chain business owners without annual returns and taxes; alliances would be made for and against some people — and to look wonderful coats of many colours even oversized ones would emerge from all corners and adorned by the crews on hot seats to come out good — and one can’t but laugh seeing a dwarf on a sixteen-yard kimono.

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Surviving on the booties of office, “practitioners of association” would leave no stone unturned to endorse everyone at different times — and those who want to fall for the stratagems would be blindfolded with paltry donation after a series of consultation with the living and the dead. Funny enough, the same amount would be given to all that were marked out for deception… Anyway, you can’t take someone’s money and come out to criticize him. Little wonder, only a few would be bold enough to tell merchants that they deal in evil, that they are brandishing criminal documents.


While some practice the profession, striving to earn an honest living, some practice the association doing everything possible to live by lies and propaganda. To sustain the tempo, alliances must be made, and loyalty must be shared, even by coercion or intimidation — and the lily livered will chicken out.


On getting to the office, the actual character will manifest, revealing the one behind the masquerade. It would surprise those who bought wholesale the accountability package to see impunity and absolute administrative recklessness as the new order. The one mistaken for maturity might be a deranged neophyte that must take order and approval from the boss every time — and the queen who must be obeyed drives joy, leading him to perdition at high cost.


Beyond the rhetoric of the campaign (anyway competent people could be hired to package and market a pig), there might emerge a pseudo president or proxy president, a tribal or ungrateful chairperson that is out to line their pockets against group interest. With smart ploys, the public would be kept busy while the look go on behind close doors — and to achieve this, partners in crime would agree a sharing formula upon.

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It might sound absorb, but to extract pounds of flesh, having a sleepless night for someone who never bordered about who and what you are, we stab ourselves in the chest, accusing people of what we are guilty of. Anger is a disease, likewise arrogance and unforgiveness.


It’s a pity that someone who is a classical example of administrative recklessness would have the temerity to accuse another person of unaccountability. Those who go cap in hands seeking for recognition and begging for money that ended up in their torn pockets would accuse others of embezzlement — embezzlement of whose fund? Anyway, BVN and NIN, for now, have simplified certain things.


It would have been better we lived in the Animal Farm than a piggery colony. It makes no sense to listen only to one’s voice.


As with every election, let’s clean our ears to hear everything, including the unimaginable and abominable.


But come to think of it: what’s in the offing that men can descend this low to get into office? How much is the annual budget, and what is the worth of the nest that serves as an elimination spot that someone would brag about spilling the bean?


Every man gives what he has in abundance — and no one can give what he lacks…




I reacted to a stimulus — and realized I was in a dreamland!

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