I've never been a shoe man!
I've always seen them as nothing more than an entrapment for our feet with which we step on the soil.
I honestly doubt if I've ever owned two decent pairs at the same time at any point in my life.
Infact, if I had my way, apart from buying Dencia an umbrella to protect her skin from the sun, I'd probably be waltzing through the streets of Lagos care free and shoeless like a half crazed, beach seeking Cele priest!
It's no surprise we have laws to keep us from having our way most of the time.
Anyway, little wonder I got drawn to President Jonathan during his first campaign for office.
The thought of a little shoeless Joe, all shiny black skinned, with his little weeny bowler hat safely harnessed on his head like a flying saucer made from cotton, wool, linen or whatever in God's name those horrid hats are made from, fishing rod in one hand and the latest edition of Ikebe Super in the other was a draw too strong for me and I believe many other Nigerians.
By the way, there's a 25-40 year old man somewhere in Nigeria as we speak sweating bucket loads as he tries his utmost best to lie as he is been quizzed by his 5year old son about Ikebe Super!
God be watching you live and in HD on those new curved Samsung TV's my brother!
Anyhoo, we saw Oga Joe not only as one of us but indeed us.
The humble man from the backwaters who rose to be king.
Otuokpe could be Iyin in Ekiti State or Obiaruku in Delta for all we cared.
For a minute and half or so, we envisioned ourselves, not in our dreary, sweltering, mosquito infested apartments but about to step foot into the Presidential Villa.
The Villa, where we had heard great fables about Chewey, the imported Pakistani mountain goat in the Aso Zoo who usually had coffee alongside his breakfast on cold mornings.
We told ourselves that because we had seen suffering up close and could recognise it in the dark, we would not get carried away by this new found tax payer funded opulence.
That just like Patoranking stuck to his Girlie 'who loved him when he had no dime', we would remember the people on the streets.
We thought that hard work and indeed goodluck had finally brought us or at least a man very much like us into power.
It's been years of Oga Joe's rules and it seems, just like Portiphar did when he felt he could trust his wife alone at home with a hunky Joseph, we thought wrong!
The people on the street are as poor as they've ever been.
The people on the streets are as hungry as they've ever been.
And whoever told you a hungry man never bothered nobody probably never met Terry G in the early days!
The people are angry not only because they can't afford to feed but because of a growing disconnect between a man they trusted and the close to a 100 million stuck in the mire of 'Squalor Nigeria'.
The poor don't care about mathematical speeches on macro-econimics.
The poor sure as hell don't care if our GDP is large enough to fit Banky W's head like a cap.
Adamu in Gwoza does not care about newly found oil fields in Bayelsa. He wonders why he has been left to his fate to possibly die a cruel death in the hands of bandits.
Chijioke in Orlu does not care if Hyundai has started coupling plastic cars somewhere in Lagos. It's not like he's ever gonna afford one in his life time anyway.
He wonders why his wife had to die at childbirth alongside many others in his town.
Sarah in her dingy little hair dressing salon powered by a Tiger generator that had definitely seen better days and was now coughing up its last spurts of black poisonous fumes, wonders where the humble man who had promised to make life, even if not for her but at least for her young daughter better, had disappeared to.
Her generator had been working way before Oga Joe's tenure and seemed destined to work long after.
This man was no Patoranking.
A well fed, self praising Timaya more like!
To say the GEJ administration has not attempted some good would be grossly unfair. The policies have just not benefited the poor majority who fought on his side during the heady days of succession or no succession.
Instead, we have a group of newly minted Nigerians, probably less than a thousand of them, feeding fat on our ever increasing GDP.
With an election year fast approaching, it would be wise to remember that this new breed of fancy suit wearing, G-Wagon driving Nigerians would probably spend election Saturday sleeping off a Friday night of drunken debauchery while Adamu, Sarah and Chijioke, despair on face and revenge in mind, populate that voting queue.
P.s: She love me for very long time,
Long time,
She love me when me get no dime
-Patoranking.
Follow the The Flipout Corner @doctorrotcod
I've always seen them as nothing more than an entrapment for our feet with which we step on the soil.
I honestly doubt if I've ever owned two decent pairs at the same time at any point in my life.
Infact, if I had my way, apart from buying Dencia an umbrella to protect her skin from the sun, I'd probably be waltzing through the streets of Lagos care free and shoeless like a half crazed, beach seeking Cele priest!
It's no surprise we have laws to keep us from having our way most of the time.
Anyway, little wonder I got drawn to President Jonathan during his first campaign for office.
The thought of a little shoeless Joe, all shiny black skinned, with his little weeny bowler hat safely harnessed on his head like a flying saucer made from cotton, wool, linen or whatever in God's name those horrid hats are made from, fishing rod in one hand and the latest edition of Ikebe Super in the other was a draw too strong for me and I believe many other Nigerians.
By the way, there's a 25-40 year old man somewhere in Nigeria as we speak sweating bucket loads as he tries his utmost best to lie as he is been quizzed by his 5year old son about Ikebe Super!
 |
| Ikebe Who??????????????? Ikebe What?????????????? |
God be watching you live and in HD on those new curved Samsung TV's my brother!
Anyhoo, we saw Oga Joe not only as one of us but indeed us.
The humble man from the backwaters who rose to be king.
Otuokpe could be Iyin in Ekiti State or Obiaruku in Delta for all we cared.
For a minute and half or so, we envisioned ourselves, not in our dreary, sweltering, mosquito infested apartments but about to step foot into the Presidential Villa.
The Villa, where we had heard great fables about Chewey, the imported Pakistani mountain goat in the Aso Zoo who usually had coffee alongside his breakfast on cold mornings.
 |
| Omo, see life!!!!!!!! |
We told ourselves that because we had seen suffering up close and could recognise it in the dark, we would not get carried away by this new found tax payer funded opulence.
That just like Patoranking stuck to his Girlie 'who loved him when he had no dime', we would remember the people on the streets.
We thought that hard work and indeed goodluck had finally brought us or at least a man very much like us into power.
It's been years of Oga Joe's rules and it seems, just like Portiphar did when he felt he could trust his wife alone at home with a hunky Joseph, we thought wrong!
The people on the street are as poor as they've ever been.
The people on the streets are as hungry as they've ever been.
And whoever told you a hungry man never bothered nobody probably never met Terry G in the early days!
The people are angry not only because they can't afford to feed but because of a growing disconnect between a man they trusted and the close to a 100 million stuck in the mire of 'Squalor Nigeria'.
The poor don't care about mathematical speeches on macro-econimics.
The poor sure as hell don't care if our GDP is large enough to fit Banky W's head like a cap.
Adamu in Gwoza does not care about newly found oil fields in Bayelsa. He wonders why he has been left to his fate to possibly die a cruel death in the hands of bandits.
Chijioke in Orlu does not care if Hyundai has started coupling plastic cars somewhere in Lagos. It's not like he's ever gonna afford one in his life time anyway.
He wonders why his wife had to die at childbirth alongside many others in his town.
Sarah in her dingy little hair dressing salon powered by a Tiger generator that had definitely seen better days and was now coughing up its last spurts of black poisonous fumes, wonders where the humble man who had promised to make life, even if not for her but at least for her young daughter better, had disappeared to.
Her generator had been working way before Oga Joe's tenure and seemed destined to work long after.
This man was no Patoranking.
A well fed, self praising Timaya more like!
To say the GEJ administration has not attempted some good would be grossly unfair. The policies have just not benefited the poor majority who fought on his side during the heady days of succession or no succession.
Instead, we have a group of newly minted Nigerians, probably less than a thousand of them, feeding fat on our ever increasing GDP.
With an election year fast approaching, it would be wise to remember that this new breed of fancy suit wearing, G-Wagon driving Nigerians would probably spend election Saturday sleeping off a Friday night of drunken debauchery while Adamu, Sarah and Chijioke, despair on face and revenge in mind, populate that voting queue.
P.s: She love me for very long time,
Long time,
She love me when me get no dime
-Patoranking.
Follow the The Flipout Corner @doctorrotcod
