We were ecstatic. We were joyful. We were expectant. Newspapers were emblazoned with huge headlines proclaiming a new dawn. A renowned Professor was in charge of the National Electoral Commission, (NEC). He dominated the airwaves with his dreams and plans for a new Nigeria. He called it Option A4.
A man we had come to know as Maradona, like a colossus, had been center stage for 8 years. Power is an aphrodisiac. How could he think of vacating a throne so sweet, even honey is envious? He had come up with a Two-Party system. He called it a little to the right, National Republican Convention, (NRC), and a little to the left, Social Democratic Party, (SDP). He built Party headquarters in every local government area. We chose to believe him even though people like the old sage of Otta had warned us that the evil genius could not be trusted. The old man had famously said of the Maradona—“If he tells you— good morning, go outside and verify.”
The gap-toothed General had taken us on a long ride. We were patient. Every dog has its day. Our day was gonna come and we would grab it with both hands, hands so strong that even a Lion, the King of all beasts would not dare to dare our collective will as a people. Nigerians were ready.
The world gathered. Election observers came from all over the world to bear witness to our political Olympics, the type of which no one had ever seen since the dawn of democracy as expounded by the likes of Socrates, Plato, Baron De La Montesquieu, or Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg. Nigeria was going to teach the world one or two things about the biggest political invention of mankind, the one envisioned by the merchant class in the creation of the Magna Carta, (1215). Dear reader, know this. When it comes to political gymnastics, the masters of the political universe, the incomparable number one, are the Nigerian political class. No one anywhere comes close.
And so, Nigerians trooped out to show the world what we were capable of. North, South, East and West, we stayed in line. We defied the heat where the Sun blazed down in its majestic glory. We disdained the rain where it poured reminiscent of the great deluge. Like Noah and his Ark, we floated above the waters to the voting stations. We cast our votes. Indeed, we had triumphed. At last, thank God Almighty, we had triumphed against the odds—the dark voices of the naysayers—that nothing good could come out of Nigeria. We proved them wrong.
Or so, we thought.
And then, we waited. The results began to come out—at first, in a torrent, then, in a trickle, but eventually, it dried up.
Nigeria being primarily a rumor bearing, and rumor driven nation, we did not want to believe the obvious, until it became clear that a midnight court unknown to law had convened with the express intent to subvert.
Our hopes were dashed against the rocks of Abeokuta, the home of the presumptive winner of the elections, Moshood Kashimawo Abiola, (MKO), and the hope for a future was shattered into smithereens, like a million pieces of broken glass. We held our chins in our hands, as in a daze, a drunken daze from the excessive consumption of “monkey tail” concoction—(only real drinkers know this expression). It shall remain a mystery to the uninitiated.
A few days later, as all things in life go, even the great Maradona, the greatest political dribbler of all time had to succumb to the long knives of his friend, the goggled one.
Et tu?
There was weeping and gnashing of teeth across the land. The only thing comparable to the agony we felt at the great blow to the greatest democratic experiment on earth was the palpable cries of the people of Israel when Herod ordered the killing of every child below the age of two in his bid to fish out and destroy the Seed of God, the Messiah, Jesus Christ of Nazareth. The Bible in referencing that dark period writes:
—“A cry was heard in Ramah— weeping and great mourning. Rachel weeps for her children, refusing to be comforted, for they are dead.”
We cried, and then, we wiped off our tears, and opened our eyes wide. We resolved a collective resolve—-No. This shall not stand.
A group of people went underground, with Chief Kokori of NUPENG as Generalissimo. The lines were drawn. The gauntlet was cast. The River Rubicon had been crossed by the armies of Napoleon Bonaparte. The goggled man went on a hunting expedition. People were killed. People were jailed. People were driven into exile. Those were long, harrowing and gruesome times, the likes of which should not befall a nation more than once in a lifetime.
NADECO took over the fight. Ordinary folks tried to go about earning a living, with heads bowed, a sense of resignation overcoming the land. We heard cries from the underground—-To be or not to be!! We heard threats from the seat of power—no one should mess with the goggled one.
We have come full cycle since June 12, 1993. I conclude this article basking in the reality that we are in a new democratic journey, all be it—as imperfect as they come, mindful of the fact that the forces of good triumphed over the goggled one and his marauding snipers. The country has endured. The nation will endure even this economic downturn, high prices and a state of desperation in which we find ourselves on June 12, 2024. What is true, is true for all eternity. He that watches over Israel, (Nigeria), neither slumbers nor sleeps.
In a timeless irony of history, one of the great and mighty warriors of June 12 now sits at the saddle. He assures us that his hands hold tightly, the wheels of State. It is his lot to make our lives better. He has three more years to prove to us that he is capable. We await with our Voter Cards for May, 2027. Then, we will ask ourselves the age old question: Are we better off now than we were four years ago?
Long live the good people, the long suffering people, the strong and resilient people, the indescribable and indestructible people of Nigeria. God bless the Federal Republic of Nigeria, and may the memories of those who fought for the democracy which we today enjoy, continue to be a blessing.
Michael O. Ovienmhada.
Senior Correspondent,
Egogonewshub.com
