Tinubu was supposed to be one of the victims of that dark era of political limbo. 33 years after, he presides over Nigeria. By June 12th, 2027, a new face may be President or Tinubu may yet be. One thing is for sure—-the great show called life of which Nigeria is a part, must go on.
I had a young family at the time of June 12th, 1993. Our daughter was 3 years old. She’s 36 now.
We lived in Ikeja at the time, maybe, three stones’ throw from MKO’s residence. The air was pregnant with excitement, and expectation—but there was one woman.
We called her Antai. She had come to visit me along with her younger brother’s wife, Ade. We all sat in the living room discussing the political drama that was soon to unfold in the country. This happened weeks before June 12. There, she sat, a woman of substance, presence and clear conviction as she made a declaration—-
“Thus saith the Lord—neither Abiola nor Tofa will become president.”
In my characteristic manner, I laughed and then, I spoke words that I would later not only eat, but ponder over for many years to come. “Dear Antai,” I said, “two men are in a contest. One will win. The other will lose. One of them will become president.” She laughed, the kind of laughter that only a confident person can give.
Come Election Day. We went to the polls along with other young adults in my household. We voted. Later that night, we were glued to the television. The results were coming in.
We heard rumors of court injunctions granted in previously unheard of night courts. Later that night, the results stopped coming. Mr. Option A4, the brilliant Professor Humphrey Nwosu who designed the water-tight, flawless, and open system of voting suddenly realized that he had been sent on “a pointless, fruitless endeavor or a task that has absolutely no chance of success.” That is how Google defines—-A Fool’s Errand.
He was helpless.
Thus began a long night with many long nights to follow. What seemed like joy suddenly turned into apprehension, mourning and palpable sadness.
Flawed as he was, MKO created pure magic—the kind that made nonsense of religion, tribe or region. For him, because of him, all of Nigeria united and spoke with one voice on June 12, 1993. The darkness that followed that spark of light was what only a Shakespeare/Achebe/Soyinka or any writer of consequence for that matter would/could describe as “the darkest darkness of the longest, longest nights.”
It went on for 5 years until——Abacha expired suddenly—that the “living may know that the Most High rules in the kingdom of men and gives it to whomever He will.” (Daniel 4;17).
Ladies and gentlemen, we survived June 12. We survived the next 5 years of pure hell under Abacha. Rewane was taken down in his own house. Soyinka fled into exile on a motorcycle. Anthony Enahoro disappeared into exile. Alex Ibru was sprayed with bullets on Ikoyi bridge. The Guardian Newspaper was set on fire. Nduka Obaigbena fled into exile. Several newspapers and magazines including TELL went underground. Kudirat Abiola was executed on the roadside. MKO was thrown in jail. Kokori organized a debilitating strike. He was sold out and thrown in jail. The goggled man cooked up a phantom coup. They threw the perennial letter writer, a former Head of State and his former deputy, Yar’Adua in prison. Saro Wiwa was convicted in a Kangaroo trial along with 8 other Ogoni men. They were sent to the hangman.
All the while, Nigerians prayed. We had no guns. No militia. No help. Just our supplication to heaven—-“Give us this day our daily bread. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” That prayer was answered immediately but we did not know it. Prayer and manifestation are today and today, but in the realm in which we live, they are like today and forever.
Tinubu is president today not by his own power. We are here, not by our own power. As we live under the terror of bandits and terrorists and kidnappers, my question to all of us Nigerians today is this: Is God dead?
Michael Ovienmhada.
Author, Poet, Playwright, Filmmaker.
