How do I begin this column which is not flourishing in my creative mind and thought today as it normally should? For the sake of convenience, let me speak strictly straightaway that Tinubu, our one and only President Tinubu, was not meant to cross my eyes and their light with great earnestness when my nib sat in my mind and thought to flourish from me what it must flourish this Friday.
You may not believe me, but I am strictly speaking what is strictly true. Another matter entirely was what wanted me critically to examine it critically. I was trying to converse with it gainfully before deciding to devour what to be devoured when President Tinubu raced in – not flourishingly but coarsely or so I thought not beautifully. And here we are: in President Tinubu’s cabin.
Let me not create any uneasy interval of suspense. I presume that not less than a sizeable number of my constant readers have heard of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin. The title I have chosen now is patterned after that of the white American female novelist who was born in Litchfield, Connecticut in 1811, and who creatively chose for her spectacular novel initially serially published during 1851-1852, according to literary history, in The National Era, a journal/magazine but, in point of fact, a newspaper.
The subject of the novel that captivated its readers, right from its date of publication and many, many years thereafter, centered on the cruelties of slavery. Uncle Tom, the chief and main character, was a slave in Kentucky in the east south-central region of America. I read the novel centuries ago, and cannot recover faithfully or flourishingly its disgustingly rich sentiments concerning the “moral evils of slavery.” (Will my residual remembrance serve me well?) And why am I linking Uncle Tom’s Cabin to President Tinubu to the extent of calling the title of my essay “President Tinubu’s Cabin”?
First, we perhaps should not hesitate to state quickly and urgently that President Tinubu is in the palace of wealth and power which is now a kind of cabin of insecurity which has turned his palace in Aso Rock into the cabin of slaves – the cabin of slaves which all of us are in now with President Tinubu as chief slave or slave-in-chief – s-i-c, in short.
Insecurity has battered his regime, has battered his government right from the very day he entered what he thought was the bliss and security of Aso Rock which is not now what he thought. It is a mere cabin of insecurity after all which those the dare devils, who are killing and draining people’s blood as they please from everywhere to everywhere, are steadily designing and re-designing in accordance with their elemental picture to flatten the land.
This perspective is not entirely new. What may be new is that they definitely may be on the look-out for the Jagaban! The chronic killers who are pure devils are strategically taking their time before taking on President Tinubu in his cabin-palace or palace-cabin of bliss. Benue is languishing. Kwara, Kogi and Borno equally are seeing the full horror of man’s wickedness over man. Yet President Tinubu seems to be undiligently planning in his cabin of blind power to do what he never gets to do.
The security he gives the people is security-less security. How can he himself be truly inhaling the air of security when the people and masses are not smelling security that is security from everywhere to everywhere? As we before tendered, President Tinubu himself is the slave-in-chief of insecurity.
Let him be carrying on as he pleases until insecurity itself will ensnare him. But we do not want this to happen. If gold should rust, what will iron do? President Tinubu and his wise men should answer this question for us if they have the wisdom and elegance of Geoffrey Chaucer. But they don’t have them.
Indeed, the wisdom and elegance they have are the wisdom and elegance of a blind dictator which they have, for example, glaringly exhibited in Rivers State so far. Right from the very beginning of the tyrannical onslaught on victim Siminalayi Fubara, governor of Rivers State (May 29, 2023 to March 18, 2025 – on account of his forced presidential suspension that caterpillar Wike inspired), I deliberately decided to shut my loud mouth – even if not very fully. The two or three major political personages and other dramatis personae in the Rivers drama can never be trusted. Head or tail the gleaner would end up as the loser.
After all, he would not be where they would eventually be when deals of whatever settlement would be enforced and reinforced by erstwhile friends who betrayal had torn asunder. President Tinubu’s cabin is a cabin of different clusters of defeat, agnostic rebels and submissive, pathetic, docile individuals with daggers in their chests. All of them possess a fatal weakness of slaves who don’t know that they are slaves that are manipulated never to trust one another – even though they pretend to do so.
Realistically, they relate with one another from the position of insecurity – the current new normal in President Tinubu’s cabin. Many of us are disenthralled by the irresistible urge and genius of the betrayers in power whose “Renewed Hope Agenda” has not been patriotically programmed to give this country – your country my country our country the cherished emancipation. When are we going to free our humanity from the chains that bind it? Is the land devoid of “very high consciousness beings”?
Those who are fully bent on controlling our homeland through power and money not well gotten are using lies, confusion, strife, fear and all what not in the realm of negativity to shape our thought, and destiny and hammer our humanity. Examples abound in the Niger Delta stretching to the middle-belt on to the north east, to cite a few places.
But let us turn to Rivers State as we before cited. There the legitimate Governor Fubara’s cabin has been in a tug-of-war with his ex-god-father and ex-governor now a well-furnished engaging fellow of President Tinubu’s cabin of more than numerous mansions that the insatiable president who wants more and more still yearns for. We all are familiar with the suspended Governor who was Somebody But Now A Thing. His cabin is no more. He has been grovelling to be allowed to be just a mere individual in President Tinubu’s cabin. The story making the rounds rightly or wrongly is that he has been given demeaning conditions which have wrung from us the emotions and sensations of the moral horror of political and economic slavery in Rivers State whose voters voted overwhelmingly for Siminalayi Fubara in order not to swim in red rivers.
The generality of the people is pained by what he has done, troubled by it because by his action and his pulses he is going to create and recreate warmongers again and again in Rivers of vanishing luck. Up to when things got to a head and real boiling point that compelled President Tinubu to ambush Fubara tyranically one believed that the now somebody-less Fubara had a vision different from Wike’s for Rivers people.
Fubara sought to save the human-being-ness of the people and elevate their evolution, while Wike seemingly wanted to do otherwise. With the currently well blown un-holy compromises of Fubara, great public interests in him (and the state) from the righteousness of his cause have now waned – or are waning. Siminalayi Fubara would have allowed Balarabe Musa (erstwhile Governor of Kaduna State decades ago) to happen to him rather than to accept sheepishly and slavishly to be allowed to gain admittance into President Tinubu’s cabin – that will, head or tail, not allow him and his State to feel and enjoy the claim of real brotherhood in the long run.
But all hopes cannot be lost. The silence of patience shall tear our country’s peoples from their slavers’ clutches, and cabins – in Aso Rock or Bourdillon or any ritual forest or hidden orchard (of the Illuminati) where the ambitions of the slavers have locked up the common good of the people and masses.
My readers should please at this closing point note that the gleaner is the amanuensis of two Supreme Spiritual Masters of Merit (SSMM) who entered me to take control of proceedings through their fingers of creativity that entered the fingers of my nib.
Credit:The Guardian