N30bn Bribery Allegations: Chaos in the Presidential Villa
By Tunde Odesola,
(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, July 10, 2026)
The angry masses chased the armed robbers fleeing along Commonwealth Road, “Catch am, catch am; thief, thief, thief! Catch am, catch am, rogue, rogue, rogue! Catch am, catch robber, robber! Catch am, catch am! Ole! Catch am, catch am!”
Panting and panicking, the robbers jumped into their driverless bullion van and zoomed off, abandoning their stooge, whom they sacrificed to the baying mob. Clutching cruel cudgels, the masses corralled the lanky robber and shouted in his face, “You bi thief!” “I no bi thief!” the serial robber yelled back in a thin voice. Menacingly, the masses roared, “You dey steal!” The veteran robber responded, “I no dey steal!” Then the din became a ding-dong: “You be robber/I no be robber. You be arm robber/I no bi arm robber!”
In a jiffy, sirens wailed. Policemen in black uniform, clutching guns without bullets, arrived at the scene, jumping out of their vehicles. The police watched in silence as the driverless bullion van disappeared on the horizon. They led the armed robber away into the night, fiercely promising to unmask the fleeing members of the gang. “We will make the land unsafe for criminals. In their own interest, those fleeing robbers must never return to our land,” a police statement warned. A statement from the government commission that fights economic crime also stated that a high-powered investigation was ongoing in the case.
It was in that moment that the silhouette of Abami Eda, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, appeared on the horizon, two clenched fists raised above the head, a mocking smile playing on his lips, as he cursed under his breath, saying, “ Beasts of No Nation, Egbekegbe!”
Physical exercise is good for the body. But bicycling and sleeping are a contradictory pair of twins who end up in simultaneous disaster, says an African proverb. Elders of the African land who coined the proverb condensed their wisdom in these four words, ‘Erékéré: orun orí kẹ̀kẹ́’.
I agree with the cautionary logic behind the ‘Erékéré: orun orí kẹ̀kẹ́’ proverb. However, for citizens raised in a crossroads nation where confusion directs traffic, riding in a driverless vehicle is far more dangerous than bicycling with sleepy eyes.
Here is why. If, for instance, Ade sleeps while bicycling, chances are high that he ends up in a lone accident – that is, he tumbles down a dusty path while his head smashes against an iroko in the village market square. ‘Erékéré: orun orí kẹ̀kẹ́’ could also mean a bicycle-riding Chika crashing into the basin of akara in hot oil, kulikuli in a ‘show glass’, and cobs of corn on wire mesh, displayed for sale by the roadside for the poor of the land.
Technology is the breath of modern civilisation: science is its blood. While wise nations deploy science and technology to unearth corruption and enhance development, the same cannot be said of Nyja, where science earths corruption, and technology haunts development. By the way, did you know that self-driving vehicles work by combining sensors, artificial intelligence, mapping, and vehicle control systems to perceive their surroundings, make decisions, and safely drive without human input?
I will choose sleep-bicycling over riding in a driverless bullion van because one has the potential of presenting far more tolerable outcomes than the other. However, if you are mesmerised by the luxury of a driverless bullion van, here are the potential outcomes relayed in two scenes.
Scene 1: The fleeing robbers are cocooned inside their bullion van, snaking through Oshodi at peak period, and 1000 okada riders blaring trailer horns zig-zag past their van in different directions, with many ‘No U-turn’ and ‘Stop’ signs covered up with political party posters in the area. What would the bullion van do? How would the Special Purpose Vehicle read the signals passing through its control systems? If justice had given the robbers a chase, it would have caught them in the traffic of confusion.
Scene 2: The robbers are on the Third Mainland Bridge, where a highway sign that says, “Bar Beach: 17 km”, dangles precariously on the side rails, looking down into the lagoon below. The masses would be extremely happy if the van read the misdirecting road sign and plunged into the lagoon.
‘Erékéré: orun orí kẹ̀kẹ́’ is the art of sweeping under the carpet maggots of corruption, clinking glasses of bloody wine, and eating the unborn generation’s patrimony on the prodigal platter of today.
Driving back home in its lucky escape from the mob, the bullion van appears on Presidential Way, this time, in auto reverse. The front and rear of this Special Purpose Vehicle are the same, a perfect decoy for manoeuvring, because it can drive both ways.
It was around 4 am. The heavy gates of the villa opened for the driverless van. It meandered to the back end and came to a stop in front of the biggest boy’s quarters that belonged to the king’s top dog. One by one, every robber got down, every robber followed the chief robber.
Meanwhile, the abandoned robber has been singing like a canary. He does not want to go down alone. Dogs should not eat dogs, he reasoned, but he has forgotten that dogs eat dogs in famine. That was why the proverbial dog carried his mother to heaven and hid her under the clouds, singing: “Iya, iya, takun wale o,” whenever he needed food.
Therefore, the abandoned DoG, I mean Director General, vowed to bring the house down upon everybody. I remember the song of the real Canary King, Dr Orlando Kennery Owoh, who cautioned today’s men and women of power in his evergreen song, “Logba, logba,” warning that power is transient.
The canary DG has continued to sing, his shrilling tunes ruffling feathers. Many canaries in the villa are squeaking loudly, trying to outsing the abandoned robber. But his lone voice, like his wiry stature, cuts like a whip, pleading with Bat, the King of Birds, to give every bird in the dispute a fair hearing because ‘aparo kan o ga ju ikan lo’ – all birds are equal.
But Bat cleared his throat. Contrary to expectations, he did not suspend his chief slave. “Hakm!” he coughed and cleared his throat a second time, sounding as if he was trying to call a name. He ordered the strong and swift eagles to investigate the cause of the commotion in the arboretum. “I gave you 30 days,” Bat thundered, “to investigate this matter and write a report. 30 days!!!”
“Hakm!” Bat coughed again. The eagles nodded at the cough, a signal that they understood the full meaning of “Hakm!” In the gathering, big birds like the ostrich, albatross and stork wondered why their king’s cough sounded like a familiar name. Whose name is Bat trying to pass across? Is the name involved in the chaos engulfing the cage? And the king coughed again, “Hakm!”
At the last cough, the eagles, police of the bird kingdom, flapped their wings widely, hooting threateningly. So, one by one, the birds got up, each strolling back to its perch in the vast empire. The Bat has coughed. “Hakm” is the code for ‘Touch not my anointed’.
On the way out of the meeting, the stork waddled to the side of the ostrich and whispered, “Do you know the meaning of Hakm? I do.” “The ostrich looked around to see if anyone was within hearing distance and asked, “What is the meaning of Hakm?” “It is a name,” the stork whispered. Eyes rolling in realisation, the ostrich said, “Uhm, I see. I see.”
ENDS————————————ENDS
Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com
Facebook: @Tunde Odesola
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