Who among you is ready to swear that he has not seen me with a walking stick before now? You know my walking stick, don’t you, the one I always walk about with? What can I do without that walking stick? Like a faithful dog or MTN network, it had always followed me everywhere I went. And, I use it, to execute a time-perfect swagger (the kind that radio/TV advert says, has no Part 2), whenever and wherever I walked.
Apart from that, I have also used it to beat out pathways in the thick bush for me and my cattle each time I took them out on a feeding tour. I must confess to you that it has always come in handy each time I encountered wild animals like chimpanzees, gorillas, bears, hyenas, foxes, snakes, scorpions and the king of them all, lions and cattle rustlers. I had always used that walking stick to beat them off.
It is made of wood, have no doubt about it. But it is not shaped in the form of Aguiyi-Ironsi’s fabled ‘magical’ walking stick which the rumour mill bestowed with an inexplicable mystic power. Believe me, I couldn’t have gone for that kind of walking stick because I am not aguiyi (crocodile), nor Fajuyi, Aguiyi-Ironsi’s best friend and one-time military governor of old Western Region who paid dearly with his life while trying to protect his friend.
Neither is my walking stick like that of Olusegun Obasanjo, one-time Nigeria’s military head of state and later, civilian President because I am not Oba so njo (Igbo language’s expression for “the Oba who hates/dreads evil”). I also did everything that I could to make sure that it didn’t come near the kind or type that Brigadier Raji Rasaki, one-time military governor of Lagos State, carried along with him on the day he struck, with it, a bridge in Lagos and said to his aides, when, allegedly, he could not readily remember the name in English: “who build this gada? (bridge in Yoruba)?
But, you can imagine my surprise when one day while I was trying to beat out a pathway for me and my cattle, as usual, the damn thing suddenly turned to AK-47, the Russian-made standard assault rifle usually loved and preferred by terrorists. What did I do with it, you asked. Nothing! I became simply helpless. In short, I was so flabberwhelmed and overgasted that in my confusion, I faced a nearby bush and began to blast away, with the kind of rapid fire that I, who was holding the gun, had never heard before. I mean, I pumped bullets, hot bullets into it.
I was trying to empty the gun of all the bullets, hundreds of them, that mysteriously entered into its breech or barrel. It was later that I was told that I killed farmers and villagers who lived and worked close to the said bush. Do you know that I didn’t know until the Press began to publish gruesome photos of those who were killed during the “accidental discharge’?
At the same time they accused me of being a “hard” man who could not listen to instruction and command to stop, the moment I began to discharge those bullets from my magically and mysteriously acquired gun. I am not an “hard” man, I must confess. I believe that it must have been the sound of my gun that made it difficult or impossible for me to know when people were crying and calling on me to stop. But I was more than surprised when, after the unfortunate (?) incident, people changed from calling me “an hard man” and began to address me as “heads man” (meaning someone who goes about cutting people’s heads with bullets from AK-47). They also charged the case to court and threatened to ensure that I had my day in court, one of these days.
But while waiting for the case to come up for mention, I was overjoyed when, the other day, our President came out to say clearly, during his visit to the United States, that herdsmen are not known to carry AK-47 but sticks. You needed to see me. I danced and danced until I could dance no more. First, the deejay played Fela’s “Beasts of No Nation” (BONN), “Confusion Break Bone” and “Sorrow, Blood and Tears.” I danced. Next, he played Abigbo Mbaise, I danced to the tune. After that, he played Abiriba War Dance, I did some jig with it. Lastly, he played Igala-Jukun War dance, masquerade dances from Anambra, Enugu, Nassarawa, Kwara, Ekiti, Ondo, Edo, Kogi and Fisherman;s Dance, Eke Gene (Big Dance), Ngu Sei (Pot Dance), Egele Dance, Egbelegbele Sei (Horn Dance), Yelasei (Maiden Dance), and Wind and Trees Dance from Niger Delta states. Reason: with the President’s pronouncement I felt that I have gotten one credible evidence with which to nail those who took me to court over the accidental charge. Sticks do turn into AK-47, you rabid critics! Mine is a living example.
Let me get to that court of public opinion on Monday and see who would dare raise a voice or a finger against me. I would ask them whether they have not heard that sticks do turn into AK-47 especially when you are walking through bushes and forests. I guess it is the witches and wizards holding crucial meetings in those places that usually turn the walking sticks into the dreaded gun. The other day, rumour had it that some of them holding a meeting in the nearby bushes and forests, dropped some walking sticks from a helicopter hovering in the air somewhere in Nasarawa State and they suddenly turned into AK-47s, Harry Potter and gang, style!
And, you people are there talking nonsense and accusing me of telling a big lie that a walking stick I have always held in my hand suddenly turned into AK-47. Let me see that eye, nose, ear or mouth-witness that will appear in court to bear witness against me. Let me set my eyes on that Magistrate, Judge, Justice, nyamiri, dan iska or whatever that will write and give judgement against me. I swear to goat, I will kill him, his wife, his children, his dog, his chicken, his pussy cat, in short, I will make sure I wiped out everything that has breath around him, plants and animals. Let nobody dare me o! In our country of magic, it will be interesting to see how my walking-stick-turned-AK-47 is going to be different from others’ sticks-turned-AK-47s.