In 2019, I am running. You won’t say I didn’t tell you. I have just done that. So? God is my witness that I have informed you. You won’t deny anymore that you didn’t hear, that I did not inform you. Behold, I have. So, don’t continue to deny not knowing anything about my decision to run.

Don’t continue to turn your face the other way any time the matter is mentioned, either in public or in privacy. As if you didn’t know or haven’t heard. Don’t continue to behave as if I have not told you ahead of time. Don’t continue to pretend and to shake your head in pretentious surprise. 

I am running. I am saying it loud and clear so that everybody can hear. Now that I have said so, at least, nobody will say they didn’t hear. You’ve heard, haven’t you? Sh…sh…sh, bring your ear nearer and let me whisper something into it. I need your support. I need your vault, sorry, vote.

2019. I am running. Before now, I had been walking. But in 2019, I am surely going to run. Let this be a warning to all those people who have been calling me Baba Go-Slow: I am going to put all of them to a big shame. Either by virtue or vice, they will never see my back. I am running and no Jupiter or Neptune or Saturn or Mars can stop that. Gaskiya! Take it or leave it.

In 2015, I walked. Walk? Can you call that walk? I crawled. You are my witness. In 2016 and 2017, I tried to walk by putting forth my legs, one step at a time, like a new baby learning to walk. But in 2018, I actually managed to walk. Believe it or not, in 2019, I am going to break into a run. And, may God help the Usain Bolts, Carl Lewis, Jim Hines and Jesse Owens of this world when I come out to run. I promise to beat, nay, dust up the records set by these world-class sprinters. In fact, I am going to run in a way that might end up creating optical illusion in your mind: you wouldn’t know whether I am running or flying or doing both at the same time.

I was once told about a politician who, during his electioneering campaign, promised to give the electorate in his constituency “fire and rain” if they vote him into office. Actually, he meant “water and electricity.” In my own case, I am not going to promise anybody “fire and rain” because I am neither a fire-fighter nor a rainmaker. Nor fire and fury! That one belongs to my friend now in his own shit-hole, Donald Trump. But for those whose bushes may catch fire from the firefight going on between Nigerian security men and our herdsmen from Sahel region (religion?), I promise assistance with firefighting equipment, including firefighting drones. Whether they return to base or not after what promises to be a long-drawn battle, na wetin concern you? Your own no bi to invite me and mine to respond

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And, in case of water overflowing its bank and finding its way into your street and home, I promise you ‘water bailer’, buckets, floor mops and one outboard-engine canoe, for quick getaway from it all in case it goes beyond bounds. In addition, I am going to supply water and electric power-hungry Nigerians with rainwater brought about by Majek Fashek’s hit song, “Send Down the Rain” and power from MTN/LUMOS solar-energy package. 

I read about a man who had to remove the speedometer from his car because he felt he didn’t need it. At 40 kilometres per hour, the steering wheel rattles, he told traffic policemen who queried him over the issue. At 80 kilometres, the car rattles and at 120, he himself rattles. So, he didn’t need the speedometer, he told them, since he could guess at what speed he is running by whatever is rattling at any given time: the steering wheel, the car or himself.

I think I am going to borrow a leaf from that motorist. I don’t want to keep anybody guessing. When 2019 comes, that critical time in the history of our nation, you are going to decide the speed at which I am running, by whatever is rattling: your pocket, salary, earnings or income, your health, your road networks and other physical infrastructures, your children’s education, your security or yourself.

Forget about the adjective you can use to qualify the experience for now. Forget about the preposition that can fit in at this point – in, for, to, from. I am told that when you talk about prepositions, there are a lot of them to choose from. So? When “the come” comes to become (apologies to late K.O. Mbadiwe, our political juggernaut, agafe (impassable) and obeche (the finest of wood), we will surely settle that. Trust me. But for now, leave matters in the hands of Matthias. The only thing that should matter to my supporters is that I am running.

Forgive me for what I just said. I think it is proper and fair that we select, at this point, the right preposition to go with the running. Some people (politicians?) say they are running in 2019; some insist they are running for 2019 election; some vow they are running to Tom, Dick and Harry to help them win the election. Good luck to them. I wish them well. I wish them what they wish themselves. I wish them happy running, falling, getting up and continuous running.

As for me, I am running from the 2019 election. What are you guys talking about? How am I to blame? If I don’t have an AK-47 or dynamite, the kind armed robbers (terrorists?) used during the bank robbery in Offa, Kwara State, if I don’t have stones with which to fight back, shouldn’t I go for Option B: run?