“When the premise of an argument is wrong, the conclusion is also wrong.” – Peter Obi

I will introduce Peter Obi but first, I must confess a blunder. I was prompt at the exorcism. Too much introspection, I almost lost my indignation. Yet, it added no therapeutic value to my deranged mind.

But it is all beginning to make sense. Convicted robber became a pastor to serve a God who directed a president to pardon him. Aimed at dazzling poor people with fine things of life, so that poor souls would bring more fine things to him, pastor revisited his old profession. Pastor robbed a bank to raise money for evangelism. Pastor was caught. He blamed the devil. But he promised not to do it again if let off the hook.

Imported boxes of sardines may finally expose him. Latent good, inherent evil, inert humanity, all became self evident at once. Conquered for eternity was his wide-toothed laughter. Concessions of tears hang across his utopian window. Everyone is cocksure what the penalty for success is – addiction to platitude. Though it may seem impossible now, we too shall part on good terms. That’s why we must quarter him.

We are delighted by our loots, fatigued by our hate, and happy that the veil is letting us fake happiness. Our heart can hold so much and recall so little. If our destination is doom, does it matter what brand of car that will take us there? Illogically driven, we bewilder those who search beyond nothing. For really, nothing is what we pursue. Our only limitation is the realization that at the very end we shall be last.

What could be higher than us? Take a good look and just say it. Nothing! Leisure comes naturally. Quarrelling is the habit of the biased. In our happiness you find your exhaustion. I pity the human bondage of your malice. Isn’t it one nightmare you can do without? Please give us men with kind hearts and strong nerves. We have seen enough of men with mean hearts and strong nerves and few of those with kind hearts and weak nerves.

The poets call us scum because we acquire money for keeps. But we have to have money to advertise our poverty. We relax with trifles. In our testimony lies the truth about our presumptions. We made our cage. Give us Paradise Lost for fun. Watch us read it with careless abandon.

We love police officers’ privileges. We want to carry government issued guns and kill anyone we please. Only bandits have the same privileges. But they have to buy their own bullets. Ever tortured someone before? No joy surpasses it. We watch them yell, scream and bleed. We watch their skin tear into pieces and their blood gush out like frightened flood. We are tickled by the sound of their bones cracking.

It is a wonder – what we are. A good smack will lead you to our thirsty stream. We approach reformation; you proclaim redemption. We climb the rapture ladder; you slide into quiet insanity. What a pity you have not read the new book that explained why men have nipples and why legal abortion reduced crime.

Hear Oby Ezekwesili speak. Hear her say things we know which still sound like news. The vicissitude of human fate is often this trajectory.

Let the army seize power in Mauritania. Let the masses eat locusts in Niger. What matters is the golden stool at the United Nations. In our world so inverted, hardship is endured, magnet luxury unearned. In words and actions, we cheat and lie. But your sanctimonious self, you cheat in your silence. Remember, the road to Kigali is paved with yesterday’s injustices and today’s escalating ethnic nationalism.

The day after our expiration, history can eat us for all we care. Do you really want us to care about history? Have you looked round this theatre where we perform? Look very closely and observe the empty seats reserved for history. History has since left the building.

Because you know what to expect from us, you affirm it each day. We validate it. What other deductions were you making? We have an entrenched resentment for compassion. Our love is impossible to inculcate. O’ men, where is my Biafran currency? Where?

Our conclusion is simple: You tell the truth about us, we tell lies about you. And with God as our shrink, we both cover our faces with shame. In any case, it was the same Peter Obi who said that, “the society we abuse today will tomorrow take revenge on our children.

Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo is a New York based freelance writer. Iroko Productions will publish his first book, Children of A Retired God, in September.