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Amotekun, the fearsome cat threatening selfish ambitions by Tunde Odesola

The sun stood still and the rain paused mid-air when Huzuv, the son of Emperor Bharry, injured his head in an okada accident on Abuja highway. 
Like an arrow from the pit of hell, Huzuv’s brand-new motorbike shot unto the road, gleaming and gliding in a display of class, opulence and indulgent hypocrisy. Huzuv smiled as the wind gushed against the eyeshield of his costly helmet and sinfully expensive biker’s gear. “Kai, kudi alherine! (money is good!)” 

The road was empty. Fuel scarcity had grounded the entire land, workers had stayed at home. Huzuv gunned down the throttle, muttering “Ina jin dadi tafiyan nan: (I’m enjoying this ride.)” He watched the red needle of the speedometer climb the big numbers, and he bit into his lower lip as his right foot shot power into the Dodge Tomahawk V10 Superbike, vroooooooom!!!!

Huzuv had learned so much subterfuge from Bharry, his father, whose creed he remembers so vividly: Look weak when you’re strong, look kind when you’re mean, look ignorant when you know. Look poor when you’re wealthy. Huzuv smiled, marvelling at how quickly he has imbibed the family tradition. Yes, he has - with enough money in his bank accounts and properties at home and abroad. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. He had beaten the security network and sneaked out of Axo Roc with one of his expensive toys, whose cost is enough to build a school and a hospital.

Huzuv maneuvered the diversion at Maitama Junction with the dexterity of a motorcycling pro, his left kneels almost scraping the road as he bent the beast at an acute angle to the median. In that instance, the thought of his youngest sister came to mind. “Shege, that girl is spoilt - going to buy chewing gum with presidential planes!” He also thought of the spoilt children of his father’s uncle, the great Mammon, who live lavishly with them. “If I can’t fly presidential planes to the salon, I should be able to ride my motorbikes in peace,” he muted between his breath, the two-wheeler surging crazily. At 200km/h, life was fast and good. Life was also hanging on a thread. But Huzuv thought that with his father holding the power of life and death, nothing could go wrong.

How wrong he was. The taut thread snapped and light evaporated.

(A million sirens blared uncontrollably) 
Within minutes of Huzuv crashing his motorbike, seven helicopters with paramedics landed at the scene. 


Bharry: (Eyes emitting fire) Kai!! My enemies are at work! Because they can’t get me, they have gone after my son! Ibrahym Mugun must investigate this! Huzuv must not die! My son mustn’t die!

Queen: (Sobbing) I’ve always warned him against those bikes. They’re too fast and dangerous.

Bharry: So, Huzuv has banks? Who gave him license to run banks?

Queen: I said bikes, motorbikes, not banks! 

Bharry: Oh, motorbikes? Where did he get money to buy motorbikes? 
  
Queen: There are no journalists around, my lord; you bought six motorbikes for him during your last trip to England. This is no time to pretend to be a saint. Please, do something quickly to save my son from the jaws of death. (She broke down at the feet of her husband.)

Bharry: That’s what I’m doing. I’ve called all the CMDs in government hospitals across the land to report here immediately. 

Deputea: Your Excellency, I had just bathed and was about to wear my trousers when I heard about the accident. I jumped out of the house and raced on foot to the scene. My trousers and shirt were brought to me at the scene when I was performing oral resuscitation on Huzuv.

Bharry: I already got the report of how you arrived here. Thank you, Yemming.

Deputea: We need to fly the prince out as quickly as possible. I’ve ordered the largest plane in the fleet to get ready, just as I’ve told the Health Minister to get the best medical hands in the land ready to take Huzuv to Germany for a comprehensive medical treatment.

Bharry: Did you say you ordered the biggest presidential plane to be released without telling me? Is it your son or is it your presidency? 

Deputea: No, Your Excellency, sir! I did so to save your son, our prince, sir.

Bharry: You claim to be a pastor, when did you become Jesus Christ, the Savior?

Queen: (Hissing angrily amid sobs) If my son dies while you contend ‘authority’ with your Deputea, I’m going to address a world press conference and reveal sordid secrets about your government! 

Thankfully, Huzuv survived the accident of Tuesday, December 26, 2017. So, the Queen held her fire. Government officials popped champagne and ate sumptuous meals to celebrate his return. The masses stood with the emperor and his family. 

But barely two years later, tragedy ravaged the land as herdsmen, Boko Haram, kidnappers and robbers unleashed death, sorrow and tears. The masses cried unto their regional leaders who figured that setting a leopard after the messengers of death was the best solution to the incessant killings in the land. 

So, the leaders agreed and got a leopard, called Amotekun in native language. Everybody sang and danced, joyous in the hope that life was going to become secure once again. 

When Bharry heard about the leopard, he became livid with rage. He placed an angry call to Deputea.

Bharry: What am I hearing, Deputea? You sit down there, some people are training a leopard to come and take over my government?

Deputea: No, sir! The leopard is to assist in tracking down those who’ve been killing all over the land...

Bharry: Oh, so it’s ethnic gang-up, ko? Is it you or your family that is killed? Who told you there’s insecurity in the land? Don’t you know that it’s only Allah that gives and takes life? 

Deputea: Your Excellency, we should be grateful and happy that these people are trying to check the insecurity that’s driving foreign investors away, sir.

Bharry: Foreign investors, ko? Ok, I’ve heard you; we shall see! (He slams down the receiver, and places a call to the Antony Jenera, Mallaming)

(The Queen walks in) 
Queen: I overheard your conversation with the Deputea. I think he’s right, there’s nothing wrong if his people buy a leopard. Our own region has similar security, too. 

Bharry: You belong in the oza room, woman. I closed the borders, people still smuggled arms and ammunition. How can I stop hoodlums from killing with the smuggled arms and ammunition? I say give me land to give my people for their cattle, they said no. Herdsmen turned their AK-47 on them, they began to shout. Is it my fault? I don’t care about killings among a people who are 21% of the total population with Hausa/Fulani being 29%, Igbo 17%, Ijaw 10%, Kanuri 4%, Ibibio 3.3% and Tiv 2.5%. Minus 21 from 100. Nigeria must continue to exist, whether they like it or not. 

 


(He gets back to Mallaming on the phone) Mallaming, are you there?

Mallaming: Yes, Your Excellency! 

Bharry: What are you doing to the Amotekun?

Mallaming: I’ve shot it, sir.

Bharry: How?

Mallaming: I’ve declared it illegal, sir. 

Bharry: Illegal, ko? You shot it with AK-47 ne.

Mallaming: No, sir. I shot it with law ne.

Bharry: Ok. I’m going to direct their son, Hammered, to bury it. 

Mallaming: You mean Bourdillon?

Bharry: Yes.
 
Mallaming: How?

Bharry: He’s going to absolve my government of shooting the Amotekun. Hammered thinks I’ll support him in 2023. 

Mallaming: Won’t you?

Bharry: I’m for everybody, I’m for nobody. Amotekun ko kura!

The Amotekun roars in the background. Bharry jumps up from his seat, runs out of the room with Mallaming in tow.

Bharry: But you said you shot it?

Mallaming: It refused to die, sir!!!

Published in The PUNCH on Monday, January 27, 2020)

Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com

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