Opinion
President Tinubu exposes Nigeria’s big thieves
President Tinubu exposes Nigeria’s big thieves
Tunde Odesola
(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, July 28, 2024)
Have you ever been to Italy? Whether real or virtual, a visit to Italy will hypnotise you. Italy is the canvas painted by the gods of art, architecture, culture, literature, opera, fashion, food and history, spreading through the Pope-led Vatican City, whose independent government inside another city, Rome, is called the Holy See, (The god’s canvas stretches) stretching to Venice, Florence, Milan, Bologna, Siena, Verona etc, in a cuddle of concrete and sexiness. Welcome to Italy!
I stiffen when politicians talk but listen when a Pope talks. Pope John XXIII, an Italian, upon retrospection about life, waxes philosophically: “Italians come to ruin most generally in three ways, women, gambling, and farming. My family chose the slowest one.”
For me, one man’s meat is another man’s poison. Pope John XXIII’s family is luckier. The economic strangulation sweeping across Nigeria has mostly zipped up men’s trousers against womanising and generally dried up pockets against gambling while bandits have chased farmers out of farmlands nationwide. Methinks Nigerians have come to ruin mainly in three ways: leadership, corruption and passivity.
Another Italian, Professor Carlo Cipolla, an economic historian, expanded the meaning and scope of idiocy in his theoretical book, “The Basic Laws of Human Stupidity,” published in 1976, in which he identified five fundamental laws of stupidity. In general, Cipolla argues that stupid people suffer from arrogance, self-delusion, persistent ignorance, absent-mindedness and more.
His first law of stupidity is that everyone underestimates the number of stupid individuals in circulation. Cipolla’s second law of stupidity says the probability that a certain person will be stupid is independent of any other characteristic of that person – that is, he may be a professor, doctor, judge or inventor while the third states that a stupid person is a person who causes losses to another person or to a group of persons while himself derives no gain and even possibly incurs losses.
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In his fourth law, Cipolla says non-stupid people always underestimate the damaging power of stupid individuals, adding that, in particular, non-stupid people constantly forget that at all times and places, and under any circumstances, to deal and/or associate with stupid people always turns out to be a costly mistake. He concludes in his fifth law that a stupid person is the most dangerous type of person, worse than a pillager.
The way many Nigerians argue when issues boil down to morality, decency, honour and corruption will make Cipolla coil in his earthen bed dug for him since 2000 at the age of 78. The way the majority of Nigerians stupidly opaque transparent issues made me seek more understanding of stupidity and Cipolla came to my rescue.
A serial thief was jailed in the US for consecutive internet frauds and deported twice. The hustler ran back to the illustrious Iwo community of Osun, and emerged king, using religion and slavish philanthropy as opium, yet a lot of people are hailing him. Hailing a daylight ólè dancing ijó ìyà in the palace with a stolen lamb. Commenting in a WhatsApp group, some members of the stupidity gang even said the Yahoo-Yahoo crimes of the king were unknown to Nigerian laws. Another member declared the ruler whiter than snow. I’ll not talk.
Mahatma Gandhi’s wisdom oversteps the borders of introduction. The sage once said, “There is a higher court than courts of justice and that is the court of conscience. It supersedes all other courts.”
Ogden Nash was an American poet popular for his unconventional rhyming schemes. Nashville, the capital of Tennessee, was named after his father’s brother, Francis, a Revolutionary War general. “There is only one way to achieve happiness on this terrestrial ball, and that is to have either a clear conscience or none at all,” Nash said. Having no conscience at all is the lot of the stupidity gang twisting the truth out of Nigeria’s realities.
President Bola Tinubu is not a prisoner of conscience, he’s a pricker of conscience. Tinubu pricked the conscience of Nigeria’s civil servants a few days ago when he rightly called for the heads of public workers still receiving salaries despite relocating abroad. THE NATION newspaper quoted the President as saying, “We must ensure those responsible are held accountable and restitution is made. The culprits must refund the money they fraudulently collected, and their supervisors and department heads must also face consequences for their complicity.” I offer a clap offering to the President for his clear conscience.
Eri Okan is a 1983 song by King Sunny Ade, the ageless Juju music superstar. It’s my top pick among all KSA’s songs. Eri Okan means conscience. In the forever green song, KSA describes Eri Okan as the unseen witness who watches the doer of good and evil, pricking the doer accordingly. He prays for his conscience to vindicate him.
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In his 1975 song, “Iduro S’oro,” KSA talks about the beauty of question and answer, explaining that both are mutually inclusive. Adegeye, however, cautions that anyone bent on receiving an answer to a question should also be ready to receive a hiding just as he warned the evil-doing adáni lóró of recompense.
I don’t want to receive answers to my article from the army of stupidity who always pounce to defend the ignoble in palaces, parliaments, presidency and everywhere. I don’t want war; I want peace! The stupidity gang, which comprises many civil servants, whom the government told it can’t afford N70,000 minimum wage, sees nothing wrong in the FG building a house of N21bn for Vice President Kashim Shettima, leaving the mind to wonder if Vice President Yemi Osinbajo lived on a tree.
With his alacrity in unmasking economic saboteurs, President Tinubu should kúkú double up as the Minister of Police Affairs, Inspector General of Police, EFCC Chairman and Generalissimo, Operation Amotekun.
June was the month the Alaafin Molete, Alhaji Lamidi Adedibu, died 16 years ago. Kwara-born Odolaiye Aremu was a popular and peaceful-looking songster but his Dadakuade music was a stormy petrel. In his renowned panegyric on Adedibu, Odolaiye captures the essence of Nigeria’s political class. Exploring poetic licence, Odolaiye describes Adedibu as an unyielding and unbending hard nail. Odolaiye says Adedibu storms the heart of Ibadan and returns home with plenty of chickens, adding that Adedibu didn’t buy the chickens in his possession, neither did he steal them nor were they given to him by the owner; the chickens were only unfortunate!
Exasperated by the callousness of the political class, foremost Nigerian columnist, Tunde Fagbenle, in an article, “A sickening country of conscienceless people,” published eight years ago, berated the lifetime salaries and emoluments ex-presidents, ex-governors and ex-deputy governors receive. Fagbenle said only a bloody revolution could reset the country’s feet on the path of redemption.
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A back-pat should be given Labour Party presidential candidate in the 2023 election, Peter Obi, who refused the lifetime payment despite being an ex-governor. The same commendation goes to former Governor of Ogun State, Gbenga Daniel, who in 2023, wrote to the Ogun State Government to stop the payment of his retirement benefits, saying receiving such would amount to double emoluments – going by the fact that he is now in the Senate. Daniel said since he left office as governor in 2011, he has not received any welfare package from the state. Many former governors and their deputies are currently in the National Assembly, receiving salaries for their old and new jobs, feeding from two cauldrons in the hamlet of the proverbial Àlàdé.
I didn’t forget that each of these spongy leaders had their state governments build for them in the locations of their choices within the country a palace. They also get brand new cars of their choice as and when due.
Today, there’s no more space for holes in the common man’s belt, he’s now thinner than a rake, his life is popping out of his mouth like a dog hit by a truck. He’s stressed, frightened and threatened. Yet the revolution called for by Fagbenle won’t happen because the stupidity gang will make itself available to be used by government though their members suffer, too.
The President is busy looking for money to alleviate the economy, the economy of the Villa. The President needs a new jet. New president, new jet. Minister of Finance, Wale Edun, said the Tinubu administration has its gaze on the N20trn available within ‘the pensions, life insurance and investment fund industry’ (his words) to borrow money for infrastructural development. The presidential jet is a critical infrastructure, of course.
There’s no money! There’s no money! There’s no money to pay Labour a living wage. The only money available is to subsidise Hajj for N90bn, buy a presidential yacht, take care of the elected and prepare for re-election. Where’s the prodigal son?
President Tinubu exposes Nigeria’s big thieves
Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com
Facebook: @Tunde Odeola
X: @Tunde_Odesola
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Opinion
Driving 756km to watch soccer god, Messi
Driving 756km to watch soccer god, Messi
Tunde Odesola
(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, June 12, 2026)
Cool fire emits from the potted plant in the backyard at night; it is the glowworm. A yawn, roll on the back, with four powerful paws playfully punching the air; it is the lion, king of the jungle. Water gently hits the shore, sings a splash-splosh song, and rolls back silently into the night; it is the ocean. Formally called Aurea, an eagle, America’s symbol of strength, freedom and resilience, soars up above the 88,000 heads gathered at the Jordan-Hare Stadium in Auburn, Alabama, gliding in and out of sight repeatedly, to the wild ecstacy of the crowd, before finally perching right on the kick-off spot in the centre-circle. Fireworks disappeared into the sky. The four natural elements – fire, land, air and water – are complete. They combine in equal proportions to forge the extraordinary spectacle fans are about to witness as they scream for the football messiah, the magic, the Messi.
About a month ago, when I learned that the god of soccer was leading Argentina to Auburn University for a friendly against Iceland national team on Tuesday, June 9, 2026, I knew none of the four elements could stop me from watching the match. I had long looked forward to an opportunity to pay yet another glowing tribute to the little man who climbed to football’s Olympus without exhibiting the arrogance of gods. Messi, the king who lives in his people, not among his people – like Nigerian leaders who live in abundance among the poor.
So, I got tickets for my soccer-loving children and me. How many are they? Ssshhhh! The Yoruba say: “Aí kọmọ fún ọlọ́mọ.” It’s a taboo to mention the number of one’s children publicly. Hahaha! Maybe that’s why population control is a big issue in Africa. So, I took two days off work. The 756-kilometre journey to and from Auburn is approximately eight hours. When citizens are happy, they gladly obey the laws of the land. Messi fans from far and near stopped at nothing to behold their king.
Messi earned the hero-worship of his fans, who saw him over the years dedicate his entire being to football, from age four when he joined his first local club, Albanderado Grandoli, in his hometown of Rosario, where his father was the coach. Commitment, consistency and dedication earn trust, love and loyalty. Nigeria teaches the opposite lesson daily.
Therefore, if I describe Messi as: “The extra drop of sweat on the farmer’s brow. The extra stroke of the sculptor’s chisel. The extra mile walked by the determined soul. Indeed, the little excess of effort poured into the chores of everyday life, crowning the ordinary with the diadem of the extraordinary,” I am not wrong. That is Messi, the leader who worked his way into the hearts of his people. The king who stopped to conquer.
The king is coming to town! The news caught fire. Leo, the son of Messi, is coming to town!! Everywhere is buzzing!!! Everyone waits with bated breath to see “the little man from Rosario, Sante Fe, who pitched up in heaven, climbed into a galaxy of his own, and shook hands with paradise, as he lifted his heart’s dearest desire, the World Cup, four years ago”.
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The journey to Auburn was on a smooth black road. Driving was a pleasure; no potholes, no police tollgates, or army arm-twisting checkpoints, no dirt, no fear of bandits or terrorists or armed robbers. My car ate up kilometres upon kilometres of tar, and suddenly I saw a little object drop from the open truck in front of me. It was a metal that looked like a padlock. The vehicle sped ahead, but its dropping sped towards me. In that arresting moment when all there was to do was to simply look, I heard a thud on my windshield, less than an inch above the wiper on the passenger side. The hit left an impact that looked like a bullet was trying to get in. It was an impact without an opening, like congealed blood covering a stab, leaving some lines of cracks.
The driver in the offending vehicle did not know a thing. It wasn’t his fault. It was an accident. My car had no camera. I can’t put it on him, though I saw the metal drop from his vehicle. If he denies the metal, I lose. How do I even begin to look for the metal? What if he owns up and says sorry? I won’t be able to bring myself to have him repair my car. I pondered all these thoughts. I let them slide and came to the conclusion that God was the ultimate protector, no matter what man does. Remember, I told you nothing was going to stop me from watching Messi, even if the whole of my windscreen shattered.
So, I journeyed on. My children did not drive with me. They drove in another car because we took off from different points. We talked intermittently along the way. They asked me for my Estimated Time of Arrival (ETA). I was six minutes ahead of them. Then my fuel signal went up. I veered into the next exit, thinking it led to a town. Behold, it was a link to another highway, with no gas station in sight. Quickly, I traced my way back to the Auburn highway and continued my journey. Shortly, I sighted a filling station. I drove in, relieved to find fuel and a place to take a leak. In less than two minutes, my children pulled up into the gas station as though they were monitoring me. Hugs. Pleasantries. Fuel. We all headed towards the temple to see Messi.
Auburn had never witnessed a mammoth crowd in its existence. It was like a pilgrimage. All the parks were filled. Federal cops, state cops, county cops and Auburn University security officials were on hand. All matted into the crowd in an unintimidating, but friendly way that exuded safety and service. The police matted into the crowd like ushers in a carnival, not bouncers in a concert.
Auburn University brimmed. Car parks were filled up, fans parked along the road in a single file, leaving a portion of the road for police, emergency services, etc. Thousands, including yours truly, parked far away from the stadium and embarked on an inevitable trek on the sidewalk. The last time I had a road walk in Nigeria was for one protest or another. But this walk was for pleasure, not pain. There was joy in the air. Vendors made quick money selling only one jersey, the Number 10 jersey of Messi. There was food, soda and beer for sale.
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Though I am a Jerusalem pilgrim, JP for short, it was Auburn that gave me a glimpse of the massive crowd that followed Jesus Christ when he preached during his 33 years of existence in a mortal body. Curiosity didn’t kill my cat, but being a journalist, I looked out for a squabble, altercation, or fight among the crowd; I found none. Everything seemed choreographed. Perfect. I trekked along with the crowd to Gate 16, where my children were waiting for me.
The game was billed to start by 7:30 pm, but, America being the summit of razzmatazz, there was so much fun lined up before the kick-off, with the crowd yelling and yelling nonstop. From outside the stadium, I thought the game had begun, only to discover that the players had not even filed out when I got into the stadium. America for show!
Soon, each team filed out; Argentina, without their little god. Nicolas Otamendi led Argentina out. The centre referee had a word with both captains, and the match got underway. For those expecting a drubbing, Iceland were third behind France and Ukraine in their World Cup qualifying group. And against the run of play, the first big chance of the game fell to Iceland, whose striker fluffed his lines in the fifth minute.
Argentina soon pegged Iceland back and took dominance, resulting in a ninth-minute left volley by Valentín Barco to score the opening goal from just outside the box. Then the song ‘Olé, Olé, Olé,’ rent the air. What is ‘Olè’? ‘Olè’ is a thief in the Yoruba language. In Spanish, however, ‘Olé’ means bravo or encore. La Albiceleste were dominating, and the partisan crowd were enjoying it. Before the half-hour mark, the crowd began to chant, “We want Messi.” Then the camera zoomed in on the small but mighty god on the bench, chatting with teammates. Fans went mad and started chanting “Messi, Messi, Messi”.
Argentina continued their dominance in the second half, but the Icelanders made up for their blunt attack by exhibiting tactical discipline in the midfield and defence. When Coach Scaloni made a couple of changes after the hour mark, the “We want Messi” chant boomed in the stadium. But Scaloni wasn’t going to bring on the GOAT simply because the fans were calling on him to do so. Messi had suffered muscle fatigue in his last match for Inter Miami, his club team in the MLS, and was subbed off.
So, Scaloni was going to introduce his most prized jewel with utmost caution, measuring the minutes and seconds Messi was going to play, because on Messi’s shoulders rests the hope of the Argentinian team to the FIFA World Cup, starting the next day. At the 67th minute, Argentina had a free kick right outside of Iceland’s 18-yard box. The free kick was in an area of the pitch fans worldwide call the ‘Messi area’. The spectators yelled for Messi, who was already warming up. They wanted him to come and do his thing.
But Scaloni was not to be hurried. He brought Messi on in the 70th minute, and the match came alive immediately. The attack became sharp and penetrating. Five minutes after he came on, Messi, crowded outside the centre-circle, gave a defence-splitting pass to Lautaro Martinez, who was brought down by goalkeeper Elías Rafn Ólafsson. Penalty!
Messi placed the ball on the spot, stood back, looked Ólafsson in the eye, and sent the ball through the middle, as the keeper went the wrong way. 2-0. Aside from the “Messi” chants, fans also performed ‘The Wave’ for their soccer idol. To perform this iconic crowd movement, adjacent groups of fans stand, raise their arms, and sit back down in quick succession, creating a visual effect of a rolling wave travelling continuously through the stands.
‘The Wave’ first emerged in North American sports arenas, such as at U.S. baseball and American football games in the late 1970s and 1980s, gaining global popularity during the 1986 World Cup in Mexico.
The fans were not done yet. As if on a cue, they switched on the lights of their phones, jumping and singing and chanting the name of the GOAT.
I’m sure Messi won thousands of converts that day. I mean spectators who were not primarily soccer-loving, but who came in company with soccer-loving fans. My children were formerly Ronaldo fans, but they couldn’t help jumping and yelling for the king when they saw him in his majesty.
In all the merriment, there was no ‘bigmanism’, no VIPs. Asians, blacks, whites, Latinos, Arabs, Jews, etc dissolved into one humanity. There was no siren, no pushing or shoving, everyone was equal. No unemployed youths were stamping their feet on the ground, hands up in the air, in total submission, for a few crispy currencies from the rich.
Everyone knows that if they misbehave, they won’t be sleeping at home later in the night. A young white man in the row in front of me came to the stadium with his two beautiful daughters. He heard my accent as I spoke with my children, and he asked where I was from in Africa. I said Nigeria. He said he had worked in Uganda, Zambia and Ghana, and that he gave birth to his younger daughter in Ghana. I asked him if he enjoyed Africa. He said yes, but that the sun was too much. “It’s like the Texas sun. Too hot!” he said, laughing. He asked me where I was from in Nigeria, and I told him the South-West. “Oh, that’s close to Ghana,” he said, revealing his familiarity with Africa.
People behave themselves in public because parents can call the police on you if you utter profanities in front of their children. Though the stadium was brimming with reckless abandon, the crowd knew the law and the limits of their freedom. You don’t say the ‘f’, ‘n’, and other prohibited words in public because parents and individuals can call the police.
In all of these, I looked at the effect one man could have on his country’s image. I looked at the effect of sport as a unifying tool for global harmony. I’m sure police officers, who witnessed the Messi spectacle in Auburn, would have a place of admiration for Argentina in their hearts and are more likely to treat Argentinians with respect.
Messi, the greatest, yet the humblest. Combining greatness with humility is what sets Messi apart from any sportsperson, dead or alive. He has never publicly uttered a word of pride all his life. This virtue cements his legacy, apart from his unparalleled creativity, vision, and genius. The accomplishments of Messi are the dreams of some of his rivals, like Ronaldo.
Messi, the Ultimate.
Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com
Facebook: @Tunde Odesola
X: @Tunde_Odesola
Driving 756km to watch soccer god, Messi
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