Opinion
The witches on Portable’s road to madness (2)
The witches on Portable’s road to madness (2)
Tunde Odesola
As the crowd moved in the pillar of early morning fog, their song became discernible on the dewy road of the thickly forested Aji town. The road in front of Enwe Nwanjo’s house was that type of decades-long, durable earthen road built and maintained with townspeople’s sweat, long before government came and built its own road of potholes amid applause and blinding camera lights.
So, it was on this road that the crowd was trekking, singing a medley of Igbo Christian songs, with tenor, soprano, alto and bass twanging from honeyed throats – in fantastic acapella.
I love good music, so I listened and watched. I thought the crowd was moving up the road that stretches beyond the nearby Aji High School, but right in front of Enwe Nwanjo’s multi-residence house, the crowd turned into the expansive compound, still singing.
“Who are these?” I wondered, struggling to make out their faces in the fog. Then, I heard familiar voices. They were students who lived in the students’ quarters built around the main building where I lived. They stopped smack in the middle of the compound and said a prayer like football players do before a match. Then, they dispersed into their various rooms.
But one of them didn’t go to the students’ quarters. In the fog, she headed straight to the main building. “Who is this familiar figure?” I wondered as the figure moved closer to the house. “Haa! It’s Eucharia, my Eucharia! What!? How come? So, she wasn’t the one in the room? Who then were those lovebirds inside her room?
My chest heaved a sigh of relief to see Eucharia wasn’t the one in the cozy blue room but I was curious to know who those two bedmates were. Eucharia came up to the balcony and greeted in her melodious voice, “Ndi corper, good morning. You no sleep?”
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My face creased into a frown, then a wry smile. “I just came out to enjoy the early morning breeze,” I said. “Uhmm, you and cigarette!?” she said as she made for her apartment. “Where una dey come from?” I asked. “From church, we go do vigil,” she said.
She knocked on her door gently and waited. She knocked again. After a moment, the door swung back but before she could enter and close the door, I leapt up from my chair and was right behind her. Using the advantage of my height, I scanned the whole room ultra-carefully as she walked in with her back to me. What I saw was shocking!
I saw a little girl between eight and nine years old who came to open the door. She went back and curled up in bed, pulling the sheet over her head. Ha!? Eucharia probably woke her up from dreamland.
“Who is this,” I asked. “My niece,” she replied, “I went to Nsukka yesterday and I came back with her.” “I was wondering who was inside the house. I peeped through the keyhole and saw two people in bed,” I stated jokingly. “You must be seeing double,” she said, laughing. Little did she realise I really saw double.
When I sat back later and put what happened to me in perspective, I came to a profound understanding of the power of the mind. The incident buttresses my belief that the mind is the most powerful part of human physiology. It strengthened my resolve that I can achieve anything if I put my mind to it. When people give up on life and watch their dreams die, they do so from the mind.
In Eucharia’s case, it was my mind that sent suspicion signal to my brain which imaged the signal to my eyes and my eyes duly manifested the negative content of my mind.
I hadn’t settled down to drinking when I first peeped into Eucharia’s room. So, what my eyes saw wasn’t a product of drunkenness. It was a product of a mind wandering off. As a sound mind can be the teleport to self-actualisation so can an unsound mind be the shoestrings of the sneakers of a potential marathon champion, tied together while running. It’s all in the mind.
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Today, social media has broken the backbones of witches and wizards, just like it is exposing the ruts of fake religious leaders, traditional rulers, celebrities and all.
Hitherto, in our communal mind, we believed witches and wizards were everywhere, sucking blood and cracking bones. So, we hid ourselves from ourselves – nobody wanted people to know the names of their children, their ages, their pictures, what they ate, where they lived, what they did, their achievements etc.
But nowadays, people live on the internet, showing off their families and achievements. So, I ask: where are the witches and wizards against whom we sing, “Oro nla le da, eh eh eh, oro nla le da…” when tragedies happen? Are they no more potent? Are witches and wizards too old-fashioned to join social media to wreak havoc?
It’s strange that people drive recklessly under the influence, killing others along with them, yet relatives and friends turn their mouths up to the heavens like homeless sparrows, crying and blaming the devil together with his witchy disciples. It’s all in the mind.
In most cases, after suffering self-inflicted tragedies, some people go to the same dreaded witches and wizards in search of redemption while some go after pastors and alfas who are not better than bats – blind, blatant, blasphemous and base.
When you see some people falling for the miracle pranks of some manipulative pastors, alfas and babalawos, you wonder why the gullible worshippers can’t see through the foolery, but it’s not their fault, it’s their minds, in which the clerics live rent-free.
Please, tell me why do people believe a stinking, poorer-than-poor babalawo has the power to use a human head for money ritual? If there was ever a ritual potion for money-making, babalawos and their families would be richer than Elon Musk and they won’t tell anyone about the potion.
From the outset of his career, controversial musician Habeeb Okikiola Badmus aka Portable declared himself ‘were olorin’, and people took it as a metaphor that means ‘mad musician’. Little did people know Portable was truly mad.
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Going by his antecedents and being very sure Portable was suffering from ángàná, I came to an audacious editorial conclusion last week when I headlined the first part of this article, “The witches on Portable’s road to madness (1).”
In validation of my headline, Portable, during the week, personally declared himself a patient of the Neuro-Psychiatric Hospital in Aro, Abeokuta. In an online video, Portable raved, “I am mad. I have medication for madness. You can go and ask about me in Aro. I have a card there…I am mad.”
Portable calls himself a child of grace. Truly, he’s one. But when the mind is messed up, especially with drugs, grace wears the toga of a prefix and becomes disgrace. If the disgrace becomes consistent, the disgrace wears an embroidered suffix and changes to disgraceful.
From North America to Asia, Europe, South America, Antarctica, Oceania and Africa, drug use has destroyed the careers of many superstars. From Michael Jackson to Witney Houston to Bobby Brown, Elton John, Majek Fashek and countless others, drug use has been the bane of many music careers.
Portable is a dot in the galaxy of the aforementioned superstars but his example teaches a lesson in gratitude, decency and humility.
A dirty-looking hussler, the child of grace received favour from hip-hop star, Olamide, who collaborated with him to produce Za Zoo Zeh, a song written by Portable. If not for Olamide’s collaboration, Za Zoo Zeh wouldn’t have blown the Nigerian music charts.
He who the gods want to ruin, they first make mad. Portable became mad and he turned against Olamide. Olamide simply ignored him. Portable went ahead to diss another Nigerian music star, Davido, whom he first ingratiated himself to, but later turned against when Davido wouldn’t collaborate with him.
Since hitting the limelight, Portable has been a fly in the ointment of the Nigerian music industry, fighting everyone in sight. His online fight with his ex-lover and ex-wife of the late Alaafin, Queen Dami, was despicable, to say the least. The only fight he fought which got the approval of the general public was his fight against Bobrisky, the cross-dresser.
Since Olamide cracked the nut of fame for him, Portable has seen himself as the biggest Nigerian musician, calling himself the late Abami Eda, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, yet begging bigger stars to feature him in their songs. No bi juju bi dat? It is not juju, it’s hard drugs.
It’s hard drugs that could make him beat up the environmental officials from the Ogun State Ministry of Physical Planning and Urban Development, who faulted his building construction. He ran into hiding for many days before finally giving himself up to the police amid altercations between him and his elder brother, Akeem, who expressed joy over his travails.
Portable needs psychiatric help fast. The witches on Portable’s road to madness are in his mind. Though he has lost money and goodwill to this travail, his court trial should run its course and justice should be served to teach celebrities and people in authority that the law is not totally dead in Nigeria.
*Concluded.
The witches on Portable’s road to madness (2)
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Opinion
Death of Retired General in Captivity Sparks Fresh Concerns Over Nigeria’s Security Crisis
Death of Retired General in Captivity Sparks Fresh Concerns Over Nigeria’s Security Crisis
The death of retired Major General Rabe Abubakar while in the custody of bandits has reignited concerns over the worsening security situation in Nigeria, with stakeholders calling for urgent and decisive measures to address the growing threat posed by criminal groups across the country.
In a commentary released on Friday, public affairs analyst Mallam Ibrahim Agunbiade described the late military officer’s death as a troubling reflection of the country’s deepening insecurity, stressing that the incident should serve as a wake-up call for government authorities and security agencies.
Major General Abubakar, who reportedly dedicated decades of service to the Nigerian military and contributed to counterinsurgency efforts, was abducted alongside his wife while travelling in Katsina State. He later died while in captivity, according to information released by the state government.
The analyst noted that the incident raises serious concerns about the safety of citizens, arguing that if a retired senior military officer could fall victim to banditry, ordinary Nigerians remain even more vulnerable.
The Katsina State Government had described the development as a dark moment and reiterated the need for stronger collective action against criminal elements operating in various parts of the country.
Agunbiade emphasized that beyond official statements, the tragedy underscores the suffering experienced by victims’ families, many of whom endure prolonged periods of uncertainty, fear and grief while awaiting the release of abducted loved ones.
He also referenced the reported death of Islamic scholar Alhaji Muhammad Maibarga in bandits’ captivity in Kebbi State, saying the incidents demonstrate that insecurity affects people across all social, religious and professional backgrounds.
According to him, farmers, traders, students, traditional rulers, religious leaders, security personnel and other citizens have all become targets of criminal attacks in recent years.
The Defence Headquarters had earlier explained that it refrained from making public comments on the abduction of the retired General because rescue efforts were ongoing. Military authorities also pledged that those responsible for the crime would be brought to justice.
However, Agunbiade maintained that the latest tragedy highlights the urgent need for a more effective and coordinated national response to insecurity.
He stressed that tackling banditry, kidnapping and terrorism requires more than military action alone, advocating improved intelligence gathering, stronger inter-agency collaboration, enhanced protection for vulnerable communities and sustained efforts to dismantle criminal networks.
The commentator further urged Nigerians to view insecurity as a national challenge rather than a regional or ethnic issue, noting that victims cut across all religious, ethnic and social divides.
He called on government at all levels to prioritize the protection of lives and property, insisting that the death of Major General Abubakar should not be treated as just another headline but as a reminder of the urgent need to restore security and public confidence across the country.
Death of Retired General in Captivity Sparks Fresh Concerns Over Nigeria’s Security Crisis
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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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Health
Don’t add lies to the terrorist horror in Oyo, By Farooq Kperogi
Don’t add lies to the terrorist horror in Oyo, By Farooq Kperogi
Don’t add lies to the terrorist horror in Oyo, By Farooq Kperogi
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