Opinion
Who ate the fattest kidney: Buhari or Ekweremadu?
Who ate the fattest kidney: Buhari or Ekweremadu
Tunde Odesola
(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, May 12, 2023)
They call him a prophet. Bob Marley. In one of his timeless songs entitled WAR, he preaches, “Until the philosophy which holds one race superior and another inferior, is finally, and permanently discredited, and abandoned, everywhere is war, me say war…”
The wailing Jamaican philosopher goes on to list other conditions for peace within the human race, singing, “Until there are no longer, first-class and second-class citizens of any nation, until the colour of a man’s skin, is of no more significance than the colour of his eyes, me say war.
“Until the basic human rights are equally guaranteed to all, without regard to race, dis a war…”
Biologists and environmentalists, however, opine that the competition for food, land, resources etc within the ecosystem is the reason why man violated the peace of the paradise bequeathed at creation, and replaced it with the hate of hell.
As man can never meet the conditions for global peace, it behoves the most intelligent creature, man, to provide cushions to ameliorate the agonies of war. This was what the United States of America, along with other responsible nations worldwide, did when it evacuated its citizens from war-ravaged Sudan, some days ago.
On April 29, 2023, exactly two weeks after deadly military fighting escalated in Sudan, the US evacuated hundreds of Americans, Green Card holders, and citizens of allied nations in a convoy of buses escorted by armed drones over a journey of 800 kilometres.
Before the unmanned drone rescue of private citizens, US special operations troops had flown to Khartoum, the Sudan capital, on April 22, and airlifted American embassy officials and other government personnel.
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As respected nations worldwide utilised a ceasefire of hostilities by warring Sudanese military factions to rescue their trapped citizens, the airlifting of over 300 Nigerians, especially students, trapped in Sudan to Egypt, was partly made possible by a Nigerian businessman who owns Air Peace, Mr Allen Onyema.
After spending an undisclosed amount of foreign exchange to unveil Nigeria’s national carrier at the Farnborough Air Show in England, on July 18, 2018, retired Major General Muhammadu Buhari’s 419 national aeroplanes have yet to land in Nigeria.
Just some days ago, the Minister of Aviation, Hadi Sirika, insisted the Nigerian national carrier will commence operations before the expiration of Buhari’s administration on May 29, 2023. I’ll renounce my citizenship if this comes to pass.
After seven harrowing days at the Egyptian Arqeen border where they were left at the mercy of the elements, hunger, human and animal attack, war-victim Nigerians were eventually transported back home after highhanded Egyptian authorities had justifiably suspected that the evacuees would disappear into the human network in Egypt.
If Nigerians could abandon their country for war-torn Sudan, it’s a no-brainer to know that they would prefer life in Egypt, the strongest country in Africa, to coming back to Nigeria, the most insecure country in Africa, which they fled.
Nothing typifies the calamity that the Buhari era represents than the revelation that so many Nigerians abandoned the terrible state of education back home to risk their lives in Sudan, of all places. Among those caught in the Sudan crossfire were artisans, traders and other everyday Nigerians, who fled the heat from Buhari’s oven.
The Nigerians in Diaspora Commission headed by Mrs Abike Dabiri-Erewa, confirmed the airlift of 376 Nigerians, saying two aircraft, Air Peace and NAF C130, lifted Nigerians from Aswan Airport in Egypt to the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, Abuja.
Two American civilians, including an Iowan doctor stabbed to death in front of his house, were reportedly killed when fighting broke out in Sudan. No one knows how many Nigerians were killed as a result of the war. I think history, too, might never know. But, it doesn’t take clairvoyance to know what would have transpired in the minds of terrified Nigerians, together with their relatives back home, as they dodge bullets and arrows on their way to Khartoum, where they were evacuated.
This is what is likely to transpire between Nigerian parents and their child in Sudan.
Mama: (Weeping, she grips her husband’s clothes by the collar) Baba Jide! Baba Jide, but I warned you not to send our only son to Sudan to read ooo! I advised we send him to America or England; see what’s happening now, I’m dead! Jide’s phone is not even connecting again! Mo gbe!
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Baba Jide: After working for government for more than 35 years, my gratuities and pension have not been paid.
Mama Jide: There he goes again, Mr Integrity! Who’s talking about your paltry pension and gratuity? Did you not see Baba Emeka and Baba Danladi? Are both, not your juniors? Aren’t their children abroad studying?
Baba Jide: Did you not see what happened to former Deputy Senate President, Ike Ekweremadu? Justice can catch up with crime anytime.
Mama Jide: At least, he was there for his daughter. Were you there for your son?
Baba Jide: Yes, I was there for my son, Jide. It’s the political elite that Ekweremadu represents that brought Nigeria to its knees and made Nigerians fugitives in their own country, and destitute abroad. If Ekweremadu and his ilk did the right things, Jide won’t be held hostage by the war in Sudan. He, Ekweremadu, himself won’t attempt to redeem the life of his daughter with the life of the hawker.
Mama Jide: He will soon be free..
Baba Jide: After 10 years.
Mama Jide: He will spend about six years and come home to enjoy his money.
Baba Jide: He should have got a life sentence. 99.9% of Nigerian political leaders deserve life sentences. They steal and give themselves severance packages that include fat allowances, buildings and cars.
Mama Jide: And you live in this rathole, lamenting and pontificating about integrity!? Even the retired Major General Integrity has stored up enough dollars to spend and also use as firewood should NNPC fail to provide gas cooking.
Baba Jide: What a life! Is that the kind of life you’re proud of? A predatory life that feeds on the masses’ blood.
Mama Jide: Eja ni eja n je sanra; fish swallows fish in the deep. Wealth and blessings are from God. Oyinbo people and their hypocrisy. If Ekweremadu was a white British senator, no judge would’ve sentenced him.
Baba Jide: Are Yahoo and ritual money from God? Haven’t you heard of white celebrities sentenced to jail? The organ-harvesting senator should thank his chi that he got only 10 years. You think British judges are like Nigerian judges?
Jide: Mummy! Mummy, can you hear me? Mummy, can you…?
Mama Jide: I can hear you, my son! Olorun seun, I thank God! Where are you now?
Jide: I’m still hiding on the treetop. I have suffered, a scorpion has bitten me. (Bursts into tears)
Mama Jide: (Joins Jide in crying) It’s your father who won’t do the right thing that caused all this and he’s not even remorseful or…
Baba Jide: Or what!? Join in stealing? I never will!
Mama Jide: Oya, tell you integrity to go and bring my son from Sudan. If anything happens to my son, Baba Jide, God will receive two visitors o.
Jide: Daddy, Emeka Kalu and Danladi Usman, the children of your friends, are graduating from Harvard and Cambridge respectively this year, yet I’m in Sudan, unsure if I will live or die.
Baba Jide: You will live in Jesus’ name.
Mama Jide: Leave God out of this! Didn’t you say God doesn’t give money?
Jide: Daddy, you need to rethink your anti-corruption posture because corruption has overtaken Nigeria completely. Why are politicians richer when leaving office than when they come in? More players have died on the pitch after Samuel Okwaraji because nothing has changed in Nigeria’s healthcare system since August 12, 1989.
Baba Jide: Uhmm.
Jide: Kanu Nwankwo might have also slumped and died on the pitch because there was no way his ailment could’ve been discovered at club or national level. Daddy, we both watch soccer; look at Christian Eriksen who suffered cardiac arrest while playing for Denmark 22 months ago. He was resuscitated; today, he plays professional soccer with Manchester United, using implanted cardiac machines. Can that ever happen in Nigeria? Nigeria’s gone, daddy, don’t go with it.
Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com
Facebook: @Tunde Odesola
Twitter: @Tunde_Odesola
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AFCON 2025: Flipping Content Creation From Coverage to Strategy
AFCON 2025: Flipping Content Creation From Coverage to Strategy
By Toluwalope Shodunke
The beautiful and enchanting butterfly called the Africa Cup of Nations (AFCON) emerged from its chrysalis in Khartoum, Sudan, under the presidency of Abdelaziz Abdallah Salem, an Egyptian, with three countries—Egypt, Sudan, and Ethiopia—participating, and Egypt emerging as the eventual winner.
The reason for this limited participation is not far-fetched. At the time, only nine African countries were independent. The remaining 45 countries that now make up CAF’s 54 member nations were either pushing Queen Elizabeth’s dogsled made unique with the Union Jack, making supplications at the Eiffel Tower, or knocking at the doors of the Palácio de Belém, the Quirinal Palace, and the Royal Palace of Brussels—seeking the mercies of their colonial masters who, without regard for cultures, sub-cultures, or primordial affinities, divided Africa among the colonial gods.
From then until now, CAF has had seven presidents, including Patrice Motsepe, who was elected as the seventh president in 2021. With more countries gaining independence and under various CAF leaderships, AFCON has undergone several reforms—transforming from a “backyard event” involving only three nations into competitions featuring 8, 16, and now 24 teams. It has evolved into a global spectacle consumed by millions worldwide.
Looking back, I can trace my personal connection to AFCON to table soccer, which I played alone on concrete in our balcony at Olafimihan Street—between Mushin and Ilasamaja—adjacent to Alafia Oluwa Primary School, close to Alfa Nda and Akanro Street, all in Lagos State.
Zygmunt Bauman, the Polish-British sociologist who developed the concept of “liquid modernity,” argues that the world is in constant flux rather than static, among other themes in his revelatory works.
For the benefit of Millennials (Generation Y) and Generation Z—who are accustomed to high-tech pads, iPhones, AI technologies, and chat boxes—table soccer is a replica of football played with bottle corks (often from carbonated drinks or beer) as players, cassette hubs as the ball, and “Bic” biro covers for engagement. The game can be played by two people, each controlling eleven players.
I, however, enjoyed playing alone in a secluded area, running my own commentary like the great Ernest Okonkwo, Yinka Craig, and Fabio Lanipekun, who are all late. At the time, I knew next to nothing about the Africa Cup of Nations. Yet, I named my cork players after Nigerian legends such as Segun Odegbami, Godwin Odiye, Aloysius Atuegbu, Tunji Banjo, Muda Lawal, Felix Owolabi, and Adokiye Amiesimaka, among others, as I must have taken to heart their names from commentary and utterances of my uncles resulting from sporadic and wild celebrations of Nigeria winning the Cup of Nations on home soil for the first time.
While my connection to AFCON remained somewhat ephemeral until Libya 1982, my AFCON anecdotes became deeply rooted in Abidjan 1984, where Cameroon defeated Nigeria 3–1. The name Théophile Abéga was etched into my youthful memory.
Even as I write this, I remember the silence that enveloped our compound after the final whistle.
It felt similar to how Ukrainians experienced the Battle of Mariupol against Russia—where resolute resistance eventually succumbed to overwhelming force.
The Indomitable Lions were better and superior in every aspect. The lion not only caged the Eagles, they cooked pepper soup with the Green Eagles.
In Maroc ’88, I again tasted defeat with the Green Eagles (now Super Eagles), coached by the German Manfred Höner. Players like Henry Nwosu, Stephen Keshi, Sunday Eboigbe, Bright Omolara, Rashidi Yekini, Austin Eguavoen, Peter Rufai, Folorunsho Okenla, Ademola Adeshina, Yisa Sofoluwe, and others featured prominently. A beautiful goal by Henry Nwosu—then a diminutive ACB Lagos player—was controversially disallowed.
This sparked outrage among Nigerians, many of whom believed the referee acted under the influence of Issa Hayatou, the Cameroonian who served as CAF president from 1988 to 2017.
This stroll down memory lane illustrates that controversy and allegations of biased officiating have long been part of AFCON’s history.
The 2025 Africa Cup of Nations in Morocco, held from December 21, 2025, to January 18, 2026, will be discussed for a long time by football historians, raconteurs, and aficionados—for both positive and negative reasons.
These include Morocco’s world-class facilities, the ravenous hunger of ball boys and players (superstars included) for the towels of opposing goalkeepers—popularly dubbed TowelGate—allegations of biased officiating, strained relations among Arab African nations (Egypt, Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco), CAF President Patrice Motsepe’s curt “keep quiet” response to veteran journalist Osasu Obayiuwana regarding the proposed four-year AFCON cycle post-2028, and the “Oga Patapata” incident, where Senegalese players walked off the pitch after a legitimate goal was chalked off and a penalty awarded against them by DR Congo referee Jean-Jacques Ndala.
While these narratives dominated global discourse, another critical issue—less prominent but equally important—emerged within Nigeria’s media and content-creation landscape.
Following Nigeria’s qualification from the group stage, the Super Eagles were scheduled to face Mozambique in the Round of 16. Between January 1 and January 3, Coach Eric Chelle instituted closed-door training sessions, denying journalists and content creators access, with media interaction limited to pre-match press conferences.
According to Chelle, the knockout stage demanded “maximum concentration,” and privacy was necessary to protect players from distractions.
This decision sparked mixed reactions on social media.
Twitter user @QualityQuadry wrote:
“What Eric Chelle is doing to journalists is bad.
Journalists were subjected to a media parley under cold weather in an open field for the first time in Super Eagles history.
Journalists were beaten by rain because Chelle doesn’t want journalists around the camp.
Locking down training sessions for three days is unprofessional.
I wish him well against Mozambique.”
Another user, @PoojaMedia, stated:
“Again, Eric Chelle has closed the Super Eagles’ training today.
That means journalists in Morocco won’t have access to the team for three straight days ahead of the Round of 16.
This is serious and sad for journalists who spent millions to get content around the team.
We move.”
Conversely, @sportsdokitor wrote:
“I’m not Eric Chelle’s biggest supporter, but on this issue, I support him 110%.
There’s a time to speak and a time to train.
Let the boys focus on why they’re in Morocco—they’re not here for your content creation.”
From these three tweets, one can see accessibility being clothed in beautiful garments. Two of the tweets suggest that there is only one way to get to the zenith of Mount Kilimanjaro, when indeed there are many routes—if we think within the box, not outside the box as we’ve not exhausted the content inside the box.
In the past, when the economy was buoyant, media organisations sponsored reporters to cover the World Cup, Olympics, Commonwealth Games, and other international competitions.
Today, with financial pressures mounting, many journalists and content creators seek collaborations and sponsorships from corporations and tech startups to cover sporting events, who in turn get awareness, brand visibility, and other intangibles.
As Gary Vaynerchuk famously said, “Every company is a media company.” Yet most creators covering AFCON 2025 followed the same playbook.
At AFCON 2025, most Nigerian journalists and content creators pitched similar offerings: on-the-ground coverage, press conferences, team updates, behind-the-scenes footage, analysis, cuisine, fan interactions, and Moroccan cultural experiences.
If they were not interviewing Victor Osimhen, they were showcasing the stand-up comedy talents of Samuel Chukwueze and other forms of entertainment.
What was missing was differentiation. No clear Unique Selling Proposition (USP). The result was generic, repetitive content with little strategic distinction. Everyone appeared to be deploying the same “Jab, Jab, Jab, Hook” formula—throwing multiple jabs of access-driven content in the hope that one hook would land.
The lesson is simple: when everyone is jabbing the same way, the hook becomes predictable and loses its power.
As J. P. Clark wrote in the poem “The Casualties”, “We are all casualties,” casualties of sameness—content without differentiation. The audience consumes shallow content, sponsors lose return on investment, and creators return home bearing the “weight of paper” from disappointed benefactors.
On November 23, 1963, a shining light was dimmed in America when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.
As with AFCON today, media organisations sent their best hands to cover the funeral, as the who’s who of the planet—and if possible, the stratosphere—would attend. Unconfirmed reports suggested that over 220 VVIPs were expected.
While every newspaper, radio, and television station covered the spectacle and grandeur of the event, one man, Jimmy Breslin, swam against the tide. He chose instead to interview Clifton Pollard, the foreman of gravediggers at Arlington National Cemetery—the man who dug John F. Kennedy’s grave.
This act of upended thinking differentiated Jimmy Breslin from the odds and sods, and he went on to win the Pulitzer Prize in 1986.
Until journalists and content creators stop following the motley and begin swimming against the tide, access will continue to be treated as king—when in reality, differentiation, aided by strategy, is king.
When every journalist and content creator is using Gary Vaynerchuk’s “Jab, Jab, Jab, Hook” template while covering major sporting events, thinkers among them must learn to replace one jab with a counterpunch—and a bit of head movement—to stay ahead of the herd.
Toluwalope Shodunke can be reached via tolushodunke@yahoo.com
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