I recently read a write-up by a good friend of mine, Martin Ojukwu, on his blog, chisomojukwu.wordpress.com, a piece he titled ‘My Beef With Dame Jonathan’, one peppered with some truths and hilarity, and I had such a laughter-filled time reading it, that I felt it was only fair for me to share the beef . . . sorry, joy of the read.
Check on it below.
MY BEEF WITH DAME JONATHAN
It gets tiring having to repeat the same thing to different people. So I will say it one more time, I DO NOT HATE IYAWO JONATHAN!
She is wife of the President and Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, and I will now coman be hating her? Shebi I chop raw craze?
All my morale can muster is a little beef, just a tiny amount of beef with the First Lady.
I was on Facebook the other time and this young man updated his status with ramblings about all the great things Mrs. Jonathan had done for her hubby in their wee years as a couple, and how those things made her the Mother Theresa of VWI – Virtuous Women Incorporated – and how God had rewarded her for her virtue with the position of first lady, and how as a result, we (ebullient me included) ought to shut our bad belle mouths and give her some respect. Cha e!
My honest reaction? I just tire! If there exists a Nigerian out there who believes this yiddi-yadda enough to pull out his Nokia phone, tap it out on his keypad, raise the 3-ft network pole and upload it on Facebook, then I will… *curses* relobusnxhcouwujsdh@%*#(hhlfhoh&((*^*(Y&jhk *incantations*… calm down and blame it on Mark Zuckerberg.
Questions: Since when did VWI become an issue in these spheres? And since when did first ladyship become the divine reward for virtuousness? Mama Oboks down the road is virtuous as far as I know – at least her bòlè tastes like virtuous rainbows – yet she is not even the first lady of her own home. Okay, let us assume that we are in version 2.0 of Planet Earth and here, first ladyship and Mother-ship of the VWI were the reward for virtuousness. Even then, did I ever wonder to the hearing of any being, living or non-living, above or below the earth, about the virtue or lack thereof of Dame Jonathan?
I do not have a problem with the rise to first ladyship of Dame Jonathan or her virtue for that matter. And for Virtue’s…sorry, Pete’s sake, I do not have a problem with her distorted reincarnation of the English language! For once, people, focus! I would respect a good president who intermittently used Pidgin English on National TV; because communication aims for comprehension, Pidgin English is ‘official’ for Nigerians. I wouldn’t crucify the first lady, or any public official for lack of command of the intricacies of the English language. Not because English language is not our first language as some Dameists blindly argue – please ask them which language is then OUR first language in Nigeria? – but simply because gbagaun or the lack of gbagaun isn’t, fitn’t, wasn’t, weren’t, justn’t, wouldn’t and shouldn’t be the issue!
The attention we pay to the gbagaun is merely what it is – a cure for gloom and heartache, entertainment which I enjoy with no apologies along with millions of people out there and – google it if you doubt me – a muse for hundreds of creative Nigerian youths out there.
I have sat in a room and listened to a guy distort the color of my shirt with a mixed vitriolic stream of gbagaun and saliva. But I sat till he finished and even then, I applauded him because in the book of Common Sense Chapter 1 versus 0.5, and I read: “I have come for all who speak sense and make a valid point, gbagaun or no gbagaun”. Besides, our reality in Nigeria is a lot of uneducated people, a lot of mis-educated people, a lot of half-educated people, and a lot still, of educated people.
My beef with the First Lady on this matter of the #ChibokGirls is the fact that I am convinced she was putting on a show – a poorly directed show. I have heard argument that her heart was indeed moved over the plight of the #ChibokGirls and I wonder: how long does it take to move her heart? Shebi it is rock of Gibraltar? I have also heard argument that she was just crying out of love for her husband and the persecution he is undergoing at the hands of Saul and his gang of Naija-turtle Ninjas. To which I habatically say again, Cha e!
It took two weeks for the First lady to convene a meeting to discuss the issue of the kidnapped girls. And when she did, she made some grandiose comments that convinced us that the only reason Super Woman can’t last on TV is because she dwells in our midst…in Aso Rock! As I tap out these words on my google map-enabled typewriter, Madam Jonathan is yet to lead that army to Sambisa. She is yet to lay a strand of her royal hair on the line for the rescue of the girls, ya fozikwa her wholesome self, as per her word.
But never mind those things she has not done because really, she has done enough. She has gone on national TV to let us know that the first lady called the principal and other people involved to ‘coman find their childs, but na only them waka come.’ She put on a real show, as fake as it was hilarious, trying to convince Nigeria – I am scared to believe – that she is in pain for the kidnapped girls. She has also allowed us – graciously, mind you – the privilege of witnessing firsthand, a display of executive sorrow. At least, I can finally put on my CV that I watched the First Lady of Nigeria cry and her handkerchief was really white.
Indeed, she has done enough. In my dreams, I actually imagine Dame Jonathan being a woman of her word, starting with the proclamations she made when she finally came out and we were expecting ‘something’ to happen. I imagine the fine-faced Mama singing into Oga Jona’s hairy ears at night, begging – like Ruth of the Holy Bible – for him to speed up actions to #BringBackOurGirls. In my dream, I see her shedding those tears at the forefront of a peaceful crowd camped and protesting at the presidential doorstep or at the Senate or at Chibok, just like she promised. I imagine her organizing the Nigerian women into a fist whose punch the entire world couldn’t possibly stand. But only in my dreams. Because morning comes and reality sets in, Dame Patience Jonathan has done enough.
I rest my beef.