The Armed Robber Who Strengthened My Faith (2)

 

 

After ransacking the room for about five minutes, the same man said, ‘Sir, why have you been silent since we arrived’? I cleared my throat, but one of the gang members interjected: ‘Mopol, what would you have him say? Did we come here to play’? Ignoring him, Mopol (the head of the no-nonsense delegation) repeated ‘Oga, you are a dangerous person. Why are you not talking’? Again, as I made to speak, his deputy interrupted; something that incensed Mopol. ‘Stay out of this. This is my operation’, he half-barked.

 

‘Oga, answer me’. Calmly, I asked what he wanted me to say. ‘Oga, big man like you driving brand new SUV in this town, chopping government money alone; it’s only 50k you can contribute to jobless boys looking to help themselves’? When I responded that I was relieved and excited, Mopol quipped: ‘Oga, you’re excited that robbers came to your house? I said it, you are a dangerous man. You must bring that government money’. I explained that I was excited because I had come to understand his gang followed the car, not me. I added that there was no way they would have attacked me if they knew me. I capped that up with the fact that I wasn’t in government!

 

Jolted, Mopol said quietly, ‘Sir, you don’t work for government? Where do you work’? I simply said, I am one of you. ‘Oh, Oga, yu too na am robba? No, I speak for people like you. ‘Oga, I no dey undastan yu o. Okay, wetin bi ya nem’? Exasperated, his deputy jumped in again: ‘Mopol, abi jass katch yu? Wetin yu wan kari him nem do’?

 

‘Shaaarraaap. Don’t dare me again’, Mopol thundered. And, turning to me, he coaxed: ‘Sir, please what’s your name’? Not sure whether my good name would in the confusion transmogrify into an anathema, I muttered … my name is Michael. What ensued was pure magic. Mopol screamed, ‘no, God, noooo. It cannot be. Oh, I’m dead’. His deputy did everything to calm him to no avail.

 

At last, he said ‘boys, wi don fuck up. We should never have come here’. To which his 2-i-c ranted, ‘Mopol, why? Hu him bi? Jass katch you? Hu him bi sef’? His head in his hands, Mopol said calmly, ‘na Michael BUSH’. That really infuriated his assistant who screamed, ‘so what? In fact, if he’s the one I will personally finish him off now. Otherwise, tomorrow they would use his popular radio and television programmes to track us down’.

 

I don’t know enough about Mopols but this fake one was too much. ‘You don’t know the Boss’, he said to his deputy about me. ‘He would never want us caught. You don’t know this man’. That irritated the latter the more, so he said ‘Mopol, just confirm first’. But, with an air of finality, Mopol snapped: ‘if you touch him, I’ll kill your mother, your sisters, your brother and everyone in your family. Try it’.

 

I trust that God would allow me to witness many more raw miracles but if He doesn’t, this shall suffice. After what seemed like forever, Mopol gently raised me up. I shut my eyes. His hands on my shoulders, he said ‘the Boss, please open your eyes and look at me. You know me. You help me all the time. We are so sorry for this embarrassment. Oh, the Boss. We are sorry, Sir. We are sorry’.

 

Standing there mummified with eyes closed, I could only imagine by the deafening silence that gripped the room how hyper-stunned and helpless Mopol’s deputy and the other apprentice-robber were, watching the live robbery turned spiritual crusade. They must have fallen into a trance.  (To be concluded next Monday)

 

Attention: Ministers Fashola, Bello, et al

 

When I promoted this entry on August 21, I had thought I would do justice to it the following Monday. Unfortunately, something strange absented this column hitherto. I apologise for this lateness just as the dragnet now extends to Mr. Garba Shehu whose infantile scapegoatism of those little mischievous creatures called rats remains the father of all gaffes. It’s a shame how people paid to accentuate the image of the Presidency and indeed of the country would instead smear it.

 

Also, FCT Minister Muhammad Bello needs to up his game in many departments of leadership: Sanitation, service delivery, and above all, security. For the first time in eight years as a resident, I am beginning to want away because of the all-round horrible decline. Take security for instance, it’s now so easy for people to use false names to check into Abuja hotels. First week of last August, two incidents were reported in Wuse and Gwarinpa.

 

In Wuse, a lady was found dead in the room; her male companion leaving no trace. Ditto in Gwarinpa, where two ladies asked the hotel receptionist to get them a cab so they catch a 5am flight. On the way, they threatened the cabman with guns and knives, demanding money and ATM card, which they inserted into a POS machine they had handy. Not getting much money, they slashed his throat. The man died. How on earth did they get into a hotel with these weapons?

 

As for Babatunde Fashola, SAN, I only need him to undertake one round-the-country road trip. August 18, a part of the Lokoja-Ajaokuta motorway almost caved in. Such tragedy is also the fate of most federal roads nationwide. If we add the poor security, sanitation and sundry abuse on our roads, we see why this means of transport is becoming less and less attractive.

 

God bless Nigeria!

 

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Written by Michael Bush