Prince is 53 tomorrow

Fat Prince

Nigeria will be 53 as an independent nation tomorrow. In three months time, it will be 100 years old. Those who welded the nation together on January 1, 1914 described the union as one between a “well-behaved” young man (North) and “a lady of means” (South). How well-behaved could a man be when all it hankers after in a relationship are the fortunes of the lady in his life? Should one
even be bothered by how irresponsible the man is or how unsightly that homestead presents?

I had a lengthy discussion with a friend on Friday on this big being called Nigeria. We discussed all theories and metaphors that have defined its existence. We remembered that it has always laughed heartily whenever it is praised as a sleeping giant. What manner of giant regales himself in unthinking mirth at the mention of how loud it snores in moments that demand sobriety and vigilance? My friend would rather want us to see the country in the image of a hopeless prince; a 53-year-old fat fool whose main life goal is to eat, fart and drench himself in the bosom of wives of easy virtue.

My friend said we should imagine Nigeria as a prince with a great promise at the beginning. She said we should consider this prince who was the darling and envy of other kingdoms around. Even before his father’s demise, he was already commanding all the good things of life so much that he imagined himself living forever in indolent opulence. My friend called my attention to this prince who inherited everything desirable in life – fertile farmlands, billion dollar real estates. This big prince has never worked in his life and so today, his farmlands of promise are all overgrown with weeds. His rivers which are blessed with best fishes are daily assailed by poachers because this prince can’t see himself fishing. He is too big, too overfed to fish like the commoners around.

Princes worthy of that description hear what is not said. This prince that will roll out the drums tomorrow in celebration of his years of waste is utterly deaf to what the world says about him. He sees himself as a superman. His friends see him as a retarded giant. He watches in inebriated inaction as smart outsiders poach his forest reserves for games and wood. He is satisfied with dry meat fed him by predatory marauders.

Our 53-year-old prince has hordes of children – beautiful and, like their father, insolent, lazy fools. The old fat fool has begotten little fat idiots. The guards feed the kids crumbs from their table and they clap. The guards and their collaborators outside have become richer than the prince. They hold the palace vault, the chest of fortune and even the armoury.

Our prince is a socialite–an air-head– painting cities red with his idiocy. His father and other ancestors groan and agonise in their graves. They shout at his folly but he won’t hear them. He is far too gone in his reprobate ways for his hound to hear the hunter’s call. Because he is too laid back to know what goes on in his farmland, guards and other criminals have invaded his kingdom, turning his forest reserves to hectares of cannabis. They have uprooted his cocoa and palm trees. His rubber plantations have all gone.

He is greedy and covetous in all things-even-in matrimonial matters. But his indolence extends to his bedroom. And so, his chiefs and guards subsidise his inadequacy in that department of his life. His wives do not complain, at least, loudly enough to arouse his lame manhood- ‘Nothing spoil’ are his two words to concerns about the palace soon becoming abode of bastards.

Tomorrow, he is decked head to toe in inherited, golden apparels with old designs in celebration of his 53 years of drunken existence. The city will be red again! Happy birthday, Nigeria.

Monday, 30 September 2013 00:00
Published in Monday Lines
Written by Lasisi Olagunju