7AM: Saturday, February 19, 2011.
That stupid maid who tucked me in forgot to draw the curtain again. Because of that, the rays of the sun filtering into my room woke me up before the time I intended.
7AM: Saturday, February 19, 2011.
That stupid maid who tucked me in forgot to draw the curtain again. Because of that, the rays of the sun filtering into my room woke me up before the time I intended.
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I tiptoed to Patience’s bedroom and pushed open the interconnecting door a little. Ah, Patience was not in her room. I didn’t know where she was, and frankly, I didn’t care. I could not wait for the week to begin when I will ship her out on her own for the PDP’s women’s rally perambulation. I needed the breathing space every now and then or else she chokes me up in this place. It also gladdened my heart that I won’t be there to hear her drop those grammatical bombs she vomits whenever she speaks. When the clip of her video at the PDP women’s rally appears on NTA, I will ask Apama to mute the TV.
I took off my night robe and stretched my body. I patted my right shoulder where I have been feeling a tingling pain. My doctor kept saying that it is from the stress of the job. I will get it checked out by real doctors when next I travel to America.
I lifted the mattress and grabbed this diary Apama bought for me last year after I told him that I heard that Obama was keeping a diary and I would want to do the same. I picked a pen from the nightstand and walked into the inbuilt toilet. I sat on the commode and began to write.
Here are the reasons why I have decided to keep a diary.
It is probably the only book I will ever write. Don’t even think of my PhD thesis. Have you read that copy and paste crap? If after going back to school, I later decide to write my memoir, this diary will be a first draft.
I intend to be blunt in this diary. It means that my contemporaries, especially members of my PDP family, will hate it. But my grandchildren will cherish it. So will historians.
I bet you that no other Nigerian president has ever kept a diary. In fact, many of them can hardly read or write. So, here, I will be the first.
When this is all over, my diary will tell my own side of the story – in my own words. It will be fresh because it is written as the story unfolds.
I tell you, I do not trust most of these people around me. I find myself weighing what I say to different people. But this diary will be a loyal friend who listens to me without passing judgment.
Even though I intend to hide this diary in a secured place, I do not have complete confidence that it will not be discovered by one of these snoopy house maids. I don’t want its content splashed on the pages of a newspaper. So in many sensitive cases, I will use code names to depict people. For instance, instead of naming the man who called me a drunken fisherman whose boat is about to capsize by his name, I will call him the Lagos Goof. And instead of calling the Evil Genius by his name, I will call him the Hilltop Crook. Historians will be able to understand the person I’m referring to based on the context.
Sunday, February 20, 2011.
Oh lord, what was Omotala wearing at the Oscar awards? Genevieve will not wear something that sloppy. Awful. If she needed clothing allowance or transport money, she should have contacted Apama.
It may interest you to know that I now drink Dom Romane Conti. I used to drink Château latour Pauillac but I have upgraded to this red Burgundy from France. Its rich aroma smells of wild spices and cooked leather. It penetrates the bones. It is a vintage brew with an exquisite color that wakes the heart of any man. Its spectacular charm is in its continuing maturity even as it slides leisurely down your throat. It makes the mouth feel luxurious. Once it touches your taste bud, it infuses elegance to your shine. It elicits a passionate draw for good life in those who know its value. You can distinguish it from other cheap wines by its sumptuous aftertaste that erases the memory of any other wine you ever drank. Its opulent flavor magnates women the way hibiscus nectar magnates bees. It is the most magnificent experience of this life.
Patience took off for the PDP Women’s rally across the country. With Patience out of the way, I had Ugandan discussions at the Guest House. Delicious! I’m following in the footstep of our Greatest Living Leader, father of Modern Nigeria.
Monday, February 21, 2011.
I told the crowd that gathered in Lokoja for the launch of our campaign that Namadi and I did not go into politics to make money. I don’t think they believed me. But I have to keep repeating it. The good thing is that Nigerians do not know how things work over here. If they know how much money I am given as Security Vote, they will occupy Eagle Square until everyone in the National Assembly resigns.
Out of the twenty candidates running against me, I’m the only one who has met Barack Obama. That should count for something.
Laurent Gbagbo is one lucky bastard. He owes Ben Ali, Hosni Mubarak, and Col. Gadhafi big time. These men gave Gbagbo a break from the media.
Reading comments of Nigerians online, I feel very sorry for Omotala. She now knows how I felt when Nigerians descended on me with their criticisms after my first visit to Washington.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011.
If I ever get the person who leaked to the newspapers what transpired at my secret meeting with Ciroma on Saturday, I will show him pepper. I know walls have ears in Abuja, but I cannot let that to continue. The state must have some secrets. We may have to slap someone’s eyeball out of its socket and let the fowl eat it before everyone here knows that I am serious about secrecy.
The Emir of Ilorin gave me the title, Omoluwabi. Apama reminded me of the meaning of the title some minutes ago but I have forgotten again. I don’t know why they give these useless awards and titles, anyway. I bet you that Mubarak received numerous titles from his people.
I ordered a fish tank. I want something to look at that won’t be looking back at me.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011.
I was in Minna, Niger State, on campaign. I said that IBB is like a father to me. I don’t know why people got upset over that. What do they want me to say? Do they want me to come to Minna and say that Babangida is a crook? I’m smarter than that. I was told he travelled out of the country. My guess is that he is avoiding me. Or maybe he went to Egypt to see what damages his properties sustained in the revolution. If he gave some money to Hosni Mubarak to keep for him, well, he is out of luck. Oh, talking about money, I watched the Youtube clip of Tunisia’s Ben Ali’s treasures. Men, now that is money- stinking money. After watching it, Apama told me to keep saying to Nigerians that I am not in politics to make money. I asked Patience to come and see the clip too. After her initial ‘sime-sime’, she reluctantly came. She is so allergic to technology that she confuses the computer mouse with a hand grenade. I don’t want her to disgrace me. Women’s desire for jewelry is endless. Patience’s own is empirically infinite. I begged her to make arrangements to take some of her jewelry to her sister’s husband’s home in their village. I suggested that she built a fake air-conditioned cesspool to hide them there until 2020. With all these troubles in the world, she may not have enough time to clear her stuff here if trouble comes. In fact, she will need two or three empty 911 lorries to carry her clothes alone.
Thursday, February 24, 2011.
I called Hajia Inna Ciroma, our Amazon woman. I thanked her for saying to the world that her husband, Mallam Adamu Ciroma, will vote for me. I know that the man is just making shakara. Who will he vote for, if not for me? Buhari? That one will chase the likes of Ciroma out of the country. Is it Ribadu? I know the game. They want to save face and I am going to help them. But I tell you, they have no where to run to.
I just have to remember to keep telling the people of Nigeria that I have no pact with anyone. If only they know what it takes to be a politician in this country! Some politicians bury live cows to stay in the game. Some sign pacts with the devil, using their own blood. And people panic when they hear that I might sign a pact with the Ciroma group. I mean, worse things happen here. What do people think made Nuhu Ribadu to recant his tale about Patience’s little problem with the EFCC? The way files disappear is the same way pacts melt away.
I’m in a state of discomfort and confusion over my media group. I think we are not getting the worth of the money we spend. The other side is still winning the media war. Apama said he would correct that last week but nothing has changed, especially online. If not that I am called the Facebook president, I won’t bother to go online. In fact, since Apama cancelled my subscription for Saharareporters, my blood pressure has come down. I know most of those disgruntled Nigerians making noise online are not registered to vote, anyway. But I’m tired of answering questions from the American and British ambassadors that are obviously influenced by the things they read online. I don’t care about the intercontinental ballistic missiles Nigerians throw at me. I just don’t want to become a caricature. I can live with being an embarrassment to all those who have a PhD, but I’m not a cartoon.
Friday, February 25, 2011.
Yesterday in Owerri, I found myself admiring our able governor, Ohakim. We come from parallel universes. The man has no shame. If I were him, I won’t be coming out in public. Whenever I see him, I remember that Youtube video of him at the shrine. Oh, wait a minute. That was the other governor, Theodore Orji. I mix the two up sometimes. One is caning his critics in the government house and the other is swearing oaths at a shrine. What can I say? These Igbo people sef! Anyway, Ohakim said that we must campaign just to fulfill all righteousness. As far as he is concerned, I have no opposition in Imo State. I don’t know where these people find the confidence they exhibit. The numbers of people who come to our rallies have not impressed me. Even after we started inducing crowds, people are still not excited about our campaign. Ohakim is right. Politics is not played on the pages of the newspapers. That is exactly what Tony Anenih said when he called me today. He wanted to make sure that I was not serious when I said that nobody should rig elections for me. That old bastard laughed mischievously, “I’m just checking,” he said. “Because I’ve got the check.” Bastard!
The good news is that the billionaires are lining up behind our campaign. Their politics is simple- you give them a human head and they give you a human head in return.
I updated my Facebook status with a piece advertizing my love for Nigeria. Comments started to fly in from hundreds of Nigerians. These commentators can be divided into two- those who want something from me and those who hate everything about me. At one point, I stopped reading the rubbish. I found peace planting eggplants at my Farmville. If you ask me, Facebook needs a river where I can fish once in a while.
Saturday, February 26, 2011.
Why was Patience playing Bumper to Bumper at 2 am in the morning?
I wish Patience is as confident and articulate as Hajia Ciroma. If she was, she won’t need to make people notice her with garagara all the time. The one she displayed this morning surprised even her staunch defender, Kabaka. I guess you cannot have it all. My Goodluck does not extend to my choice of wife.
The National Security Adviser told me that a Niger Delta activist was picked up by the Dutch police. I don’t like the way he looked at me as if I am a closet Niger-Delta activist in Aso Rock. He made me feel like Obama in the presence of those who think he is a Muslim. The guy I understood was planning to come home to start a revolution in the Niger Delta. The only question I asked was whether he had planned to set himself on fire. I was told no. I said he was not serious.
I received a delegation of foreign contractors interested in doing business in Nigeria. After the meeting, when they started dropping their gifts, I understood how Ben Ali came to acquire all the treasures in his palace.
Immediately after they left, I instructed Apama to get my sister’s husband to build a fake air-conditioned cesspool in his village.
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