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The 2019 presidential election is around the corner. To me, I have not seen much difference, in terms of preparations and campaigns when compared to the 2015 elections, the last presidential election that was mainly between Goodluck Jonathan and Muhammadu Buhari, that unforgettable election that brought us nothing good except that the loser accepted defeat without any bloody crisis.
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I just can’t forget that election. I laid down on my bed last night and thought of the 2015 elections and all that came with it. I remembered how the election drew so much attention, confrontation, and division amongst persons of diverse opinions. On the internet, debates easily turn into ‘e-quarrels’ that result in the most unimaginable insults.
I giggled as I recalled a particular discussion online where a Buhari supporter replied to a bold-text post of one GEJ’s supporter thus: “Thanks for putting your stupidity in bold lettering”. I thought that was a sucker punch but was stunned when the GEJ’s supporter replied with this: “I can see that it is because of people like you that it was said that this generation is a wasted generation. I am not surprised at your choice of leadership for Nigeria because it is clear that you have a 72-year old, malfunctioning brain in your 30-year old skull.
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Even in offices, schools, beer joints and other public places discussions and debates concerning the election were not different in terms of the level of confrontations and discourtesy that ensued, hurting conviviality and camaraderie among people.
While people were polarized as a result of who they thought would be the right person for the presidential seat, some persons didn’t care about the election or even its outcome. They believed that their inputs would have no bearing on the election outcomes which in turn would have no bearing on their living standards. With such people, when asked who was the ideal candidate, they tell you, “abeg, na dem dem.”
My brain did not fail me in remembering how I tried to engage one cobbler (an Aboki) in a discussion with respect to the presidential election. He suddenly got furious like a man with a demonic whitlow and retorted, “me sef I wan be am for president, haba! ” and then hissed. That he was tired of voting is not a unique problem but that he “himself” wanted to be voted for to become the president shows how hopeless the condition was. I quickly changed the topic before he would start convincing me to vote for him in the next presidential election. Different tales for different folks.
I recalled all that happened then, especially the happenings during what was called campaigns. In that mad cacophony called election campaigns, you hardly get any satisfactory answer to real issues. It was all like a story told by a group of mad men. If you must vote, it must be either APC’s Buhari or PDP’s Jonathan. No other party or candidate counted. They may have added to the number of parties that took up so much space on an unnecessarily long ballot paper but were no more than spectators of the election. Quite sad.
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I remembered the many accusations, counter-accusations, attacks and defenses made by both the APC and the PDP. In my retrospection, I smiled as I remembered how supporters of GEJ constantly struggled to counter the opposition’s claims of inefficiencies and corruption in Jonathan’s administration, making him unfit to get another term. My smile widened as I recalled how Buharists kept struggling to defend themselves each time PDPs raised issues of Buhari’s unforgivable past, claiming he was one of the worst military dictator Nigeria ever had and totally unqualified to head any public office in a sane democratic setting.
I just kept smiling as I remembered one thing or the other: the drama and the confrontations; the gibble-gabble and the jabber; the expression of hope of a better day, and the firm and cruel denigration of that hope afterward; the idiotic supporters and the not-so-idiotic supporters who kept clapping in support of the idiotic supporters.
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I remembered Buhari in his suit and other traditional attires that apparently were made specifically for his campaigns just like a new product that must appeal to customers. I even remembered Asari, Obasanjo and Jega. I smiled even more as my mind’s eyes saw the former first lady, Mrs. Dame campaigning with all her women supporters on stage. Truly, there was a First Lady!
I remembered my neighbour’s aunty who was advised not to listen to Nigerian politicians and that their insanity could infect hearts and lives while they carry the disease and live healthier and wealthier. She didn’t heed to the advice: she wanted to hear what each party had to offer so that she could cast her vote. On the day of the election, she was so confused that she ended up wearing APC t-shirt and PDP wrapper and the voting machine eventually ‘rejected’ her vote. Real confusion!
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I kept smiling as my mind moved from one incident to the other. My flashback all through was more like a political satire full of comics and I was enjoying myself until I remembered Orubebe. Immediately his thought came, like a car making an abrupt stop and a U-turn, my smile turned into anger and then into fury. Why and what a man! I wondered how he explained to his children what he did: solely protesting election results sitting on a bare floor on national TV. Gosh! This guy’s memory just spoilt my night.
Still in my fury, I slept off.
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