Okorocha, the Proposed LG Polls and Imolites

OKOROCHA, THE PROPOSED LG POLLS AND IMOLITES

        

The last time I checked, another period had been scheduled for the long awaited local government elections in Imo State by the state governor, Chief Rochas Okorocha. According to the disclosure, the expected period is now between September and October 2017 as against the earlier proposed period that entailed January 2017.

       

The governor disclosed this during his warmth interaction with all the practising journalists in the state penultimate week – precisely on Monday 10^th April 2017 – at the Nigerian Union of Journalists (NUJ) Press Centre situated at Port-Harcourt Road, Owerri. The information therein reportedly brought a fresh anxiety among the well-meaning individuals, particularly Imolites, in the midst of the teeming professionals. It suffices to say that the members of the gathering were filled with mixed feelings.

        

It is not anymore news that Imolites had since the emergence of Chief Okorocha as the governor of the Eastern Heartland in 2011, been anticipating the emergence of elections that would usher in substantive chairmen of the existing twenty-seven (27) Local Government Areas (LGAs) in the state. Though frantic pledges had been made in that regard, the situation keeps introducing a mirage unabated as the odyssey progresses. The immediate past governor of the state, Chief Ikedi Ohakim came up with what could be best described as a ‘façade’ in the name of LG polls.

        

It’s noteworthy that it is not only in Imo that such scenario is witnessed. To the best of my knowledge as well as that of those who are keenly concerned over the uncalled tradition, countless states across the length and breadths of the federation are harbouring the anomaly. In some of them, Local Government (LG) bosses are known and addressed as ‘Sole Administrators’ whilst some go by the name ‘Transition Committee (TC) Chairmen’. Several Nigerians, especially true activists, have been deeply and sincerely troubled over the issue that is seriously telling on the country’s polity at large.

        

Among the three constitutionally recognized tiers of governments in Nigeria, the LG system remains the only one that touches the grassroots directly. And, we are not unaware that if the grassroots are sidelined while discussing issues bordering on governance, the deliberation would definitely end up yielding virtually nothing in the long run. This is so, because it is only the LG that can provide the painstaking list of the names of all the electorate, both alive and dead, in any locality.  

        

The LG is the voice of the people; it is the avenue through which the masses reach the umbrella government; it is the only tier of government that can hear directly from the electorate; it is the means through which the people can cry and their tears would get instantly to the doorstep of the individuals at the helm of affairs; it remains the sole platform on which the masses can stand and they would be seen by everyone in all nooks and crannies. Hence, it’s a system that cannot be easily relegated to the background, or swept under the carpet, if the needful must be referred to.

         

To this end, if the truth needs to be told, from my candid point of view, the long-awaited LG polls are the only debt the Rescue Mission Administration ably led by Governor Okorocha, owes the teeming Imolites. Payment of the said debt remains inevitable owing to its exemplary nature. It’s a debt that is meant to be paid by the government if everything must be gotten rightly.

        

The governor has succeeded in proving to Imolites beyond reasonable doubts that he is a compassionate leader; he has equally proven beyond doubts that he possesses a great passion for education, which remains the bedrock of any anticipated societal uplift. Thus, what is left of his person to showcase in the state is true and thorough democracy.  A democratic setting cannot be said to be complete if the LG system is not taken seriously. Needless to state that it’s high time the amiable and highly revered governor concluded every bit of his lofty motive for the overall people of the state.

        

Now that a new period has been announced for the polls in question, although no specific date yet, let’s assume no period was previously scheduled for the exercise; hence, I urge Imolites to remain hopeful, and prayerful too, till the needful is duly done. Inter alia, we are expected, either individually or collectively, to continually remind the governor on the promise he made not just to Imolites, but the entire world. Our concern at the moment ought to lie on how to put our acts together towards witnessing hitch-free and credible elections come September cum October 2017. As the popular Igbo adage would say, ‘Osita di nma, ekele chukwu’.

         

On his part, I enjoin His Excellency to take this mandate very seriously so that no inconsequential story would be told when the awaited era eventually arrived. Imolites do not apparently need stories, either long or short, any more; rather, desperately in need of manifestation of that executive pledge tendered by the people’s governor on that fateful sunny day.

         

Owelle has obviously done well, but he must acknowledge that the continued postponement of the LG polls is making his well-celebrated administration seem not unlike a paradox. In view of this frank assertion, it’s therefore needless to reiterate that the time to act is now. Think about it!

Comrade FDN Nwaozor

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ShortStory I Broken Jinx (II)

BROKEN JINX (II)

        As Chima Okere, who left Calabar, Cross River State for Abia State that Saturday evening to check on his old mum Madam Ndozi, walked into his family’s lounge, he observed without much ado that the woman in question had been in sorrowful mood considering the look on her aged face; her countenance was pale and moody as her shoulders were calmly held by Emeka. “Mama, what is it?” he inquired, standing by the entrance.

        There was absolute tranquility all over.

        Chima walked closer to them. “Mama..?” he dished out.

       “My son.” she said. “You are welcome.”

       “I said, what is it?” He reiterated, ignoring her welcome note.

       “Ask your brother.” she answered, pointing at Emeka.

       “Emeka, what is the problem?” he said, stood still, not minding to include any mark of respect in the name.

        He was the fourth child of the parents; in order words, Emeka deserved some respect from him. Though he used to address him as ‘Brother Emeka’, it seemed he found no need of observing any protocol.

       “Won’t you sit down?” Emeka urged tenderly.

        He managed to sit on one of the single upholstery chairs sited directly opposite them. “So, what is wrong?” he insisted, looking perturbed in his brownish caftan.

        “I don’t know why mama is disturbing herself unnecessarily.” quoth Emeka.

        “Disturbing herself?” Chima enquired.

        “Yes,” replied Emeka. “She keeps saying, get married, get married as if marriage is all and all.”

       “My son,” Madam Ndozi interrupted, fixing her eyes on Chima. “That is not even the issue.”

        Chima was calm, remained attentive.

       “He said he wants to travel abroad again.” She eventually notified.

        The information abruptly changed Chima’s mood. While looking at him, you needn’t be told that things were no longer at ease; he instantly frowned and got his eyes fixed on his elder brother as if his mother just announced that he (Emeka) was his rival.

        “Why are you looking at me that way?” Emeka broke the silence.

        “Why have you decided to bring shame upon this family?” Chima uttered unequivocally.

        “How dare you address me in such manner?”

        “How else did you expect me to address you?”

        “It’s okay, it’s okay.” The septuagenarian mediated.

        “Mama, let me tell this man here who he is,” said Chima. “Let me inform him that he had caused us enormous pains already since he is yet to know.”

        Emeka furiously stood up. “I can see you don’t have any respect for your elder brother again.” He asserted.

       “Elder brother my foot.” Chima responded, equally stood up.

       “I said, it’s okay.” Madam Ndozi shouted.

        Despite the old woman’s effort to avoid the foreseen fire, one thing led to another, within a twinkle of an eye a serious fight ensued between the two brothers. In the process, their mother contracted a cardiac arrest and therein gave up the ghost. Chima, on his part, sustained a severe cut and was rushed to a nearby hospital with the help of Emeka and other relatives who dashed to the compound on hearing the pandemonium.

        “Where am I?” Chima enquired right from the hospital bed the moment he regained consciousness at about 8:45pm.

         Beside him were Emeka and a few of his relatives.

        “You are in the hospital.” Emeka replied.

        “Why?” he said. “What happened?” he added, paused. “Where is mama.” He supplemented in a jiffy.

        “Don’t worry,” one of the sympathizers enjoined. “You will be fine okay?” He said just to divert his attention from the finding regarding his mother’s whereabouts.

        There and behold at about 9:15pm, his beloved wife – Chiamaka – who came all the way from Calabar on hearing the incident, walked into the hospital room only to see his hubby surrounded by both familiar and strange faces. “What happened to him?” she inquired as soon as she got to Chima, looked bemused.

        “My wife, calm down okay?” one of the kinsmen conscientized.

        On hearing the voice, Chima looked up, saw Chiamaka and became so pleased and relieved.

        She became sparingly calm, rolling her palms on Chima’s entire body while taking her time to observe each of the men present in the room. Before she could finish with the observation, she got profusely shocked on catching the sight of Emeka; his facial outlook appeared to her like that of a monster. “Oh my…God..,!”” she screamed.

       “What is wrong?” Everyone, including Emeka, chorused.

        The intriguing aspect of the said observation was that Emeka had once raped Chiamaka sometime in the past when she was still a maiden. The incident occurred when the former was yet to leave Nigeria for Germany; he had really lived a dirty life before he travelled abroad. The ungodly act, carried out in the company of his fellow gangsters, took place in an uncompleted building situated in one of the rural localities in the state.

        Since Emeka was deported, he was yet to meet with Chiamaka who had been indisposed, and the latter couldn’t notice him via pictures among other photographic materials ever since she got married to Chima.

        “What is wrong, dear.” Chima managed to utter.

        “I know this man.” She said, cruelly pointing at Emeka.

        “That is Emeka, my elder brother,” informed Chima. “The one who returned from Germany.”

        “He was the man who raped me,” she revealed strongly. “You remember the incident I told you about?”

          Chima nodded, remained attentive.

         “This your so called brother here is the monster behind it.”

         “What…?” Chima shouted at the top of his voice.

           Everyone was trapped to the ground. Emeka, on his part, could best be described as a ‘living corpse’. He never saw it coming; the funniest part was that he never recollected Chiamaka as one of the ladies he had in his net. 

          The revelation indicated that Emeka was truly under a spell as his late mother presumed. The aforementioned victim had vowed that whosoever that was involved in the act would never see peace in his life for eternity. The unfortunate event which occurred about seven years back had remained a nightmare in her entire life, thus she kept renewing the spell every moment she recalled it.

        After all said and done, she was left with no option than to forgive him having received countless pleas in that regard, including those of Emeka who eventually embraced remorse and repentance.

        Few months later, Emeka retraced his steps to Europe; this time, he chose Italy. Within some months stay in the country, he became transformed financially and otherwise. But it was so painful his poor parents never lived up to that moment; although he finally made it, the thought of the fact that he contributed to their demise kept witch-hunting his person.

** The End **

FDN Nwaozor

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ShortStory I Broken Jinx

BROKEN JINX

       Life had been so miserable for Mr. Emeka Okere who was repatriated from Germany a couple of weeks back. His almost five-year stay in the said country was summarily a waste, to assert the least. While in the country, he could obtain not even a pin owing to his uncalled lifestyle; he was so randy, and a drug addict to the core. Ever since he returned Nigeria, precisely Mbaohia in Abia State – his ancestral home –, he had remained restless and mesmerized; the only thing he returned with was the earring he usually wore on the left side.

        He kept roaming from one locality to another confusedly as he earnestly wished Nigerian diplomatic ties with Germany would forgive him of his past sins towards conveying him back to the latter. He was accused of theft, thus rather than prosecuting him, the concerned authority chose to retrace his steps back to Nigeria as that would be the only way the revered European nation would be freed from individuals of his like. In spite of the untold misfortune that befell him, at the moment, all he could think of was how he would return abroad and continue with his rascality; hence, the reality was apparently yet to dawn on his person.

        Being the first born of his parents, everyone initially hoped on him not until sometime ago when they got the news of his unbecoming behaviour in overseas. It suffices to say that his abrupt deportation was absorbed as a welcome development by his siblings and kinsmen – particularly his aged mother – Madam Ndozi Okere, 76, who joined the widowhood fraternity about two years back when he was still in Germany. They saw the repatriation as a golden opportunity to persuade the 45-year-old dude who wasn’t privileged to witness his late father’s burial ceremony, perhaps owing to lack of Permanent Residency Permit, to at least pick a marriageable lady in the village and settle down. On the contrary, Emeka was thinking differently from their kind and candid plans that they became of the view that the ostensibly good-for-nothing man was under a spell.

       “Emeka, my son.” his mum, Madam Ndozi called.

       “Yes mama.”

       They were both seated adjacent to each other in separate settees in the family’s lounge at about 5:32pm on Saturday. The septuagenarian wore a single multi-coloured wrapper, grey top and low-cut hairs, whilst the dude who seemed not unlike a docked culprit was clad in brown three-quarter jeans, black T-shirt, plaited hairs and of course his earring as usual. The irony of their outlook was that the hairs of the woman were cut low while those of a man were plaited.

       “Why are you doing this to yourself?” the septuagenarian continued.

       “What mama?”

        The old widow shook her head. “At 45,” she said. “Look at what you are doing to yourself.” She added, gesticulating.

        “I don’t understand you, mama.” he reiterated in false pretence. “What exactly are you talking about?”

        “I can see you are sick.” She observed. “I mean, very sick.”

        “Me, sick..?”

        “Will you shout up,” she quarreled. “Are you looking normal?”

        “So, how do I look?”

        “Your two younger brothers are happily married with kids.” She enthused frankly. “And they are doing very well.”

        “So?”

        “Is that all you could say?” quoth Madam Ndozi, surprised. “So Emeka, that is all you could say?” she reiterated amid intense fury.

       “And what did you expect me to say?” he said. “Or, I should start crying because my younger ones are all married and are doing well?”

        She shook her head again sympathetically. “Whosoever that did this to you will never see peace in his life.” she cursed.

        “Mama, I am okay.” claimed Emeka. “Stop bothering yourself.”

        “You are okay like this?” she said, gesticulating.

        “As you can see,” he insisted, spreading his hands. “I am perfectly okay.”

        “My son,” quoth Ndozi. “What I can see in you is nothing but doom.”

         He was speechless and calm, became uneasy.

        “You really need deliverance.” she presumed. “That is the only way you can free yourself from this mess.”

        She just hit the nail on the head. Apparently, his son Emeka was deeply in need of rebirth towards overcoming the seemingly fathomless quagmire that beclouded his person. He needed not a soothsayer to come up with such a suggestion before he could have a rethink, yet it appeared his old mother was speaking in tongue right before him.

       “What kind of deliverance are you talking about?” quoth Emeka, frowning. “Do I look abnormal?”

       “You look crazy and rejected, if you don’t know.” She ranted unequivocally.

       “Meaning?” he said. “How?”

        Madam Ndozi was silent. “My dear,” she called tenderly, gushed out tears. “Your father died because of you.” She informed amidst the choking sobs.

        “Died because of me?” he echoed, got flushed.

        “Yes.” quoth Madam Ndozi. “After he learnt of your unruly behavior in Germany, he fell sick.” she clarified, paused. “And he didn’t recover from that sickness.”

        Emeka became sober, shocked over the information. “Are you sure of what you are saying?”

       “Am I sure?” she quarreled as she gasped for air. “I am telling you what happened in your absence, you are asking if I am sure.”

       “Is okay, mama.” He enjoined, walked toward and began to console her.

        She was seemingly pleased by his gesture. She never knew he could still be kindhearted despite his weird transformation, social wise. “It is not okay, Emeka.” she argued. “It would be okay when you agree to get married and live like a responsible man.”

        “Mama, that is not my major plan right now.” He frankly notified as he was seated in the same settee with her.

       “Not your major plan?” she verified. “Did I hear you right?”

       “Yes.” He clarified, looking elsewhere.

       “So, what’s your major plan?”

        There was absolute silence. “I want to go back to Europe.” He broke the brief silence.

        “Go back to where..?”

        “Europe, mama.”

       “If you try it, I will kill myself for you.” She shouted at the top of her voice.

       “Mama, mama…” he urged calmly.

       “Don’t mama me ooh..” she said. “I can’t be a mother to someone who doesn’t know his left from right.”

        Before she could finish the last sentence, one of her sons – Chima – who lived in Calabar, Cross-River State walked in unannounced. It seemed he took them unawares.

        What transpired afterwards ought to be a story for another episode, so stay tuned.

FDN NWAOZOR

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