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This contribution is an attempt to provide answers to just a few of the oftentimes asinine and absurd assertions and observations that the latter group have made. Some say they warned me and that I have fallen into a trap whilst others say my voice has been silenced, I am a spy and that this signals the end of my political career.

This was what carved a special place of regards in my heart for late Egba-born bard, Sakara music exponent and poet, Kelani Yesufu. Before his very unorthodox thinking, packaged into a line of poetry in his album entitled: “Atosi,” at least among the Yoruba-speaking people of the then Western State, gonorrhoea was an ailment that was believed to afflict only society’s greats. It was why the euphemistic acronym for it was arun gbajumo, translated: disease of the notable.

They call me all sorts of names and employ the worst words in the dictionary to describe me. They say I am clueless. I am brutal and brutish. They say I have no human blood in my veins as if the blood in the beast is different from that in humans.

But lo and behold, the protesters turned a deaf ear to the call for dialogue from the Federal Government and well meaning Nigerians and groups who originally bought into the ideals of the agitations and started shifting the goal post in the middle of the game by coming up with new demands to the authorities, which pointed to the fact that the protest as genuine as it seemed, had now transformed into the Biblical hand of Esau, but the voice of Jacob

I have been a victim of COVID-19 pandemic and have been locked down close to a year. It has been depressing, despairing, limiting, sectioning and discouraging. COVID-19 bounced me off the London social circuit. Places of interests were shut down. Avenues for fun and relaxation became ghost towns. High streets with their colourful, exciting and limitless offerings to the rich and curious closed their shops and threw the keys into River Thames!

Waheed (real name held back because the family will be mourning for a long time) woke up that morning hoping the day would be better than the previous one. His wife was ill, and not getting any better. Another round of injections and the nurse who had been their care-giver called Waheed to go get a new drug at the pharmacy.

Whenever history repeats itself for good, cymbals accompany resounding ovations – like the joy of a soccer cup game win. But, oftentimes when history catches man on the wrong foot, grief trails destruction – like the outstanding incompetence of the retired Major General Muhammadu Buhari’s regime in securing lives and property.