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We say we are headed for the next level, no bi so? The question I want to ask is: can we get there without being happy, without appointing someone to be in charge of happiness like Rochas Okorocha once did in Imo State and is still insisting that should be done under the government of Chief Emeka Ihedioha?
I mean, how can my own Presido send the list of ministerial nominees without remembering to include my name? Dis one pass me o like boarding pass. I mean, dis one dey somehow o! Let’s stop deceiving ourselves: we need happiness in this country. Let those who agree with me say, “Eye.” Let those who disagree say, “Nose.” Thank you very much, the Eyes have it!
If you are doubting whether we need happiness in this country or not, ask the Alaafin of Oyo and the Ooni of Ife. Those are the only oracles I consult when things start turning topsy-turvy. Those are the only ones who care. Those are the only ones who know how much we need peace, unity and happiness in this country. Others are either pursuing herds of cattle or else arguing about the pros and cons of Ruga settlement.
The mad man said he would not say anything to the people that he saw walking around him with machete or cutlass in their hands until he looks for his head and discovers that it is no longer sitting on his neck or shoulder!
Oh yes, like Okorocha had always argued, we need the Ministry of Happiness in this country and I can’t imagine anybody more qualified to be put there than me. I say so because I can’t count on my fingers the number of those who had either called or sent a text message to say how happy they are reading this column every Saturday. They said I make people laugh in the climate or atmosphere of gloom. They wonder how I manage to do it.
Ah, that’s very easy, before I ever put pen to the paper, I always play Adewale Ayuba’s “We are happy people; we make you happy.” And, as I do so, you would see everything around me dancing: my pen, my paper, my computer, my laptop, my desktop, my eyes, my ears, my mouth, my legs, my small and large intestines, my arms, my nose, my abuna, my bolokos. I mean, my everything. As a matter of fact, that song is my own ganja, my own marijuana, my akpeteshi, tikana, aromatic schnapps, my own igbo. Call it by whatever name you like, but that’s what gives me the kick to churn out those rib-cracking articles.
We need the Ministry of Happiness. Ask Rochas Okorocha. I learnt that the moment he appointed his sister into the ministry in Imo State, everything changed overnight. Imo people turned up as the happiest people on earth as they started beaming with smiles everywhere they went. They flashed their smiles while they were being paid only three quarters of their monthly salary. They smiled at the statues that filled the Owerri metropolitan landscape but many of them refused to smile back because from what I heard they were angry with Okorocha for erecting them and leaving them to die of hunger. Ordinary chicken, he couldn’t kill to appease them.
So, I hear that the moment Okorocha finished creating the ministry of happiness everybody in Imo State, home and abroad, became happy. And since then, in every home, there has been happiness. And, I want to use this opportunity to appeal to Ihedioha that what Okorocha has put together in the name of happiness, let nobody put anaconda (asunder?).
Since the President is mandated to appoint ministers from each state of the federation, what state would people say I am representing, should I be appointed? Is that your question? If so, here is the answer: state of sadness. Someone suggested that since my name sounds feminine or womanish maybe all I need to do is to add Mrs or Dr Mrs to it and send it across to Buhari through Aisha his wife and pronto, I could be sure of being the 44th name. And, if that does not work, then I should nudge the President to start thinking of coming up with a supplementary list of ministers because to enter the Next Level without any ministry being carved out for happiness and enjoyment, would be very strange indeed. You know, in Nigeria, all things are possible. But the idea of a man like me putting a Mrs or Dr Mrs behind his name just because I want to get a ministerial posting would be a novel one indeed.
Imagine what it would look like to get to the National Assembly for the usual oral screening and rather than someone asking me to take a bow, he notices that instead of a Mrs somebody showing up, it is a Mr. Imagine what embarrassment that would cause. I can imagine distinguished senators taking a second look at the name before them, rubbing their eyes several times to be sure that they are not seeing double, then putting their heads together in whispers to know how to handle the unfolding drama or the spectre standing before them. I can imagine one of them shooting the first question: “Em, we are a bit confused here, maybe you can help to explain the mix-up for us.”
Me: Ok sir
Senator: Your name has a Mrs attached to it and the name, from what we learnt usually belongs to a woman, not a man. How come, it is a man rather than a woman that is standing before us?
Me: It’s called American wonder, distinguished senators. The first impression I want to correct here is that that name does not belong to a woman or a man. It is unisex, so no sex should claim its ownership.
Senator: How do you mean? We hear that only females or women answer that name in Igbo land? So stop pulling wool over our eyes.
Me: I am not trying to pull any wool over your eyes, distinguished senators. If you are correct, where do you place Chika Okpala, otherwise known as Zebrudaya Okoroigwe Nwogbo, alias 4.30, Palmwine Powerless? Where do you place Chika Emerenwa, formerly of Radio Nigeria? Where do you place Chika Mbonu, former Managing Director of Citizens Bank? Where do you place Chika Onwudiegwu, formerly of Daily Times, and later, Personal Assistant to Lt. Gen. Oladipo Diya (retd)? Where do you place Chief Chika Alex Okafor of Chicason Group of Companies? Do you still want me to continue?
Senator: No. You’ve given enough examples. You may take a bow.
Me: Thank you, distinguished senators. My hands dey up o.
