Step aside, dear reader as Abuja’s carpet glows. Not just with senators’ shoes, but with fashion shows. The hallowed chamber, where laws should be born now hums with agbadas stitched, designer-worn. Numbers clash like cymbals; boom, bang, boom! In the National Assembly’s echoing room.
Ah, our senators forget the bills and cries,
notice their caps tilt sideways, agbada flies.
Camera flashes at the Naija Vogue reborn,
while citizens mutter, “our pockets are torn.” One hand signs laws, and the other signs checks as their agbada sways, yet wrecks. Trillions signed, then the questions arise: “Where’s the bread, oga? Why still no rice?”
Down in the lawmakers’ chamber’s hot debate, Tinubu’s tax reforms swing at a Northern gate. Governors from Borno and Bauchi cry foul, saying “derivation not inclusion,” in a regional howl. However, the President stands firm in his posture steady as a rock: “No switchbacks now, this policy is here to lock down my ideology.”
Tinubu waves reforms like a wand of gold, but subsidy ghosts still haunt the fold. The citizens queue with their pockets torn and thin, praying for relief where hunger’s been. The people dance unwillingly in this costly show, whose orchestra conductor is known.
The market is like a carnival, tomatoes still in disguise. Yesterday ₦500, today it climbs to the skies. Kerosene whispers, “I’m luxury now.” Even onions strut proudly, wearing a crown. Bankers sip tea, speaking English smoothly, while market women exclaim; “Where is the truth?”
Oh, Nigeria, the land of drums and dreams,
Your politics revolution in dazzling streams.
But remember this, no agbada, crown, or purse can silence a people when hunger grows worse. From the markets to mosques, from the creeks to the Dome, the nation still cries: “Make Nigeria home.”
✍🏽 William Z. Bozimo
Veteran Journalist | Columnist | National Memory Keeper
No comments:
Post a Comment