They say in Nigeria,
three brothers were born from the same mother
Greed.
One became a politician,
one became a Yahoo boy,
and the last became a man of God.
Different uniforms,
same heart, same stomach,
same long spoon for eating.
The politician will kneel and say,
“My people, I am here to serve you.”
But the only serving he does
is serving himself extra meat from the pot.
The Yahoo boy will call you “baby”
and write you poems sweeter than honey,
until your wallet becomes as empty as a dry river in December.
The pastor will call you “dear child of God”
and read you scriptures with a voice
soft like fresh bread,
then ask you to sow your seed
because, according to him,
God’s bank account is running low.
I remember the old story of the tortoise,
the clever trickster of the forest.
He told the birds, “Let’s feast!”
and changed his name to “All of You.”
When the feast came,
and the food was given to “All of You,”
he ate and ate until his belly looked pregnant.
Now the tortoise wears suits,
sits in air-conditioned offices,
preaches from pulpits,
hacks on laptops,
or waves from the door of a big convoy.
Same tortoise.
Only the shell has changed.
A pastor will say, “My God loves a cheerful giver,”
but his own face looks cheerful only
when your money enters his offering basket.
He will warn you that without your tithe,
your life will be tighter than new shoes.
A politician will say, “Your votes count,”
but what really counts is the way
your taxes feed his fridge.
A Yahoo boy will say, “I will make you queen,”
and by queen, he means queen of debt.
Still, the people clap.
They kneel for Papa,
smile for Mama,
wave at Honourable,
and cheer “Baba for the boys!”
Even when the rice in their pot
can only feed the shadow of a rat.
If you speak the truth,
they will jump on you like okro soup boiling over,
because in their mind,
Papa is God’s cousin,
Honourable is the saviour,
and Yahoo boy is just “hustling.”
In the great Nigerian market,
the politician sells promises,
the Yahoo boy sells fake love,
the man of God sells Heaven’s entrance ticket.
Different stalls,
different salesman clothes,
but every price tag reads:
Your life savings, please.
Greed is the river they all drink from.
And as long as that river flows,
politicians will campaign,
Yahoo boys will inbox,
pastors will prophesy
and the people, smiling in hunger,
will still call them brothers.
In the forest of Nigeria,
three clever hunters roam
one carries a Bible,
one carries a ballot box,
one carries a shiny laptop.
They chase the same animal:
your trust.
And until the day the people
stop dancing to their drums,
these hunters will keep feasting,
while the village keeps getting
smaller, poorer,
and strangely,
more cheerful in its chains.
EBIKABOWEI KEDIKUMO - writes from Ayakoromo Town, Delta State
