Our Man: Lagos’ Accidental Public Servant

Posted by admin Headlines, Lagos, State News Monday, November 9th, 2015

Our Man: Lagos’ Accidental Public Servant

The problem with things that glittered, Our Man realized, was that they often had the nasty habit of not being gold. If he was a computer programmer (which he wasn’t, thank God), he would have absolutely loathed the word ‘back end’ by now. Because back-end was where the stress was, that non-visible part of the entire framework that combined with the visual aesthetics of the front-end to produce the overall platform.

Holy Christ. Back-end is government.

Nobody ever saw government. Everyone acknowledged the government; some ethereal entity that wafted across the streets, slamming taxes on our faces and neglecting to fix the potholes – even though people continue to die from the atrociousness of it all. We sigh and bow our heads in reverence when government says, hey, you can no longer walk the streets freely unless you carry an tax ID card, a payment that you are required as a citizen to dole out (without complaining; smile, dammit!) but as soon as talks of healthcare come up, government becomes hastily invisible.

Visit a beer parlour. Any beer parlour. There will be men with potbellies, quite similar to Our Man’s, angrily denouncing or supporting the government. On a good night, both opposing factions are evenly matched. People, going to war on behalf of the unseen and damn near contrived government. If you wouldn’t be accused of blasphemy, you might agree that government is beginning to sound, feel, and behave like God.

But Our Man trolls the streets at night, with his band of ample-bellied gun-toters, standing between them like a mellow scarab beetle with a degree and an invisible turtleneck. He scratches his jaw when no one is looking, then realizes jaw-touching is reminiscent of the GEJ pose, so he hastily withdraws his hand (fearing that the Jagaban might misconstrue the post as being apologetic to the PDP.)

Our Man has no clue how the state works. If you press this button what happens? He asks in his head. Imagine his dismay when he got to the seat of power and discovered it wasn’t an actual seat in front of a control room with conveniently color-coded buttons (blue for Good, red for the Eko don dey baje). How Fashola come take dey do am sef?

The crime rate just shot up out of nowhere and Our Man took a burst of selfies to quell his anxiety. The funny thing is that he didn’t even want to be governor! But nobody knew, of course. Not even Jagaban. He remembers the day he unwittingly agreed to run like it was yesterday.

It was at an owambe for one of these House of Reps people. Our Man forgets the name. They all look alike, to be honest: power-hungry skinny men hell-bent on being as naturally rotund as Our Man. Our man had gotten bored midway with all the talk of ‘constituencies’ and ‘electoral game plan,’ so he excused himself to go do what he knew to do best.

Finding a sleek bathroom somewhere, he dug into his unamused agbada folds and retrieved his smartphone. Click. Click. Click. Duckface hashtag I dey alrite by mysef.

Then the door opened abruptly and Jagaban was there and Our Man was attempting the impossible feat of trying to hide his phone, unduckface his face and smile politely like ah baba, I didn’t know you too like to piss every now and then.

I have seen your performance, Jagaban said, his jowls conspiring to make the statement look even graver than it already sounded.

Ah, said Our Man. I can explain. Those women in Dubai….

You are just the man I need to replace Fashola.

Oh. Never mind then, what I said, about the women (<_< )

What are your skills? Your special talents?

Haha. Oga Jagaban. I can be the selfior of Lagos state.

It is settled then.

Then the Jagaban exited the toilet from whence he came, leaving Our Man to hastily post one or two things to Facebook.

But the thing is, when Our Man said ‘I can be the selfior of Lagos state,’ he was saying I can be the selfie-or of the state.

But in the concentrated tongue of Yoruba-speak, selfior and savior are the same thing.

So Our Man sits here, fiddling with a pimple that ruined his last shot, wondering when Jagaban and uncle Fash will be done with Abuja runs. 192 missed calls on both their phones, with increasingly desperate SMSes:

Jagaban. Busy? Let’s talk.

Uncle Fash, Minister extravaganza. I hail oh.

Coming to Lagos soon?

When will you be in Lagos?

Need to talk to you coming to Lagos?

Busy? Skype?

Abeg. Pls. Come to Lagos.

Added you on LinkedIn. Pls confirm.

Just installed Snapchat. Add me: @BodeTheSelfieKing

Pls. Quick one: how do you know which govt. contract to sign?

Ngbo. They used to rob Lagos before?

I want to change BRT to ART. Yuno. Only fair.

Somebody sold seven of the BRTs. Who should I hold?

Secret confession: I actually voted for Agbaje.

The BRTs are reducing. They are reducing, se. Help.

Abeg na.

Six days now. Accept LinkedIn request pls.

The problem with things that glitter is that they often have the nasty habit of not being gold

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‘Our Man: The Accidental Public Servant’ was written by The Vunderkind. He blogs on thevunderkind.com and engages in dubious social activity on Twitter with the handle @thevunderkind.wp_posts