Tinubu has rescued Macron from the old French colonial mafia, furious at him for losing the French colonies. Thanks to Tinubu and Chagoury, Macron can now say: forget those small territories; I have delivered the prize of all prizes in Africa. Nigeria, the golden goose. And I control its crooked leader.
Only a blind, brainwashed fool can fail to see it. In my judgment, Nigeria is led by a compromised man, a foreign asset so frightened of the powers that control him that he now runs around Europe seeking protection from other powers, ready to sell Nigerian interests to save his own skin.
It is sad, very sad, that I have lived to see the age of nothingness: a government built on corruption, led by third-rate puppets who have soiled their very existence for an offshore bank account and visas to Europe and the United States.
Truth be told, Tinubu is not alone in this messy saga. I am convinced Langley has its hooks in practically every senior politician in Nigeria, and in the military too. It is not difficult to buy a Nigerian. Too many of us suffer from a serious inferiority complex. We want the white man to love us, so we bow and scrape like servile peasants until we end up looking like Bola Tinubu in Paris, led by the hand by a very confident President Macron who treats him like a prize pet.
And why not? Tinubu has rescued Macron from the old French colonial mafia, furious at him for losing the French colonies. Thanks to Tinubu and Chagoury, Macron can now say: forget those small territories, I have delivered the prize of all prizes in Africa. Nigeria, the golden goose. And I control its crooked leader.
After all the big talk about Tinubu sitting with Trump at the United Nations General Assembly, we are now told he is not going to New York. The rumour is that his intelligence people say it is too risky. Trump wants to go after foreign leaders tied to drugs, and anything could happen if a man presently fighting to keep his FBI and DEA files closed sets foot on American soil.
Thank God I wrote those letters. To my fellow Wharton man Donald Trump. To Bobby Kennedy Jr. To Marco Rubio. And to the Secretary-General of the United Nations, to whom I wrote as a child of the United Nations, the son of the first African to serve as UN Under-Secretary-General. These are people who will take my warnings seriously. Why? Because nobody has to buy Kio Amachree to learn which way the pendulum is swinging in Nigeria. They can read my advice online, knowing who I am, where I come from, where I went to school, and who my father was.
No clandestine meetings in Langley. No secret handshakes. No payments into foreign accounts, no promises of wealth and power. Just a concerned citizen, free from the pollution and corruption of Nigeria, wanting a better Nigeria and a happier relationship between Nigeria and the United States.
I would rather eat rocks than sell my soul to Bola Tinubu or to a handler in Langley, London, Stockholm or Paris. I went to school with these people. I grew up knowing them, and them knowing me. Let us leave it at that: mutual respect.
Nigerians have got to stop kissing people’s backsides. Then, maybe, those who play with our intelligence will start treating us with respect.
I rest my case.
