I am exhausted, truly exhausted. What is the worth of a man’s life? What is the worth of truth? Why is it that everything is about money? When a man falls, when he rises, it is about whether he has or hasn’t money.

It is about whether he is making money or he is not. What is the worth of doing a honest day’s job? How come there is a hidden meaning to every move, even when what you are saying seems plain enough?
Like never before, I respect people like Gani Fawehinmi, Tai Solarin and others who stood for what they believed is the truth and stand till the very end. It must be a lonely road. And now like never before I understand those who got weary and crossed to the other side of the road.

The loneliness can be awesome. It is not easy shouting when everybody wants to keep quiet. And it is not a sign of weakness and cowardice either, when a man decides to change which side of the divide he wants to belong. Not everybody wants to tread the lonely road. What is the worth of a man’s life?
Ours is a nation guided by more unwritten rules than the ones in the constitution. A nation with unsight and hidden rules.

What keep a man in political office are not the votes of the electorates because voters don’t matter here. The definition of hunger depends on where you live. Even the rich no longer sleep in the same cemetery as the poor. The days of all of us ending in the same six feet down below are gone. Now the rich live and die together. What is the worth of your life?

Why fight a battle that was lost two decades ago? Nothing can be more stupid. It is like honking in a traffic jam. Absolute futility. And the rules of this jungle are unwritten.

We all must wisely flow with the tide lest we die for nothing, lest we die like fools. But there is something infinitely satisfying in knowing that you have done your little bit in illuminating the direction of the unwritten laws.
You also learn a lesson on why some are rich and some are poor. There is a boundary that I have found out can be crossed easily as soon as you learn the unwritten rules.

What is the worth of a story? What is a good story? Who is a watchdog? Who is a dog? Who is a fool if not the man whose holler is greeted by a deafening silence? What is the worth of a scream if everybody moves on like nothing just happened? Why behave like a lunatic when you could just stop screaming and join the silent crowd who know all the rules, the written and the unwritten? Why be used when you can use others? Is there a worse jungle than Nigeria?
Is the budget of a nation so secret that quoting from it can become a life-threatening issue? But only fools like me did not know that little fact. That National Assembly document showing how money will be spent on the legislative arm of government is sacred. And I like a trampling idiot, went ahead and started quoting from it. How could I? I have since found out that the definition of integrity in Nigeria is different from what Professors Bayo Williams, G.G. Darah and Goke Pariola taught me in Ife. I have since found out that the shortest cut to Golgotha is to quote from a budget.

What was I even hoping to achieve, get the President to ‘unsign’ it or form a crusade group to retrieve lawmakers’ cars? How foolish can one get? You remember the saying “silence is the best answer for a fool’? The wise ones know what to do. Only fools quote from budgets. Come to think of it, only a fool won’t notice that National Assembly budgets aren’t public documents. I can’t remember seeing it on the newsstand. But fools can get born again. That is, if they are allowed to live.

In the last few days, I have received text messages, strange phone calls and real threats because I dared to sign a newspaper that ran stories on the House of Representatives budget.

I must be on a revenge mission, they said. Very laughable logic. I must be bitter for losing my job as Special Adviser, Media to Mrs. Patricia Oyefoluke Olubunmi Etteh. How stupid can people who went to school be? I think there is no better time than now to say that I took the National assembly job because I needed a break from my last job, a decision that obviously informed why I am writing on this back page. But in this jungle, you can’t be too careful. There are too many angry men and women out there. They have served notice that I am not safe for daring to let those stories flow.

They have served notice that they have the powers of life and death and will show me how not to be an editor. They have constituted a group to write stories with fictitious names about me. They have a long list of what I am supposed to have done. They will make dogs eat dogs. They will do whatever it takes to teach me all the lessons I didn’t learn in the Nigerian Institute of Journalism.

When I decided to be a journalist I knew the hazards. As I rose through the ranks, I never fooled myself for a day that the road would be smooth. That is why there are few women in this business. I have done my bit.

As I report this threat to my life and reputation to Nigerians, I also report it to the Old Man up there, the one who knew about the death of Jezebel, the One who arranged the death of Goliath and ensured that in spite of the pride of Herod he was eaten alive by worms.

– Courtesy Intimate Affairs