I am everything I want to be. An accountant. A musician. A novelist. A poet. A family man. A friend.
Lagos, Nigeria
Joined April 2009
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reverbnation.com/donketchy
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The Paul Biya of Nigeria
Once upon a time, a Nigerian in X formerly known aa Twitter asked that question, "how is it possible for a senile old man like Paul Biya who have long been in power for decades continue to be returned as the President of Cameroun?" A pertinent question one would say. The same person continued with this line of thought, "If Paul Biya was a Nigerian, they would have sent him packing a long time ago." Really!
According to the former President of South Africa, Dr Nelson Mandela, "it is always impossible until it gets done by someone. "
I am not sure it is even worthwhile comparing Cameroon with Nigeria. Not sure if both countries share similar diversities but one thing we can agree though is that both countries share the same border and the similar legacy of leprosy colonial masters. Yes, while Cameroon surrendered on all fours while France continued to give it to them voracioualy from the back, Nigeria used to derive pleasure licking the rotten a$$hole of Britain, now it has diversified its pleasure by inviting France to join in the orgy and what a frolicking time they are having. Unfortunately at the detriment of more than two hundred million Nigerians.
Well, what is the purpose of this write up? It is simple. We now have us a Paul Biya situation developing in Nigeria. So that very question posed in X is now a very much Nigerian problem. Will Nigerians let a Paul Biya thrive in Nigeria? Will the prayers of Nigeria be answered as it was during the period when General Sanni Abacha as the then Head of State held Nigerians by the jugular? Of course this write up does not pray for similar ends of the personality but that Nigeria be saved from despotism.
To this evolving Paul Biya situation in, one would wonder what produces such phenomenon. Its not far fetched. Too much power at the center as the current Nigerian model is, weak institutions - any institution that its leadership is appointed by the President cannot be expected to be non partisan, especially in Nigeria where the stomach is the organ of thought, fragmented opposition and finally where the process of electrioneering is a glorified farce. A Paul Biya situation is a government of props where governance is seen through propaganda, where to weild power and not to deliver the fruits of credible leadership is the only reason why it is courted, and where opposition is a treasonable offence.
I asked AI if Nigeria is not yet on that Paul Biya stage of its evolution and I laughed in vernacular when it responded with "It’s a serious concern, but saying Nigeria is on the same path as Cameroon under Paul Biya is a bit too strong—at least for now. There are some warning signs, but there are also important differences that make Nigeria structurally harder to “lock down” in the same way."
I am not interested in the 'important differences'. I am interested in what is unfolding before my very before according to that very Nigerian colloquial English. Recently the oga on top in Aso Rock told his retinue of mannequins and glorified yes men that he does not intend to visit many states in Nigeria in the forthcoming political campaign leading up to 2027 election. This is a laughable admission. Rather than be frank and admit that his body is shutting down on him, it appears more honourable within that clique to dress incapacity as a strategy. Where on earth in any part of the world does anyone seeking elective office cede it to proxies? We remember quite well what happened in Chetam House during the run up to the 2023 elections. Same misdemeanour unfolded before the world. I am glad that some of those proxies who saw him as the next best thing after sliced bread are now cooling their heels in jail.
My opinion though is that Nigeria is very much on that path of a Paul Biya. Yes it hasn't happened yet it may seem. It is however necessary to remind ourselves of what a Paul Biya situation is exactly. It is not just the length of incumbency.
It has more to do with incapacity and an obsession of centering power in an an individual such that every institution of governance evolve around this antiquity. Let me say it again to Nigerians, we have the Paul Biya situation presently developing in our politics. And as long as we don't put competence and capacity in how reach decisions for political office, the door will continue to open wider for that Nigerian Paul Biya. For as long as tribe and religion continues to define the lens through which we take decisions on who occupies a political office, we will have a Paul Biya situation as an existential reality.
Nigerians have an especially short memory. I dont know why. Perhaps because they tend to hope away what gives them sleepless nights rather than make rational decisions.
The challenge though of not looking very much ahead is that when that ahead comes, it would catch us unawares because it was never anticipated. I have no trust in either the lower or upper houses, no trust in the judiciary, none in INEC and certainly none in all the military and quasi military institutions which currently operates outside assigned mandates and is run like the mafia.
Imagine if that mad man that had wanted kill all the people in the plane had succeeded, the family of the idiot and nay the country of his origin would be celebrating him as their hero. When Israel retaliates, it is considered genocide. Mad people everywhere
So tell me guys the associated culture of BREAKING kola and EATING Kola in Igbo land.
Specifically who is authorized to pick up Kola from a plate to break and is there any authority required to PICK up a broken kola from a plate to eat
Ndi Kato of all people referring to Peter Obi as "the other" is actually Brutus finally and inexorably thrusting that knife deep to kill his friend Ceasar.
It breaks my heart too when a rose decides to become a thorn.
Jobs wife also asked him to Curse God and die. But Job never did. And thisnis why Job is a lesson in perseverance.
Its a lonely road that Peter Obi walks. If God wills it he may yet become the President of Nigeria. If not, the only people that would have lost is the Nigerian people.
What defines character is the ability to remain true to your principle inspite of the odds. I wish Ndi Kato didn’t refer to Peter Obi as the other. I wish she had kust peserevered and kept her hurt to herself.
Fake news is now being increasingly deployed as an extra layer of spreading propaganda through the social media.
1. I have seen mails circulating of a purported letter from Peter Obi to the Obi of Onitsha. It is fake
2. Two letters are currently circulating purportedly written on 19th September 2016 by Tinubu. This is another fakery.
Those who reshare should be more discerning before their trembling fingers hit that button.
Ketchy Dons retweeted
FULL LIST OF PRESIDENTS THAT URGENTLY NEEDS TO SIT UP IN AFRICA CURRENTLY....
.
.
Bro wasn't joking when he did that to the last one 😂
🗳️ Cast your ballot in the NEIS 2027 Civic Poll! Track real-time presidential & legislative results down to your ward and polling unit: neis.ng/civicpolls?ref=share
Vawulence Unchained 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 very well cooked. Delicious actually
Good morning, Aunty Abike.
It is not your side that startled anyone. Sides, in this country, are cheaper than garri. What startled the room is the manner of your kneeling. You did not merely defend a friend. You spat on the same profession that once dressed you, paraded you, and later delivered you the federal appointment you now wear like inherited cloth. Journalism fed you. Journalism named you. Journalism opened the door through which you walked into the national cake. And now, to protect the table, you have turned around to slap the cook.
A goat that belongs to the palace does not hear the cry of the marketplace. That is you.
Rewind the tape. Not the rumour. The tape. Show the nation, slowly, the exact second Rufai became rude, condescending and judgemental for asking one question. One. Not a sermon. Not a street fight. A question. If your eyes can find that moment, the country will sit down. If they cannot, then what you published was not ethics. It was allegiance wearing the stolen gown of principle.
Even if there was an old wound between Rufai and Olayinka, a man who still answers to the title of journalist does not drag yesterday’s quarrel onto live television and then declare that only “reasonable human beings” may speak. That is not seniority. That is a dirty hog mistaking the national studio for a beer parlour. The market does not close because one trader is angry. The camera does not bow because a spokesman has a grudge.
You used to know this.
Integrity did not leave you in a single night. It packed slowly, the way a woman packs when she has already chosen the other house. The gown of dignity that once fitted a former broadcaster of your standing was not stolen. It was hiked, torn at the seam, and offered. The moment you bent, presented the back that once carried the honour of the newsroom and allowed this APC government (diseased, ravenous, unprotected) to mount you like a rabid thing that does not ask permission, the crown slipped. You climbed into power and discovered that power prefers the body to the conscience.
Ìwà lẹ̀wà. Character is beauty. What remains on you now is office.
You will say this is malice. It is not. It is memory. The same mouth that once spoke for the craft now calls the one man still willing to put the question a non-journalist, then throws a thumbs-up to the man who fled the question. That is not defence of ethics. That is the old proverb fulfilled: he who shares the king’s meat must not complain when the king’s dog bites the village.
Act like a mother..... Oooh forgive the insult if the title no longer fits..... and look once, just once, at the country outside your convoy. People are not asking Rufai to be charming. They are asking someone, anyone, to demand an account while the cake is still being shared among the same hands. Journalism has a role in that demand. Very few still play it. Rufai is one of them. That is why he offends you. The pot that has joined the fire cannot bear the sound of water.
Remember Dele Giwa. If he had swallowed the hard question, he might have grown old in comfort, smiling at power, collecting invitations, dying in his bed with a full stomach and an empty name. He asked. They sent him a parcel. History kept the name. Yours will be filed where the names of those who knew the truth and sold the profession are filed...... not beside him, not near him, not even in the same sentence.
The lizard that jumps from the iroko and lives will praise itself if nobody else will. Praise yourself, Aunty. The village is watching. Posterity is already taking notes.
And posterity, unlike your group, does not eat cake.
Yours in vawulence
The evilness of the Northern politicians knows no bounds.
This is exactly why it was possible fpr the thief in chief in Aso Rock presently to buy the seat of the president.
Northern politicians see first from thr prism of their feudalism. If you are not up there, you are disposable. After feudalsim, their sight is tainted with religion. If you are not a moslem, you are disposable.
Nigeria will overcome this evilness. That process has already started.
“I smuggled a phone to the toilet to record them.”
Hassan drops more exposẹ́.
He said bandits collected guns and ammunition at Senator Buba's house before the Benue Massacre.
He risked his life to capture secret videos, and the same Senator was later sent by President Tinubu to pay condolence visit after the attack.
Ketchy Dons retweeted
Dear Nigerians,
Fifteen National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) members were kidnapped in Kogi State on Wednesday, August 26, 2026, while returning from their orientation camp in Bayelsa State.
They were traveling to Abuja with Peace Mass Transit. They were intercepted along the Ofu/Itobe–Onicha-Igo axis in Ofu Local Government Area. The passenger manifest is attached.
The person in the video is the sister of one of the abducted victims. Please lend your voice & kindly share or retweet. They need to be rescued & reunited with their loved ones. 🙏
SOS!
Corps members were kidnapped on their way from Bayelsa Camp to Abuja. @officialnyscng NYSC Bayelsa Camp has been silent about it.
OUR CHILDREN NEED URGENT HELP !!!
Please lend your voice, kindly retweet. 🙏
Ketchy Dons retweeted
When he woke up that morning, Nsochukwu found himself lying outside his room. A cock crowed. Dawn was still faraway. A mere haze of cloudiness that protected truth from the obscurities of make believe.
The hard ground treated his body as a native would an immigrant. Unwelcoming. Those parts which felt the most pressure was already gone to sleep. With wakefulness, life in those members began to creep back in. Blood vessels long collapsed began to breathe again and life became.
When he took stock of his surrounding, he observed he was lying close to the hearth. Remnants of the warmth from the dead fire used for cooking last night’s dinner stirred by a gentle breeze caressed his calves. He wiggled his toes as a toast to life. After a while he traced a circle on the ground pondering on the circumstances of his present. He rolled over to his left side, away from the hearth. He then stood up groggily and peered at the slowly evaporating darkness all around him. He made a face at it.
The mango tree that stood in front of the compound and the other trees remained nonchalant as the approaching dawn gathered steam. It was humbling watching this impenetrability shrink quietly in order to give the trees surrounding the hut its absolute form that enabled their truth. The path of light and darkness were runners on a relay team. The manifestation of this unity in diversity was always a marvel.
He went to the entrance door and pushed it. He did not need any confirmation. He knew. It was locked from inside. He was locked outside. He shrugged his shoulder. The language of the spirits was certainly different from that of men. And so was their communication.
He remembered going to bed after taking his dinner. He remembered locking the door from the inside before letting sleep overtake him. He had not woken up at any time of the night for any toiletry functions. The events of the previous day had been hectic and when his head hit the bed, he had dropped off like a log of wood. Yet here he was. Awake outside the room he went to sleep in. With the door still locked from within.
He stirred the hearth with a long stick that he kept beside it. He was rewarded when he saw tiny sparks emanating from the depth of it. From the alcove, he took some dried fiber from mashed kernels and used this as a feed on the sparks. The hearth began to smolder, spewing forth thick smokes. He went on his knees and brought his mouth close to the hearth. He began to blow vigorously on the contents. The smoke rose all around him, some entering his nostrils and eyes making them to water. He kept on blowing. He was soon rewarded when the feed caught fire and the enclosure became illuminated. There was nothing besides the brown walls and some cobweb that had gathered moss over the years. It now hung as a dry
Ketchy Dons retweeted
dark string that started from the alcove and ended with the inner roof where it disappeared into tiny twists and turns. Locked out, Nsochukwu thought again. This was not the first time.
It was obidimuusoin the traditional day. He wondered if the day had a connection to the incident. The sweet smell of burning kernel was soothing to the nostril as he used his palms to waft the smoke towards it while he thought.
Being locked out meant that whatever remedy for the issue was not to be found inside the room. There was also a need for haste. Nature was as much a harbinger as it also wielded the axe of judgment. Choice was always the prerogative of the individual. It was outside his vicinity that the answer lay. This was where he would be casting his energies on.
He stretched himself and then sauntered outside to take in the balmy early morning breeze. He cleared his throat and yodeled. As this assault sliced through the fading darkness, there was a squawk of protest from the brood of chicken kept at the back of the house. His eyes returned to the locked door. The gods chose different ways to make themselves visible.
Nsochukwu was not a stranger to their quirky behaviors. In his line of work, mischief was a usual companion. He had premonitions of events in the future that would shape the circumstances of the present. The gift of how such future events would be shaped or molded was however beyond him. Beyond the melodrama in the warning, there was no further clue on what was to be done to circumvent whatever lay ahead. He had to seek consultation. From those who had eyes that saw beyond the present. There was only one solution to the locked door. Break the locks. This was however going to wait until he came back from the errand which he was about to embark on.
He always slept fully clothed. This comprised his knee length shorts and a sleeveless buba that had shrunk with age and now fitted the contours of his body as if he was born with it. He would have wished to take his snuff box, but it was on the other side of the door. When such urgency called, procrastination was a hangman. He grabbed his walking stick. He took down the night lamp which was hung on the raffia alcove beside the hearth. He lit it and after fixing it firmly on his head, set off. The journey to the house of Kanam would take him some days. There, the oracle would be waiting for him.
dark string that started from the alcove and ended with the inner roof where it disappeared into tiny twists and turns. Locked out, Nsochukwu thought again. This was not the first time.
It was obidimuusoin the traditional day. He wondered if the day had a connection to the incident. The sweet smell of burning kernel was soothing to the nostril as he used his palms to waft the smoke towards it while he thought.
Being locked out meant that whatever remedy for the issue was not to be found inside the room. There was also a need for haste. Nature was as much a harbinger as it also wielded the axe of judgment. Choice was always the prerogative of the individual. It was outside his vicinity that the answer lay. This was where he would be casting his energies on.
He stretched himself and then sauntered outside to take in the balmy early morning breeze. He cleared his throat and yodeled. As this assault sliced through the fading darkness, there was a squawk of protest from the brood of chicken kept at the back of the house. His eyes returned to the locked door. The gods chose different ways to make themselves visible.
Nsochukwu was not a stranger to their quirky behaviors. In his line of work, mischief was a usual companion. He had premonitions of events in the future that would shape the circumstances of the present. The gift of how such future events would be shaped or molded was however beyond him. Beyond the melodrama in the warning, there was no further clue on what was to be done to circumvent whatever lay ahead. He had to seek consultation. From those who had eyes that saw beyond the present. There was only one solution to the locked door. Break the locks. This was however going to wait until he came back from the errand which he was about to embark on.
He always slept fully clothed. This comprised his knee length shorts and a sleeveless buba that had shrunk with age and now fitted the contours of his body as if he was born with it. He would have wished to take his snuff box, but it was on the other side of the door. When such urgency called, procrastination was a hangman. He grabbed his walking stick. He took down the night lamp which was hung on the raffia alcove beside the hearth. He lit it and after fixing it firmly on his head, set off. The journey to the house of Kanam would take him some days. There, the oracle would be waiting for him.
When he woke up that morning, Nsochukwu found himself lying outside his room. A cock crowed. Dawn was still faraway. A mere haze of cloudiness that protected truth from the obscurities of make believe.
The hard ground treated his body as a native would an immigrant. Unwelcoming. Those parts which felt the most pressure was already gone to sleep. With wakefulness, life in those members began to creep back in. Blood vessels long collapsed began to breathe again and life became.
When he took stock of his surrounding, he observed he was lying close to the hearth. Remnants of the warmth from the dead fire used for cooking last night’s dinner stirred by a gentle breeze caressed his calves. He wiggled his toes as a toast to life. After a while he traced a circle on the ground pondering on the circumstances of his present. He rolled over to his left side, away from the hearth. He then stood up groggily and peered at the slowly evaporating darkness all around him. He made a face at it.
The mango tree that stood in front of the compound and the other trees remained nonchalant as the approaching dawn gathered steam. It was humbling watching this impenetrability shrink quietly in order to give the trees surrounding the hut its absolute form that enabled their truth. The path of light and darkness were runners on a relay team. The manifestation of this unity in diversity was always a marvel.
He went to the entrance door and pushed it. He did not need any confirmation. He knew. It was locked from inside. He was locked outside. He shrugged his shoulder. The language of the spirits was certainly different from that of men. And so was their communication.
He remembered going to bed after taking his dinner. He remembered locking the door from the inside before letting sleep overtake him. He had not woken up at any time of the night for any toiletry functions. The events of the previous day had been hectic and when his head hit the bed, he had dropped off like a log of wood. Yet here he was. Awake outside the room he went to sleep in. With the door still locked from within.
He stirred the hearth with a long stick that he kept beside it. He was rewarded when he saw tiny sparks emanating from the depth of it. From the alcove, he took some dried fiber from mashed kernels and used this as a feed on the sparks. The hearth began to smolder, spewing forth thick smokes. He went on his knees and brought his mouth close to the hearth. He began to blow vigorously on the contents. The smoke rose all around him, some entering his nostrils and eyes making them to water. He kept on blowing. He was soon rewarded when the feed caught fire and the enclosure became illuminated. There was nothing besides the brown walls and some cobweb that had gathered moss over the years. It now hung as a dry
Ketchy Dons retweeted
Obi–Kwankwaso 🔥🔥🔥
Whether you understand the meaning of the song or not, just repost.
Nigeria will be OK. ✌️
I am in. Send me
POMO STATEMENT FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
NIGERIANS, AS CAMPAIGNS KICK OFF — HERE COMES PETER OBI; WE URGE YOU TO LISTEN TO HIM
Nigerians, Section 98(1) of the 2026 Electoral Act provides that the presidential campaign for the January 16, 2027 presidential election commences today, August 19, 2026, and concludes 150 days later, on January 15, 2027.
Therefore, beginning today, Nigerians will witness 150 days of intensive political campaigns as presidential candidates present their ideas, records, programmes, and visions for the future of our country.
Among those candidates is the presidential flagbearer of the Nigeria Democratic Congress (NDC), Mr Peter Gregory Obi, a 65-year-old former Governor of Anambra State. Today, his media office officially introduces him to Nigerians as the “Candidate of Conscience.”
The description is not merely a campaign slogan. It reflects a political standard rooted in integrity, prudence, frugality, accountability, and a commitment to putting public interest above personal or political advantage. In a political environment too often characterised by fiscal recklessness and transactional leadership, Peter Obi’s public profile stands out for his emphasis on responsible management of public resources and measurable outcomes.
For us in the Peter Obi Media Office (POMO), these 150 days are crucial. They represent a journey that will culminate on January 16, 2027, when Nigerians will decide not only who becomes President but also what kind of nation Nigeria will become.
This campaign must therefore go beyond the usual political contest. It is a choice between competing visions of Nigeria: one burdened by the old habits of waste, division, impunity, and broken promises, and another driven by competence, accountability, productivity, security, and hope.
At the forefront of this latter vision is Peter Obi, whose political identity has become closely associated with prudence, discipline, and public accountability. His message is clear: Nigeria must move from consumption to production. Government must reduce the cost of governance, strengthen education and healthcare, improve security, create opportunities for young Nigerians, and systematically pull our people out of poverty.
Peter Obi enters this campaign not as the candidate of one tribe, religion, or region, but as a Nigerian seeking the mandate of Nigerians based on his record, ideas, and vision. He has consistently maintained that leadership should be defined by competence, capacity, character, compassion, and commitment, rather than ethnicity, religion, or political entitlement.
Over the next 150 days, Nigerians will hear countless promises, witness rallies, encounter campaign slogans, and listen to passionate political arguments. But beyond the noise, one question must remain central:
Who possesses the integrity, discipline, competence, and courage required to confront Nigeria’s economic hardship, insecurity, unemployment, poverty, and institutional decay?
Peter Obi believes the answer begins with restoring trust between government and the people. He has pledged to reduce the cost of governance, strengthen transparency and accountability, invest in productive sectors of the economy, and ensure that public resources serve the public good rather than political privilege.
His candidacy is therefore about more than winning an election. It is a call to Nigerians who believe that public office should be an instrument of service, not personal enrichment; that leadership should unite rather than divide; and that every Nigerian child, regardless of birthplace, ethnicity, religion, or background, deserves the opportunity to succeed.
From today until January 16, 2027, every speech, debate, manifesto, policy proposal, and campaign stop should be judged against one standard:
Which candidate has the greatest capacity to build a secure, prosperous, united, productive, and accountable Nigeria?
Wow!
I needed to hear this today 💖
A pastor asked an older farmer, decked out in bib overalls, to say grace for the morning breakfast.
"Lord, I hate buttermilk", the farmer began. The visiting pastor opened one eye to glance at the farmer and wonder where this was going.
The farmer loudly proclaimed, "Lord, I hate lard." Now the pastor was growing concerned.
Without missing a beat, the farmer continued, "And Lord, you know I don't much care for raw white flour". The pastor once again opened an eye to glance around the room and saw that he wasn't the only one to feel uncomfortable.
Then the farmer added, "But Lord, when you mix them all together and bake them, I do love warm fresh biscuits. So Lord, when things come up that we don't like, when life gets hard, when we don't understand what you're saying to us, help us to just relax and wait until you are done mixing.
It will probably be even better than biscuits. Amen."
Within that prayer there is great wisdom for all when it comes to complicated situations like we are experiencing in the world today.
Stay strong, my friends, because our LORD is mixing several things that we don't really care for, but something even better is going to come when HE is done with it.
💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝
