When I was much younger, one of my favourite things to do was visit my grandfather. It didn’t matter that I was not up to ten years old; we’d spend hours talking about so many things like the economy, his farms, and hotels, and how to grow the business. We were very close. One day, I went to see Grandpa. As soon as I walked through the doors, I noticed his despondent expression.
“Grandpa, what’s the matter?” I asked, my brow furrowed with concern.
Never one to beat about the bush, he said, “Someone has been stealing my dry fish and dipping their fingers in my food.”
“Huh? Who would dare to do such a thing?” I asked in flabbergastment. See, you don’t know my grandfather. The man was a proper Lord of the Manor. Everyone was terrified of him, except me. His dry fish was stored in an airtight container in his bedroom. His food was sacred, prepared in the most hygienic of environments. No one in their right minds would’ve dared to steal anything from him, or dip their filthy fingers in his food, especially in his own house. Which begged the question: who was this daredevil?
After we talked long and thought hard about it, we set a trap. We set up a stakeout hideaway close to the dining room. From our vantage point, we had a clear view of the dining table. After Grandpa’s food was served, we took up our positions and waited for the culprit to show themselves. We did not have to wait for long.
A rustling sound was the first thing to draw our attention to the table. A soft tap-tap-tap sound followed this, as if someone was doing their best to quietly tiptoe across the room. Simultaneously, we raised our heads to get a better view of what was about to go down. My eyes could not believe the ungodly sight I was seeing. Right there on the dining table, was the most gigantic rat I’d ever seen. I mean, this thing was bigger than my three months old puppy. This rat was so big, it was on all fours and still towered over the tall container of salt.
In the next second, I couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped my throat. Because right before our eyes, the rat raised itself on its hind legs, sniffed the air as if it was tasting for chemical weapons. Then reaching out, it pulled the cover off the plate of soup. With careful, precise movements, Mr Rattus Rattus began to transfer the pieces of meat and fish from the bowl of soup, into its mouth.
I thought Grandpa was going to pass out from shock. His mouth hung open and I don’t think he was even breathing. As for me, I just sat back on my haunches and stared. Finished with its mission, the rat replaced the lid over the bowl of soup and sashayed down the chair and on its merry way.
I’m not telling you guys this story for entertainment. I’ve been forced to share this deeply personal story so that all these children of anger on the internet will realise that Aso Rock is battling with a very real problem. These rats are demonic destiny destroyers. They’re so powerful that they’ve succeeded in driving away our president and, pausing the collective destinies of Nigerians.
My people, this is not a joking sturvs. If you’re not already on your knees praying for this country to be delivered from these rodents, you’re part of the problem.
Wait a minute. Have you even thought of the fact that these rats may be trying to transmit Ebola to the president? If he then travels again to London, he will infect the Queen of England, who will pass it on to her cabinet and we’ll get our revenge on the British who colonised us? Have you thought of that?
No, of course not. You only think of yourself!