Taiwo, Ogbuagu and I were just finishing our mid-week lunch in the restaurant by the lagoon when a lady walked up to our table.
“I found you at long last!” she exclaimed, laughing and clapping her hands.
“Déjà vu!” I said. “Last time I heard this was years ago.”
“And the lady was pregnant,” said Ogbuagu.
“I’m not pregnant,” said the lady.
“Thank God!” said Taiwo.
“You are the Three Happy Cheers!” she said. “Don’t deny it!”
“We don’t deny it,” said Ogbuagu. “But who are you?”
“We don’t know you,” said Taiwo.
“And we don’t want to know,” I said.
“Won’t you ask me to sit down?”
“We were just leaving,” said Ogbuagu.
“I sense trouble,” I said. “Let’s clear out of here, bros.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” said Taiwo. He drew up a chair. “Please have a seat, Madam.”
Awkward silence.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“I ordered something already.”
Just then a steward came with a steaming bowl of pepper-soup and a glass of red wine. She took a spoonful.
“I came here to look for you for two Wednesdays.”
“Who told you we’re here on Wednesdays?”
“I had to bribe the Chief Steward to phone me when next you came here.”
“Bribery is illegal . . .”
“So now you found us . . .”
“I wanted to show you a game I invented.”
“Look, we don’t play,” I declared with severity.
“No, we don’t,” said Ogbuagu.
“What’s the name of the game?” asked Taiwo.
“It’s called Ostrich.”
“Is that the German name for Austria?”
“No, it’s the bird, the bird . . .”
“The one that doesn’t fly?”
“The one that’s always in denial?”
“The one that hides its head in the sand?”
“That’s no game. It’s serious stuff.”
“It’s deadly . . .”
“Suicidal even.”
“In any case, it’s not a new game.”
“It’s as old as time.”
“So what else is new?”
I got up. “Come on, fellows, let’s get out of here.”
“Relax, O.J., relax,” said Taiwo. “You get so uptight, man.”
I resumed my seat, grudgingly. Let’s see how far this gets. Meanwhile I took to studying the lagoon’s brackish brown waters. Wonder how deep it is. What sort of marine life thrives in it. Heard the conversation in bits, as from a distance.
“Crude oil fell from over $110 per barrel to under $50 per barrel . . .”
“Everyone knew it was coming . . .”
“But no one did anything about it . . .”
“Yes, they did something about it . . .”
“What could they do about it?”
“They hurried to clean out the treasury before there was nothing left to take and share. That’s what they did about it.”
“Who’s in charge here?”
“I don’t know who’s in charge.”
“Of course it’s the President.”
“No, it’s the Minister of Finance.”
“But the National Assembly are always threatening to sack the Minister and impeach the President if they don’t do what they’re told.”
“Bah, it’s all team work. A well rehearsed play. Fool the Public is the name of the game.”
“So who’s really in charge here?”
“They are all in charge. Don’t you get it, dummy?”
“No, I don’t get it. I mean, when oil sold for $110 a barrel, they took a whopping $80 a barrel for the budget, plus a loan of N1.2 trillion.”
“That’s why it’s called a deficit budget—because those in charge consume N1.2 trillion more than the national income available for spending each year.”
“Now oil is selling for less than $50 a barrel, still they set the budget on a benchmark of $65 per barrel.”
“So how much debt will they take on this year?”
“The National Debt is already $45 billion. What does it matter if another $5 billion (N1 trillion) is added to it? It’s a simple matter of All in favour say Aye.”
I turned around and gave the group my full attention.
“So how is your game of Ostrich played, Madam?”
Her smile broadened into satisfaction. “It goes like this: I tell you a fact, and you do your best to refute it. I tell you another fact, and you come back with a counter-fact. We argue back and forth until we’re shouting and abusing each other . . .”
“Sounds like a nice family discussion . . .”
“Or a secondary school practice-debate . . .”
“It can get nasty, especially if you and I used to be on the same team . . .”
“Or if we come from the same village . . .”
“Then you can just say: when you were on the team you did the same thing. Then the game is over.”
“Really?”
“That simple?”
“So who wins?”
“We both win.”
“Wow! . . . Who loses?”
“Everyone else.”
“But everyone else is not in the game.”
“Everyone is in the game—either as players or as spectators.”
“Are you saying the players win and the spectators lose?”
“Exactly.”
“But spectators are usually cheering for one team or the other.”
“That’s right. The players of both teams win, and all their supporters lose, regardless which team they support.”
The Three Happy Cheers!—we were not cheered. Bewildered, really, if I may so admit.
“Let’s get out of here!” I said one final time . . . .
Onwuchekwa Jemie
