Abduction everywhere these days, spreading fear across the nation. Find out who is to blame and the possible cure.
Since the “battle of the Chris-es” in Anambra, I’ve been on edge. Everywhere I go, one word follows me like a stubborn fly: abduction. And it’s frightening. Now, in fact, if an okada stops just a few meters from my front door, I panic. The rider might be an Uba, and believe me, I’m not alone in this fear.
A few weeks after the “godfather crises,” G. O. Okeke, the OMATA (Onitsha Market Traders Association) boss, shouted: “Abduction!” He claimed some elements from Abuja were after him. If he faced consequences for a breach of an agreement, no one asked. Last week, Ngige’s younger brother, Emeka, a SAN, tasted the abduction pill. Three Nwantis—Sam, Herbert, and Darlington—almost injected the lawyer in his Choice Hotel room.
Now, why do all the political abductions happen in Anambra? Are people there more ambitious or greedy? Maybe the state should change its name to Abduction State.
The truth is that the Anambra episode may just mark the beginning of political abduction. But let’s face it: the entire country feels like one big abduction camp. Nigeria is overtaken by greed, overambition, mistrust, deceit, and fear. Already, the rich and famous flee their homes for hotels. Ask yourself: why do the Ngiges live in hotels? Are hotels safer than private homes? Maybe. Maybe not. But fear runs rampant, and mistrust lurks everywhere.
Abduction everywhere in families
No one even trusts their mother anymore. The other day, my wife accused me of trying to abduct her! Imagine! I swear, I only asked for a list of food items. She claimed I intended to use the list to “Ngige” her later. I promptly ran out of the house before the neighbors arrived.
But there’s abduction everywhere, in different forms: political, social, domestic, and even religious. My wife’s situation involved a mix of family and domestic types. My mum visited Lagos but refused to stay for more than a few weeks. When my siblings and I insisted, she claimed we wanted to abduct her. Wahala!
And by government, too
Even the government engages in abduction. If abduction means forcing someone to let go or depriving them of their rightful position, then Nigerians face systematic deprivation of security, food, jobs, and good roads. If abduction stems from failed agreements, then Nigerians should rightly abduct the government. But who would dare? Ngige failed to keep an agreement with Uba and faced the music. Yet, the masses did their part—voting for leaders and, despite the hardship, paying taxes. But the government, like Ngige, refuses to play ball.
In a country of about 120 million (according to the 1991 census), 91 million live in abject poverty. You should expect abduction everywhere in various forms. Ask Prof. Joe Umo, an ILO consultant. According to him, armed robbery results from societal neglect. Either way, abduction surrounds us. Citizens suffer abduction daily in buses as they struggle to get home after a long, fruitless day. In fact, they face robbery, rape, and sometimes even death—often for ritual purposes. The beneficiaries of such abduction and killings? Those in power. I once experienced abduction—dramatically and mildly—between Ojota and Palm Grove in Lagos. I emerged with N500 less and a shaking spouse.
It doesn’t spare the high and mighty
When leaders neglect social issues that breed miscreants and robbers, everyone suffers, not just the lowly. Recently, the list of victims has grown. General Obasanjo’s daughter, Iyabo, and her daughters faced targeting. A few weeks ago, bandits attacked General Ibrahim Babangida on the Suleja-Minna Road. Abdulkadir Kure, Niger State Governor, also faced the heat last week when bandits killed his deputy ADC, Mammah Sagabe. Pity!
Yet, those “high and mighty” had opportunities to address social abduction through their programs. But did they? If they had, the idle hands the devil uses to inflict terror might not exist. Or, would they?
Now, “the rich also cry.” Fear grips their camp. I heard Gov. Ahmed Makarfi of Kaduna can’t sleep easy, terrified of being abducted. Musa Ajogie, chairman of the Patriotic Indigenes of Northern Publishers Association (PINPA), claims some godfathers target the governor. Even Chief Simon Okeke, the Police Service Commission boss, refuses to leave his Maitama residence for his Abuja office. The reason? He’s terrified of abduction everywhere. On the political score, as Chaucer said: “The poor can sing and dance in relief; of having nothing that will tempt a thief.”
Religious abduction gains ground now, and the poor often fall victim. My younger sister “abducted” me the other day to a church for her child’s dedication. An ego-driven pastor then held us hostage. He insisted: “I can keep you here till 6 PM. This is my house. Until you satisfy me, you are not going.” And he did.
Abduction as pastor’s Game
What should have been a sermon turned into a barrage of abuses, insults, and ads for his family problems. At one point, even the “Amen,” the only Bible portion everyone knew, grew weaker and weaker. Everyone felt exhausted. But he made us go around for offerings countless times. When my bones ached and my stomach protested from hunger, I realized I had been abducted.
Many poverty-stricken Nigerians face abduction by religious leaders in the name of God and miracles. Self-acclaimed traditional healers, commercial pastors, and their Muslim counterparts all claim to be conduits for divine help. “The moment you see me, you are healed; your problems are solved,” they chant. Then they lure barren women, collect money, and sometimes exploit them. The unemployed get mesmerized into emptying their pockets under the guise of “sowing seed.” If that’s not abduction everywhere, then Uba didn’t show Ngige what a godfather could do.
Words of abduction
And don’t forget the seminars and workshops. They’re “free”? “Just come and be blessed!” Hallelujah! But the needy get lured into parting with borrowed money, only to go home and starve. “Give and it shall be given to you.” Really? When? “Just believe,” they say. “Givers never lack.” But why do pastors never share church money with the needy? Instead, the poor, after a series of offerings, face word-abduction, compelled to buy the pastor’s cassettes and CDs—mere collections of Bible quotes and personal opinions. Why not just buy a Bible and head home?
That’s why Sonny Okosuns was livid when Pastor Matthew Ashimolowo sold a book for N1,500. The “Success Summit,” advertised as a practical approach to wealth, ended up impoverishing the participants. Ashimolowo lamented: “Any religion that does not meet your physical needs is not a good religion.” Yet, he “abducted” people’s pockets, with audio CDs going for N9,000. Okosuns, like me, fumed: “How can he sell a book for as high as N1,500? Is it the Bible? That won’t save me because he copied it from the Bible.” He walked off the meeting, saying, “I spent only three minutes, and he was talking money… Money is the only thing competing with God.” But aren’t they all the same? As far as I know, there’s abduction everywhere in different forms—everywhere you look!
*First published in Saturday Sun, August 30, 2003
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