As the date for the celebrated trial of Okon for bigamy drew nearer, the house has been a beehive of activities with well-wishers and sympathisers coming and going. Some notable lawyers have shown up waiving their hefty consultation fees as a gesture of respect and solidarity with the embattled boy. The entire house had been converted into an Efik sanatorium milling with small creek crooks, drunken hell-raisers and other miserable specimens of humanity.
Snooper had been wondering why all the fuss about the crazy lad, as if he would be the first person facing the prospects of some spell in prison for amorous misconduct. But the immoral adulation seemed to have gone into the boy’s head. At a point, the mad boy even had the temerity to ask snooper to excuse them in view of the delicate nature of the discussion.
“Not on your shameless life!” snooper screamed as he was about to be evicted from his own house. One became convinced that a spell behind bar would not be bad thing for Okon, at least this would allow for snooper to reorganise and get on with life.
The most entertaining but infuriating visitor to the house was Baba Lekki. He would arrive every morning carrying a basket of law books on his bald head and swigging directly from a bottle of illicit gin. Having fortified himself, he would proceed to lecture his captive audience on why bigamy was non-justiciable in an amphibious and bigamous country like Nigeria. “If you live on land and in water at the same time, bigamy is impossible to prove”.
You could see that he had been refining even this position when one morning, Baba Lekki finally dropped his legal bombshell. “Coming to think of it, the charge of bigamy cannot be sustained against you on grounds of spirituality and nationality’, the old criminal exploded.
“Baba, how dat one come be now? You don come with dem Agbeni jaguda grammar again?”, an anxious but cynical Okon snorted.
“You see, you cannot charge a spirit with bigamy. As you are Ebora Calabar, the charge is null and void. Secondly, since your grandfathers were from Bakassi, Nigerian laws do not apply to you since you are not a Nigerian”, Baba Lekki proferred.
“Baba how dat one go be now as I don contest for president?” Okon asked half-whispering.
“How many of the other presidential candidates are Nigerians?” Baba Lekki snapped.
On judgement day, the house was invaded at dawn by all sorts of ruffians, riff-raff and ragamuffins on the margins of society. They began chanting solidarity songs from the June 12 struggle, daring anybody who cared to listen to send Okon to jail. When the mad boy suddenly appeared dressed like an Efik chieftain, the crowd went completely gaga. They seized Okon and began carrying him shoulder-high towards the court. Could this be the commencement of the Nigerian revolution, snooper wondered.
The entire route was lined with well-wishers singing Okon’s praise and asking the God of retribution to deal with his tormentors. The adulation soon led to a fatal dose of delinquent confidence.
As soon as the mad boy entered the court room, he sighted a familiar light-skinned policeman on duty. The cop bore a comical resemblance to a recently deposed governor.
“Ah yellow, you still dey force? I think say dem Sunami don reach una like your tolotolo brother for Agodi. But no forget say you owe me small change from last time ooo”, Okon snorted as the hitherto serene courtroom exploded in laughter. The cop completely ignored Okon. But while they were still trying to restore order, Okon’s eyes lighted on the aging president of the court and his geriatric assistants. One of them was dozing away while the other was battling kola nuts with missing incisors.
“Chei, na dis Old Peoples Home dem dey call b-gamey court for Yorubaland?” Okon sneered.
“Who is this fellow?” the old president scowled with impatience and indignation.
“Sir, he is here for bigamy?” the court clerk replied.
“ And what is brigamy?” the dozing old man asked. The president, a no-nonsense former boxing champion and lay preacher, ignored his colleague and faced down Okon.
“Youngman, what is your name?” the old man demanded from Okon.
“I be man, but I no be Young. I be Etubom Okon Anthony Okon”, Okon retorted.
“I see. Tunbomu Okon. But where is your tunbomu? (drink-sieving whiskers in ancient Yoruba parlance)” the old man asked, trying to inject some humour into the tense proceeding. But Okon remained implacable.
“Baba, make una remove dem cotton wool from dem ear. I say I be Etubom. I no be Tunbosun, na dem yeye Yoruba singer dey bear dat kind nonsense name”, Okon shouted at the old man.
“Okay, Etibomb Okon”, the old man sneered but now with ill humour.
“He be like if say your old head no dey soak petrol again”, Okon blasted. At this point, the old man completely lost his cool.
“This is a rude and mannerless fool. Let him be remanded in police custody until he has purged himself of contempt”, the old man thundered and rose to his full length as he hammered the gavel on his desk. The fair-skinned cop fell on Okon and wrestled him to the ground. Three other cops surfaced from nowhere to apply reasonable force. The crowd began dispersing immediately.
Okon cut a very sorry figure as he was being led away. The reality now dawned on him that the bigamy plot may just be part of a bigger ploy to put him away for some time.
“Chei, see how dem Yoruba come get man cheap cheap! Efen dem president ball I no fit watch now for telly.” The feckless chap lamented.
The Nation
