Abba Kyari: Speaking ill of the Dead by Remi Oyeyemi.

"The evil that men do live after them." -- William Shakespeare.
I am aware that this is breaking with the conventional wisdom. I am conscious that this is a rebuke of tradition. I am not oblivious to the fact that it is against the norm. I am not unaware that this is not in tune with the mainstream. I am aware some would loath me for it. Some would deride me. Others would call me names. Those who really never liked my guts, would have this reinforced it for them. But those who have the objective ability to see things the way they are and are able to call them as exactly as they should, would see some sense in this.

The idea of not speaking ill of the dead is not a good idea, especially if the dead person did nothing deserving of praise. The idea of praising the dead, regardless if the dead, during his or her life was mean spirited, greedy, selfish, inconsiderate, odiously acquisitive, ruthless and disdainful, is totally unacceptable. It is wrong and should be done away with. We should be able to say exactly what kind of person someone was during his or her life. I have been reading in the media unbelievable eulogies about the late Chief of Staff to President Mohammadu Buhari, Mr. Abba Kyari. I have been reading some hypocritical praise - singing of this man who, to many Nigerians who celebrated his infliction a couple of weeks back, was no less a monster, because he has become the casualty of the Coronavirus 19. I have read from those who hated him saying embarrassingly 'nice' things about him. What a fraud. What a dishonesty.

It is a sad day when people cascade into casual casuistry with unbridled audacity. It is an act of deliberate undermining of the societal values to heap praises on someone whose remains ought to be used to cast away evils from the entire society. To project a mean - spirited public office holder as a saint when he is not, is a sin in itself.

I take serious objection to the rain of praise that has been raining down on the corpse of the late Abba Kyari. Though, this is a matter of choice to which we are all entitled depending on the way we see it. In my own view, Kyari is not deserving of any praise whatsoever. It is alright for President Buhari to cry himself hoarse. Kyari was his Chief of Staff and his relative. It is okay for his goons in Aso Rock, his partners in crime to weep without end. It is okay for those who are beneficiaries of his corrupt practices, his impunities to gnash their teeth to numb. It is their loss. His immediate and extended family members reserve the inalienable rights to mourn him infinitely and indefinitely.

I also believe that it is alright for the rest of us who are victims of the first family and their collaborators in Aso Rock, to acknowledge the loss of a soul, not because of any other reason other than the fact that we are all human beings. And this is where it ought to end. No more, no less.
For those who are Buhari's sycophants and who still hope to benefit from the misery he is visiting on Nigeria, it might be acceptable to them to shed their crocodile tears even if they really did not like the man when he was alive. They are welcome to do so.

Here is a man, who never got a single vote, whether rigged or not, from the Nigerian people, but who hijacked the executive powers of the Presidency. He held Nigeria and Nigerians to ransom since 2015. He rode roughshod over the people of this country. He appropriated all the appurtenances of power for his personal idiosyncrasies.

Abba Kyari never cared. He never gave a damn. Yes, he did not give a damn how many Nigerians died. He did not care how many Nigerians went hungry. He did not care how much injustice was perpetrated. He did not give a damn how many innocent Nigerians were murdered. He did not give a damn how many Nigerians were chased off their ancestral lands. He did not care how many of our daughters were raped. He did not give a damn how many were maimed by his tribesmen.
He was a perniciously greedy soul. He was remorseless in his ways. The 500 million naira bribe he took from the MTN was emblematic of his innate rapacity. It was emblematic of his bloated edacity. He appointed himself to the Board of Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC). It was the first time in the History of Nigeria for an incumbent Chief of Staff. It was against the norm of decency and restraint. It was impunity at its worst.

Kyari relentlessly harassed the Vice President, licentiously anchoring Professor Osinbajo's deliberate disempowerment.  He unabashedly intimidated the Ministers and prevented them from meaningful collaboration with the man who appointed them, or whom he helped appointed. With a mien akin to that of a dove, he was a heinous hawk, a vicious vulture that is egregious and atrocious in its debauchery and cupidity.

He was mindless and mean. He was cruel and cold. He was crude and callous. His greed was congenital. His insouciance encrypted his guiled mendacity. He was hung up on power hunkering. He had disdain for the rules. Like his principal, Buhari, he believed and acted above the law. His arrogance was horrifying. His condescension, sardonically sickening in the way and manner he exercised unmerited power.

Yes, the idea of not speaking ill of the dead is a VERY WRONG one, especially if that dead person never did anything to deserve it. If this practice was to continue, it means every criminal in our midst should look forward to being praised after he/she was dead regardless of the crimes committed. This would also mean a genuine disincentive for those who strive to do positive things and improve their communities.

It is very important to ensure that dead people's memories be imbued with their acts of omissions and commissions when they were alive. It is an act of injustice to arrogate false achievements, fake qualities to monstrous figures more notorious for their kleptomania as they gallivant through the inner rooms of power.

Hopefully, when I die, people would have the unburnished courage to say exactly what they feel about me and not deodorize my omissions and imperfections. Hopefully, those who would feel the need to mourn me would not see the need to be hypocritical and dishonest in their elegies. In all this, what became clearer is the vanity of vanity itself. It brought to the fore the cliché popularized by the Broadcasting Corporation of Oyo State in the early 1980s, "...vanity upon vanity, all is vanity." It underscores the ephemeralness of not just power, but of all things that are human, except our deeds. This probably informed William Shakespeare's ageless rumination captured in the   phrase, " The evil that men do live after them."

We should not praise villains when they are dead. It is a great disincentive to those who labored to be above board and did the right thing. You don't have to agree   with me. You don't have to like me. Please, don't like me, just respect the truth.

“The world tells us to seek success, power and money; God tells us  to seek humility, service and love.”  -  Pope Francis.

Nigerians in the Diasporas that have Died of COVID-19.

May their gentle souls rest in perfect peace. And may God, in his infinite mercies, console the loved ones they left behind.

Prince and the Price of Fame.

When Prince, the greatly talented musician died suddenly the other week, the memory of Michael Jackson’s equally sudden death flashed across one's mind. The manner of their deaths was as tragic as it was weird. In spite of their larger-than-life public image, each one of them was all alone, helpless and pathetic at the time of death. And both of them had drug issues. Why not? When fame and riches go together in the life of a person, there is often a huge price to pay. Sadly, such consequences include, but not limited to acute loneliness, emotional disturbances and sadness. They can’t afford to cope with the reality of life. After all, they are “superstars”. It’s considered an entitlement for the famous to be in high spirits on 24-7 basis. Alas, that is not possible according to the law of nature. So, what do the insanely rich and famous do? They get their “high spirits” anyhow, unnaturally.  

 

Now, the drug dealer that had been supplying “the stuff” to Prince for about 25 years had come out to state that, the superstar once spent $40,000 at one time on drugs. When poor folks indulge in hard drugs such as heroin, cocaine and other illegal substances, they are called drug addicts or worse, “crack heads”. They also get thrown into jails. It’s however a different ball game for the famous. Society excuses them for being on “pain killers”. They are cast as victims of the pressure of being filthy rich and famous. In fact, ordinary people are supposed to sympathize with them whenever this happens. 

 

Let’s hope the up-and-coming artistes learn from the sad ends of Prince and some others before him - Michael Jackson, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Elvis Presley, James Brown and a whole lot of others. It’s alright to dream and aspire for stardom. But there is a need for those with such an aspiration to make provisions for the future consequences of fame. Right now, there are millions of young people turning their backs on basic education. If they are not aspiring to become sports stars, they are struggling in the music industry and each of them is aspiring to become another “Prince”. What a pity!

 

The Terrorist Attacks in Paris.

“Terror returned to Paris for the second time in a year Friday night when at least 127 people died in a series of brutal terrorist attacks at various locations around the city. The militant group Islamic State of Iraq and Greater Syria (ISIS) claimed responsibility for the attacks early Saturday…” – TIME.

Everyone, in the civilized world, has been commenting about the latest mass cold-blood murder in France. We are being asked to pray, meditate and commiserate with the French. But no one is telling us what the same civilized world will do about the bloody menace of the Islamic terrorists all over the place.

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RIP Louis Johnson (April 13, 1955 – May 21, 2015).

RIP Louis Johnson (April 13, 1955 – May 21, 2015) of the “The Brothers Johnson” band. The well-known bassist died on Thursday. He was 60.

He and his brother, George, started their careers as studio session men for Billy Preston and Quincy Jones. In 1976, the two formed “The Brothers Johnson” and came up with No. 1 hits among which were, Strawberry Letter 23, Ain’t we funking now, Blam and Stomp.

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For Those Who Text & Drive.

A Poetic Justice in Mississippi.

“The sadness of this day also has an element of irony to it: Each defendant was escorted into court by agents of an African-American United States Marshal, having been prosecuted by a team of lawyers which includes an African-American AUSA from an office headed by an African-American U.S. attorney — all under the direction of an African-American attorney general, for sentencing before a judge who is African-American, whose final act will be to turn over the care and custody of these individuals to the BOP [Federal Bureau of Prisons] — an agency headed by an African-American.”

– Being excerpt from a speech read by U.S. District Judge Carlton Reeves, (one of just two African-Americans to have ever served as federal judges in Mississippi) while he pronounced sentences on three young white men for the death of a 48-year-old black man named James Craig Anderson in a parking lot in Jackson, Miss., one night in 2011. They were part of a group that beat Anderson and then killed him by running over his body with a truck, yelling "white power" as they drove off.

Islam and the Rest of us.

While the ISIS and the Boko Haram lunatics, along with their supporters, are jubilating across the world, the Al-Qaida terrorist group has claimed responsibility for last week's deadly assault on a French satirical newspaper to "revenge for their prophet." The attack came on the heels of the deadly attack launched by the Boko Haram on Baga, a Nigerian town where innocent people, including women and children were practically mutilated and incinerated in cold blood.

For how long will the international community continue to fold fold its arms while these animals continue to murder innocent people in the name of their prophet and religion? For God’s sake, there are other religions in the world! In fact, here is a list of some other notable religions and the populations of their believers:

Hinduism: 900 million.

Chinese traditional religion: 394 million.

Buddhism: 376 million.

Primal-indigenous: 300 million.

African Traditional & Diasporic: 100 million.

Judaism: 14 million.

Sikhism: 23 million.

Juche: 19 million.

Spiritism: 15 million.

Ironically, most Christians and Muslems consider these other religions as something akin to evil. But do we ever hear of some terrorist groups springing up from their midst to slaughter fellow humans like fowls or sheep? In fact, to a Bhuddist, Hiduist or an African indigenous faith believer, the shedding of blood is absolutely considered as a heinous sin against God. Yet, here is the whole world being harassed every now and then by various Islamic terrorist groups. Apart from their deafening silence, it’s sad to see or hear many Moslems go on the defensive by claiming that the terrorists among them do not represent their religion. But ask them how that sounds in the ears of the relations of terrorists’ victims? And ask them the last time they consider it necessary to publicly criticize or condemn the senseless murder of people in cold blood all over the world, and they will slip further into silence. This is a shame on humanity!

Remembering Teddy Pendergrass.

Yesterday marked the 5^th anniversary of the death of Teddy Pendergrass (1950– 2010). TP, as he was fondly called by his fans, was an American R&B/Soul singer and songwriter. In the late 1979s to early 1980s, no serious party could ever be complete without the DJ featuring some of Teddy Pendergrass’ songs. He was among the very few authentic R&B singers of our time. These days, almost every charlatan pretends to be an R&B singer even though all they do is make some silly, rambling noises on a manipulated microphone.

Teddy Pendergrass actually started out as a drummer for the Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes. It was while in session one fateful day with the group that he sang along while on the drums. Startled by the powerful vocal of the then young man, the leader of the group decided right there that TP would henceforth be the lead vocal. And by the late 1970s, he proceeded on a successful solo career. Unfortunately, his career was at the very peak in 1982 when, after a party at his residence, he crashed his Rolls Royce onto a tree in Philadelphia while taking a friend home. The accident left him paralyzed from the chest down. Later on in his life, he founded the Teddy Pendergrass Alliance, a foundation that helps those with spinal cord injuries. Pendergrass commemorated 25 years of living as a victim of spinal cord injury with a star-filled event. It was titled, “Teddy 25 - A Celebration of Life” at the Philadelphia's Kimmel Center. On January 13, 2010, he died of respiratory failure at Bryn Mawr Hospital in suburban Philadelphia.

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Between the Lives of Eric Garner and a Cat.

This is surely not the best of times to be a cop, especially a white cop, in the United States of America. The whole nation is still reeling from the shock and the ensuing riots arising from the shooting of Michael Brown, an unarmed young black man, by a white cop in Ferguson. And now, this killing of Eric Garner, another unarmed black man in New York!

As a daily, heavily-armed law enforcement officer, the use of a deadly force will always be my last resort. One can therefore wonder why any cop will readily resort to the use of a deadly force at the slightest threat to their ego or feeling instead of life. By the way, whatever happens to the use of Tasers or cap stun? Must cops always go for the kill over every incident without first assessing the supposed threats? And, in the case of Eric Garner, when it became apparent that the hapless man was choking for breath, why did the cops not bother to apply a CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation)?

It was not long ago that a Brooklyn man was hunted down until he was arrested by the police for kicking a cat. The invectives and racist comments that were directed at the guy was extremely intense. In a bid to appease those people as they cried and condemned the man, the Brooklyn district attorney hurriedly proceeded with plans to prosecute the cat-kicking guy for animal cruelty. The message of that incident to the world at large was simply this: In the United States, the life of a cat is sacrosanct, something you don’t want to mess with.

Since that incident though, two black men and a 12-year-old black kid have been murdered in cold blood by police officers who did not exercise due diligence while performing their duties. Sadly, the affected cops have since been declared blameless by the grand juries set up to look into the two separate incidents. The cops and members of the two separate grand juries may be beating their chests proudly for jobs well-done. But unwittingly, they have sent a combined message to the outside world that: In God’s own country, the life of a black man is worthless, not even worth a dime when compared to the life of a cat.

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The Civil War in the World of Islam.

Once again, the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (a.k.a. ISIS) has beheaded another fellow human being. Their latest victim was a British aid worker, Alan Henning. And the very sad irony, after the dastardly, barbaric act, must have been the guys’ usual exclamation of “Allah Akbar!” (God is great!)

However, the cold-blooded murder of Alan Henning and other foreign “unbelievers” has been just one of the two major “important projects” in the agenda of these lowest of human species. The other major objective of the ISIS (a military arm of the Shiites) is in its violent conflict against other Muslims who are called the Sunnis. Just a few months ago in Iraq, several people belonging to the Sunnis sect, were brutally shot (execution style) by these same ISIS. Unfortunately, the Sunnis are not angels either.



As an individual, I have often wondered why brothers in Islam would be at each other’s throats in such a most violent manner. The sheer mutual hatred these two Islamic sects harbor against each other is horrific. And it keeps reminding one of a similar horror that was demonstrated, in a not too distant past, by the Catholics and the Protestants in Ireland. The question therefore is why the civil war between the two Islamic sects?



In the Middle East, religion is government. Scripture is law. And the past defines the future. Islam has been divided between the Sunnis and the Shiites since the death of the Prophet Muhammad in 632 AD.

Upon the demise of the prophet, a bitter dispute ensued over who would be the next leader of Islam. The Sunnis called for an election by which a new leader would emerge. But the Shiites preferred to support the desire of the direct descendants of Prophet Muhammad who wanted to have one of them to succeed the prophet.

This disagreement has since led to a bitter war between these two sects. And the war has been very hateful and brutal, leading to the cold-blooded murder and destabilization of people in the Middle-east and across the world.

The two sects have two distinct geographic, political, ideological and cultural identities. But so far, the Sunnis make up the 90% of the world’s 1.6 billion Muslims while the Shiites (with the most militant orientation) are in a minority with headquarters in Iran.

 

Disappointed in God?

When my mother passed away, the sad event was so sudden and emotionally devastating that my immediate reaction was to lapse into an utter shock. Two questions kept nagging at my mind. The first was a simple-sounding word, “Why?” And the second was the whereabouts of God when that tragedy crept into our family?

My mother was a very religious woman, a good Christian filled with a very strong faith in God. Ironically, as the woman suffered a massive stroke and began to slip into coma on that fateful day, she was screaming and gesticulating with her hands out-stretched, for God to save her life.  But death still took her away. As far as I was concerned, God must have shrugged his shoulders in total nonchalance at a time the woman needed him most.

And so, for many years afterwards, I cut off all relationship with God!

There were some individuals, families, friends and colleagues, who tried to reconcile us but I rejected the idea each time. They must have considered me obstinate.

I know there are individuals out there who must be feeling the same way right now. Theirs could be loss of jobs, repossessed cars, loss of homes or some other issues. But what could ever be worse than the loss of a loved one as it was in my case? Whatever the case might be though, it is better to allow the affected individuals to reconcile and make peace with God at their own time. That was how it happened in my case. And I learned a lot of great lessons in the process.



In the first place, God gave me the grace to know that even though I no longer reckoned with him all that time, he continued to bless, adore and abide with me. The manifestations were glaring, much to my embarrassments. Secondly, God gave me the grace to “walk with him” and during the encounter, in retrospect, I began to ask for his forgiveness. I also decided to thank him profusely for my mother’s life. Within the short period of her life, the woman positively touched so many lives (one way or the other) that had she lived up to ninety, she couldn’t have done any better.  Her memory is fresh and alive in the hearts of many people she touched in her lifetime. Thirdly, I realized that my mother could have woken from the coma only to become a “vegetable”. And God knew very well that we (the kids) and our father were in no financial or emotional condition to be saddled with such a huge responsibility.

Therefore, I will advise those who are feeling disappointed in God over one thing or the other, to spare a moment to “walk with God”. The walk simply entails giving God the opportunity to “explain his own side of the story”.



 

 

How Long Will This Evil be Allowed?

FOR HOW LONG WILL THIS EVIL PEOPLE BE ALLOWED TO CONTINUE WITH ALL THESE COLD-BLOODED MURDERS IN THE NAME OF A RELIGION? AND IT'S SHAMEFUL HOW WE ALL MERELY LOOK AT SAD IMAGES SUCH AS THIS ONE AND THOSE BEING PERPETRATED BY THE ANIMALS CALLED BOKO HARAM IN NIGERIA. BUT WHAT DO WE DO? WE SHAKE OUR HEADS QUIETLY AND MOVE ON TO SOME OTHER STUFF...BECAUSE THE VICTIMS ARE NOT RELATED TO US.

Will James Brown Ever Rest in Peace?

James Brown, the soul legend who died of congestive heart failure on December 25, 2006 was kept on ice for several months due to stupid squabbles among his descendants. Finally, sanity prevailed and his body was buried. But the body has never known peace!



So far, the body of James Brown has been exhumed and relocated for about 16 times. Some of these relocations were brought about by the singer's widow, Tomi Rae, upon the excuse that the man did not get the burial he would have wanted. The same woman also got a court order to get the man’s legs amputated and practically dismembered. This was to have a DNA test performed to determine whether James Brown was the father of Rae’s son, James Jr.



For a man who rose from a very humble background and, by dint of hard work, rose to great heights in the music industry, this is a big shame!

Whatever legacies James Brown would claim he had left to posterity could never compare with the gargantuan mess that now lingers since his demise. This is a huge lesson for all men, irrespective of their financial or social status. The mess men create in their wild days definitely lives after them!



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eyewitness to the Murder of Michael Brown.

Dorian Johnson (shown below) was a friend of Michael Brown, the 18-year-old who was fatally shot by a police officer in Fergusson, Missouri last Saturday.



On the fateful day, according to Johnson, the two young men were taking a stroll when the police officer pulled over to yell at the duo to leave the road and “get the f—k on the sidewalk”.



The young men’s explanation that their destination, the home of the victim’s grandmother (shown above) was not far, failed to impress the officer who got out of his patrol car to grab Michael Brown. He wanted to drag the young man into the car. When he finally extricated himself from the officer’s strong-arm hold, Brown was said to have broken into a run.

On seeing this, the officer pulled out his gun and began to shoot the young man. At a point, said Johnson, Michael Brown stopped to raise-up his hands before pleading that “I don’t have a gun, stop shooting!”

Again, the police officer was not impressed. Now face-to-face with the victim, he began to shoot at Brown. The officer fired several more shots even as the victim crumbled to the ground and curled into a fetal position.

The silly excuse of the affected police department was that the victim tried to force himself into the officer’s car. So far, this is the worst excuse ever given for the wrongful shooting of an unarmed African American victim. Why so? No African American man will ever attempt to voluntarily step into a police patrol car.

 

 

Another Victim of Racial Profiling.

“I know they killed my son… this was wrong and it was cold-hearted.”

To many readers, the above statement will sound familiar. But no, it was not made by the mother of Trayvon Martin (February 5, 1995 – February 26, 2012) a 17-year-old African American teenager from Miami Gardens, Florida who was fatally shot by an idiot who was so prejudiced as to assume that all young black men were potential criminals.



Rather, the anguished statement was made only last Saturday by Lesley McSpadden (shown above) the mother of Michael Brown, the latest victim of a racial profiling.

Michael Brown was an eighteen-year-old African American whose life was cut short by the bullets fired by a police officer in as the young man walked down a street in Ferguson, Missouri. The time of the sad incident was reported as 2:15pm on a bright Saturday afternoon. The worse aspect of it all was that the young man was merely a few days away from starting classes at Vatterott College.



According to eye witnesses, Brown was stopped by a police officer for reasons still unknown. But the people around the scene recollected seeing the officer making attempts at dragging Brown into his patrol car. As the officer did this, Brown was said to break into a run while the police officer began shooting until the young man felled to the ground. From all accounts so far, the victim was not armed.



A friend of Michael Brown was heard saying, "Everyone else wanted to be a football player, a basketball player…he wanted to own his own business.”

"He said he wasn't going to end up like some people on the streets.” another friend, Hershel Johnson, told the CNN. “He was going to get an education…he was going to make his life a whole lot better."

Unfortunately, the police officer that shot Michael Brown did not allow the fulfillment of the young man’s destiny.

The local NCAAP and other community leaders had asked federal officials to get involved in the racially-charged shooting. And the latest news on the incident is that the FBI will conduct its own investigation in addition to the one already under way by St. Louis county police. The FBI’s focus will be on whether the civil rights of Michael Brown were violated.

 

They Could Have Killed Me

When my son, Adeoluwa posted the above picture on Facebook some days ago, little did he know the flood of memories and emotions it brought to me.

A couple of days after this picture was taken, I was about stepping out of my home to leave for work and wondering why my wife kept me waiting.

On that fateful morning, she wanted to pay a visit to her parents with our 3-month-old baby boy. But I soon got tired of waiting and told her that I had to leave. She said fine but I should give her  just a few seconds before driving off so that she could package some breakfast for me. I asked her to please send it down
to me in the parking lot right inside the compound.

As I got downstairs, my kid brother, Kehinde had just washed the car. I got inside the car to start the engine while my brother walked toward the gate to open it. Unknown to him, three men were waiting outside the gate. As Kehinde pushed the gate open, the men rushed inside the quiet compound, all armed. Instantly,
at gun-point, one guy ordered Kehinde to lay prostrate on the ground without a word. Another guy stood in the middle of the street, directly opposite the house to ward off possible sympathisers. And the third guy, obviously the leader, casually but firmly walked toward me.

"Hey..." he barked at me as he touched my forehead with the barrel of the revolver in his hand..."Did you feel the coldness of the gun?"

I nodded.

"I just wanted you to know that this is not a toy gun." he stated very camly as if we were just having some friendly chat.

"I believe you." I answered in utter fear even as I stared at his very cold eyes. "Please...take the car..."

There were only two families in the entire compound of twin duplexes. And there were assorted cars including a Mercedes Benz parked in the compound. I thought
the guys were interested in the cars.

"What?" the man got angry at my suggestion."Who do you think we are...car thieves? What an insult!"

"Ah...I'm sorry." I pleaded. "So, what do you want...money?"

This other suggestion even made the other guys angrier as the one standing over my brother yelled at their leader to "shoot him and let's go!"

On hearing this command, I glared at the man as I pleaded for my life. But the man was not impressed with my plea. He ordered me to face the wall.

Somehow, something made me refuse to face the wall and I told him point-blank that I would not face the wall.

"Please tell me...who sent you..." I asked him. "May I know who wants me killed?"

This time, the two other men were terribly angry with their leader as they yelled at him to stop chatting with me.

"Shoot this guy and let us go!" they ordered.

Oblivious of the sad drama, my wife had sent the house maid to bring down my breakfast. On seeing the guy with a gun pointed to my head, the poor girl
stood temporarily transfixed to the spot on the staircase. The gun man now pointed the gun at her to shoot but I found myself standing between him and
the maid. With this action, the girl bolted upstairs, screaming that "someone wants to kill Deolu's daddy!"

The man now looked at me and said since I refused to face the wall, he would just go ahead to shoot. At that moment and within a micro-second, my mind
went into frenzy as a lot of pitiful faces came flying past...my wife, my baby boy, my brothers...everyone...all looking sad as if they were already mourning my
untimely death. That was how I knew how people felt under such a crazy circumstance.

Then, a click from the gun suddenly made my mind return to focus on the assassin. The gun had jammed.

Right before me, the guy checked the revolver, assured himself it was okay and pointed it at my head. He fired. But again, all that sounded was another click.

Now angry with himself, he unloaded the six rounds of ammonition, checked them and reloaded them into the gun chambers. As he did this, I simply stood
there helplessly waiting for my death. Quickly, he pointed it at my head and fired. But there was yet, another click sound.    

For a few seconds, the guy stared hard at me without a word. Then, he said "What kind of a person are you?"

When I said nothing except to keep staring at him, he finally said "You're not an ordinary person...are you?"

Suddenly, he barked at the other men, telling them they had to leave.

"What do you mean we have to leave...?" the guy standing over my brother querried.

But without an answer, the leader of the team jumped into my car and ordered the two other men to join him. That was how they left.

Fortunately they left at that moment. My other brother, Shola was running down the stairs in reaction to the maid's alarm. Up till today, I ask myself what if the men had shot me and were suddenly confronted by Shola's presence at that moment? Of course, they would have shot him too. And what would that do to
Olawole's family...the loss of two persons in one day?

Some hours later on that same day, my car was found somewhere in Ikeja. Nothing in the car was touched or stolen. Not even my wallet which was heavily loaded with cash was touched. I was going through the cash after starting the car shortly before the assassins rushed into the compound. 

There was a friend (he knows himself) and a cousin (he also knows himself) and maybe some other people (who I don't know yet) who may "sometimes" feel irritated each time I use the Facebook to thank, praise and glorify the Lord in appreciation of my life, my family and especially, my kids, now they can understand the reason. This story here is just one of the many situations where I could have lost my life. I know God has been preserving my life for some reasons best known to Him.