By Valentine Obienyem
One of our brothers recently added Amadioha to his name. The full name avoided any English name. He reminds us of Joseph-Désiré Mobutu, who abandoned his Christian name during his campaign for African authenticity and became Mobutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu wa Za Banga. But Mobutu ended up proving that changing names is easier than changing character. Authenticity became his slogan; despotism became his legacy.
That thought was still on my mind as the Mass ended today and I bought a copy of “Fides” newspaper. The first article that caught my attention was written by Fr. Constantine Echichechi Okoli, titled “How to Choose a Baptismal Name.” After explaining the types of names – whether saintly or Igbo – that may properly be chosen, he writes specifically about the category of names that should not be used. His words:
“Names directly associated with evil spirits. No matter the level of inculturation or adaptation, the Church does not endorse names such as Baal, Moloch, Beelzebul, Ekwensu, Amadioha… these are, at best, renounced.”
After reading the article, I opened my Facebook page to get some news. Coincidentally, the first thing I saw was where the same Amadioha was interrogating Minister Nyesom Wike, a man whose public conduct often resembles that of an overgrown juvenile.
Any person can go on air and start abusing anybody, brandishing “otoro gbugbuo gi” with reckless vehemence and in a harsh, guttural voice, perhaps the consequence of a uvula destroyed by alcohol. This is what Wike does, and some people erroneously call it courage when it is, in fact, a brazen display of poor upbringing. In spite of being buffeted daily by all manner of characters, have you ever seen Peter Obi hurl abuses at anyone? Even fools can become ministers, while history recounts that some imbeciles have even been clothed in purple.
But what Amadioha wrote was a sort of psychological analysis of Wike’s intermittent dancing. Beyond its superficial scratching, we shall move inwards, analysing Amadioha’s analysis itself. In doing so, we shall bring to the surface some of the meanings he was on the verge of revealing, only to conceal them again.
His first paragragh Reads: “TBH, I’m sometimes somewhat conflicted about how to feel about this chap’s acrobatics.”
There is no conflict here. It is the antics of an inwardly unhappy man who must pretend otherwise in order to project confidence, command attention, and persuade both himself and the public that all is well. Excessive public merriment is not always evidence of inner joy; at times, it is a carefully cultivated mask. The louder the performance as seen in Wike, the greater the possibility that it conceals an inner disquiet. What ought to concern us, therefore, is not the dance itself, but what the dance seeks to distract us from.
Amadioha then offers what he considers the first side of the dilemma: “On the one hand, I feel like he’s having fun, getting attention by entertaining the public and physically exercising his body.”
The key expression here is “getting attention.” There is hardly anything man has not done, including the bizarre, merely to attract public attention. History is replete with such examples. It immediately reminded me of the story of Alcibiades. He inherited a large fortune and spent it with a flamboyant versatility that fascinated gossip among his people. He bought a dog for an immense sum, cut off its tail, and explained that he had done so to give the Athenians something to talk about, so that they might say nothing worse of him.
The anecdote was not merely about a bizarre act. It revealed the fatal character flaws of Alcibiades. The dog was not just a quirky public relations stunt; it was evidence of a brilliant but dangerous demagogue who understood how to keep the public focused on harmless spectacle while he engaged in far more perilous political games. This is precisely what Wike’s dancing symbolises.
Amadioha went on: “On the other hand, I feel it’s getting a bit too much and even a distraction to the seriousness that should otherwise be attached to his position.”
Has Wike ever been a serious person? If not for the type of country we are in, people like Wike should actually be in jail. What he did in Rivers State during electioneering is enough to regard him as an enemy of Nigeria and, indeed, of humanity.
But like characters attract each other. As a student at Lagos State University, I lived on Desalu Street, close to the railway line, in an area known as Iponri. After many years of living there, I never knew that “Igbo” (hard drug) was sold nearby until one of our brothers came around. Within three days of his arrival, he discovered a place where it was sold. That was the power of attraction: like characters finding each other.
That same brother also urged me several times to visit Fela’s shrine, but I did not follow him. I regret that decision today, especially because Fela later died and I lost the opportunity to experience that part of Lagos’ cultural history.
This is the same pull that drew Wike towards PBAT. Men without strong principles often gravitate towards those with whom they share a common political instinct. PBAT welcomed him with open arms, just as he welcomed the likes of Daniel Bwala, Femi Fani-Kayode, and Reno Omokri. I am almost certain that Kenneth Okonkwo may one day also find his way into that embrace. In fact, if he decides to join them, PBAT out of happiness of a prodigal coming back to his people will stifle him with his embrace.
While Wike sees PBAT as his political sanctuary, PBAT sees Wike as the living embodiment of the philosophy of “grab it and run with it,” hoping that he would help him grab and run with Abuja, thereby avoiding the indignity of genuinely losing the city again.
Going forward, Emeka calls Wike the best minister thus: “But then again, he’s probably one of the best-performing ministers, if not the best.”
What exactly did he do in Abuja to merit being called the best minister? In terms of development, El-Rufai towers above him and may justly be called the father of modern Abuja. I was in Abuja during his time and know exactly how he transformed a city on the verge of becoming a ghetto into the beautiful city it was designed to be.
I am inclined to believe that people who worship PBAT, like Amadioha, will consider their papa’s favourite the best because they have placed the burden of conquering Abuja for him on the man. And because he throws his foolhardy punches – like the arrogant and inferiority-complex-inflicted Engr. Dave Umahi – at Obi and others who are critical of PBAT, he will remain their favourite.
Even if a minister develops his entire ministry spectacularly but corrupts society by giving the people an uninspiring example through election rigging, inordinate acquisition, total lack of respect, drunkenness, and other vices as Wike does, he remains the worst minister. We cannot afford commending a man whom fate has thrown up as a minister but who, in turn, behaves worse than a tout. I think Dr. Reuben Abati is best placed to speak authoritatively on this topic.
In conclusion, Emeka says:“He’s a good dancer though – and the music is good.”
Amadioha is telling us that whatever faults he thinks Wike has, he is also good at what he does. Amadioha is being rather tricky here. Why seek redeeming value in a man who is totally irredeemable? That is what Amadioha has done here. Within himself, he knows that Wike is despicable, but he dares not say it, especially while monitoring the body language of PBAT, who appears happy with him.
Amadioha’s disposition is not shocking for those who have the ears of history. History tells us about Cambyses. He once asked one of his top officials, Prexaspes, what the Persians thought of him. Prexaspes honestly replied that they admired him but thought he drank too much wine. Furious, Cambyses decided to prove that his mind and aim were perfectly sharp. He took his bow, aimed at Prexaspes’ young son, who was standing across the room, and shot the boy cleanly through the heart. Cambyses then turned to the grieving father and mockingly asked if his hand was steady. Terrified for his own life and that of the rest of his family, the father replied that not even a god could have shot so wonderfully.
There is also the story of a man. A courtier or subject was sentenced to the bastinado – a severe public beating on the soles of the feet with a stick – by royal command. Upon the completion of the torture, the man was expected to – and did – express profound gratitude to the king simply for “remembering” him and noticing his existence.
These stories endure because they reveal a permanent truth about power: when authority becomes overwhelming, people begin to search for virtues in those from whom they ought instead to demand accountability. A tyrant’s cruelty is reinterpreted as greatness; a punishment becomes a favour simply because the powerful person “remembered” the victim.
That is the danger of attempting to redeem the irredeemable. No amount of spectacle, entertainment, or public performance – certainly not Wike’s routine dances – should distract us from the deeper question of character, responsibility, and the moral obligations of public office. A society that confuses amusement with virtue and visibility with value risks celebrating the very things it ought to scrutinise.
