February of Faith?

It’s a new month — the first day of the month for lovers to begin preparing for their Olympics, the kind that involves nothing but the swirling of waists, the crescendo of passionate ululations, and the — sometimes — inevitable climax of both.

This is the month where a partner will suddenly possess Christ-like powers and resurrect her uncle who has been dead for five years, who, coincidentally, is to be coronated on the 14th day of this most holy month, in his village, far away in the hinterlands of Ilobu. Of course, Ilobu has poor network, so she’d tell her man not to bother calling because she won’t be reachable. But why should he be worried? She’ll call with her uncle’s line, won’t she? Or doesn’t he trust her? The partner will, of course, believe — because, after all, to doubt is to be insecure, and who wants to be with an insecure man? An insecure man who’s offended that a niece wants to go and see her uncle — her mother’s long-dead but now alive brother. Such a selfishly insecure person; an oppressive, controlling man! a tyrant; a dictator; a despicable excuse for a partner!

It is the month where a king will be born, somewhere around November. It matters not that the paternity of this king may largely be unknown. He is a king! How can a commoner like you or me question the paternity, the gilded lineage of a king? A royal blood? Abomination! Our heads would roll if we dared such. So we will not. Instead, let us revel in the feast that will mark his naming. But if, in the course of the celebration, his father suddenly realizes that he is AA, and his wife is AA too, and thus they cannot have an AS child — and requests a DNA test — we will have to leave the party with haste. Because what we came to do is eat and make merry, not resolve royal DNA skirmishes.

It’s the month where the Muslims, the Christians, and perhaps even the traditionalists all join hands — perhaps in a strange inter-faith unison — to fast. Although, I’m not sure how Sango, Yemoja, Amadioha, and the host of other gods will feel with you denying them their due sacrifice in the name of some so-called fasting.

Sango may just strike you with thunder. Yemoja may be kind enough to send you incurable measles. But Amadioha — hmmm — I’m not so sure he’d be so forgiving. Out of anger, he may curse you to roam the length and breadth of this earth, naked and mad. If you worship them, I would not advise you to join the Muslims and Christians in fasting.

As for the Christians, it’s Lent — the holy month that leads to the crucifixion of Christ. A time of reflection, repentance, and of course, booking shortlet apartments —their own personal Golgotha. Because what better way to reenact the crucifixion of Christ than to swallow a potent trio of Tramadol, Jekommo, and Erujeje, and then nail someone’s daughter to the cross?

It matters not that Christ was nailed so others would not be — how can it matter when their own nail is already standing firm at a 90-degree drill sergeant’s pose, and will not be quieted until it fulfills its mission?

Their fasting is selective — they won’t eat bread but will devour another man’s wife with righteous zeal. They won’t drink water, but Hero and Life are exempt from their covenant with the Lord. At 6 PM, when they break their fast, it is not only their mouths that open, but also their zips — Jesus is still weeping.

As for the Muslims, this is the time to be showy with their faith — to let the world know that Sharia rules. Suddenly, even Abdulaziz, a chronic and unrepentant masturbator, who has been a tenured Pornhub subscriber with a Premium VIP badge, remembers that porn is haram and even comes online, with renewed piety, to bark orders at Elon Musk and every other bloody infidel on this platform not to post such sinful content.

Astaghfirullah!

How dare you eat in front of a Muslim when he’s fasting? And it’s not even that you ate tuwo shinkafa or dates. You ate pork!

SubhanAllah! You deserve a hundred lashes of the scourge by the ever-zealous Hisbah.

Ha! Did you just sip Erujeje in front of the mosque? Wallahi, what happened to Deborah is child’s play compared to what will happen to you, bloody kafir.

Oh, you’re walking home and you see the Hisbah police behind a corner smoking glue and inhaling urine in the holy month of Ramadan?

Mind your business!

They are doing Allah’s work. They take it so that they can work effectively for Allah.

Who are you to question Allah’s Chosen warriors? Do you want to die?

It’s the month where Trump continues his onslaught on the Left, where they continue to weep and gnash their teeth — forgetting that whatever he is doing today is largely a result of their witch-hunt against him!

Yeh! Who fired that gun at me?

Oh, I should mind my business? I should stick to my failed country’s politics? Okay, I hear you. But if I dared to talk about my president the way you people talk about yours, DSS would come running, and the next place I would find myself is inside the putrefying bowels of I-don’t-know-where, left to rot for the grave, abominable, and unforgivable crime of criticizing the president.

Okay, I should fuck off? I’m sorry, okay? I will.

Ah, that is not fair now. How can you call my country failed? How can you say my president is a thief? A rogue? A cocaine-sniffing geriatric?

I cannot take that. I will not take that. I have not insulted your president — you will not insult mine.

Ha! That you will write to the FBI to release his files? Ha, my brother, it has not gotten to that.

Ejo, ema binu.

Please, it’s okay. I will not talk about your president again. Yes, I agree with you — Harris won. It was the Russians. You are right.

Haba, my brother, I thought we said it’s okay!

You don’t need to insult us about depending on your country for aid when my president spends billions on renovating houses and purchasing private jets.

It is okay, my brother. I apologize. Let us not fight over presidents who do not know we exist. Allow me return to my natural state — one of survival, of begging for urgent 2k, of being a graduate without job, of buying fuel at 1700, of hoping for light, of cursing NEPA, of waiting for a day when our leaders will steal just a little less than usual.