Skip to main content

Thomas Crooks, The Trump Shooter, Is A Nigerian!

  Thomas Crooks Thomas Crooks was just an ordinary guy until he listened to his overtaxed brain.  Brain: Do you know you can be famous? Crooks: How? Brain: By attempting the infamous!  So, Crooks picked his father’s AR-15-style semiautomatic rifle. He listened to his confused brain again and headed to a rally nearby. Minutes later, he did a crooked thing by firing at Donald Trump!  Crooks wasn't a known professional crook. But he obviously had a enough crooked mind to store explosives in his car and home.  Yes, the Trump shooter was one man. But his name, “Crooks,” gave the impression of a multiple negative character. His crooked act and plans probably justified the addition of letter “s” to a his name, making him one but many crooks! Crooks’  “crooked shot missed Trump by an inch. Thomas Crooks was probably so crooked that he couldn't think straight. But thank God he couldn't shoot straight, either. Otherwise, the world would have missed a daring, straight...

Why Old Woman’s Children Lived in a Shoe.

 

I’ve just found out why the “old woman” in my daughter’s nursery rhyme did what she did. If you never attended nursery school, be informed that: “There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.” Funny enough, Mrs Old Woman - according to my grandma – was my relation. That’s why I’m bothered nobody asked why she had to live in a shoe! 

 

The story goes that she was from Eket Local Government of Akwa Ibom State. “She had so many children she didn't know what to do.” But, I swear, it was not her fault. As her cousin, I can testify that there was no family planning method then. Yet, she tried her best to cater for them, didn’t she? Except that government and multinational oil companies – like Mobil -  made things very difficult. 

 

You see, why “she gave them (the children)  some broth without any bread” may not be obvious to those outside the region. It wasn’t that Old Woman was too lazy to cultivate the land and feed the children from there. It was simply because Mobil had devastated the land with its oil exploration. Even when Exxon bought into the “exploitation,” Mrs Old Woman had nowhere to plant even the shoe she lived in. At a point, she had to leave it floating on oil spill. How then could she plant there or even come out of the shoe? 

Well, as the woman’s husband died earlier than expected, doctors said he had cancer. At the time of this report, it was not certain whether or not it was the effect of acid rain from oil exploration or the residue of crude in water he drank. The investigation has been taken over by the angels.

 

Anyway, Old Woman, I’m told, was in the habit of whipping the children “all soundly” before putting them to bed. That, unfortunately, is not where the story ends. I guess what the narrator called “bed,” in this case, was the inside of the shoe as against the discomfort of the slough outside. Even at that, she had to cover the top of the shoe with leaves, to protect the children from acid rain and carbon from the everlasting gas flare from Mobil.

 

Well, all the beatings and poor diet Old Woman gave to those kids can’t be compared with the fact that their future was zero. Because they remained permanently in the shoe, there was no prospect of education – formal or not.  So, when Mobil came  with a slogan of being a good corporate citizen, Old Woman, from the hole of the shoe-lace, challenged them to prove it.  “Like Solomon,  I seek wisdom and enlightenment – for my children. As I did not go to school, I would want them to be educated, to have a good future. If you are a good corporate citizen, build a school for the poor,” she charged. 

 

Mobil went away for consultation in Lagos. Then, to America. After years of  lies, politicking and buck passing, something was done  – in the name of  Pegasus Primary Schools (PEPS). At last, in the following stanza of the rhyme (yet to be written) Old Woman allowed the children to step out of the shoe. They marched through the oil slough to the school compound. Initially, they were taught how nice government and  oil companies have been to corpses in the region. “To teach is to touch a life, to open a child’s world through knowledge is to prepare him for the future. This is our noble course,” Mobil preached. It claimed the school was to compensate the indigenes of the region who have suffered the effects of oil exploration. But forgot to add that it was another tool for exploitation.

 

Anyway,  it didn’t take long for Mrs Old Woman  and her kids to find out. For,  Mobil Pegasus school isn’t better than a typical Lagos landlord – who increases rent every weekend he has party. The school now hikes its fees every session. As at last year, fees stood at N25,000 per term for Nurseries 1 & 2; books N8,500. Primaries 1, 2&3 paid N30,000 per term; books N9000. Primaries 4,5&6 paid N35,000 fees and N14,000 for books. That’s beside other charges. Yet, there’s hardly constant water supply in the facility. In fact, the school had to close down several times last year due to water problem. No wonder Old Woman’s children soon returned to their shoe – no books to read; not school to go. Where was Old Woman to get the sky-bound fees of  a self-acclaimed  “good corporate citizen”?

 

Lie! ExxonMobil isn’t a good corporate anything. But I lied too. ExxonMobil is actually a good corporate exploiter!  There’s a claim that Mobil spent N160 million to “support the operations of the school” in 2004. On what exactly? How come the facilities there haven’t changed for the better? The managers of the school claim they spent N91, 957 on each child per term. To send them to the moon and back? Nonsense!

 

Mobil declares billions of dollars as profit each year, yet can’t improve the lives of the people whose soil and souls they’ve polluted.  It  claims “growing competition for funds” has made it “imperative that we look for reliable and dependable alternative sources of funding for the school.” Interpretation: “You are on your own,  we owe you nothing!” The only “reliable and dependable alternative” is to overtax  the parents – according to one bush-woman called Tombush.

 

 Funny enough, it’s not the children’s future that is being destroyed. Mobil is destroying itself.   Isn’t that madness? If you disagree, please find a better name for an organization destroying what probably would been have its only memorable legacy. Despite poor facilities,  teachers and pupils of the school showed a lot of promises initially. One Mr Udo, a teacher, has won the best science teacher award thrice, consecutively – yet has no car. The award, instituted by the Science Teachers Association of Nigeria (STAN), isn’t a tea party. 

 

Many times, pupils from  the school, excluding Old Woman’s children,  have attended World Science Competitions in South Africa, etc. In fact, the school had been consistently leading the pack of other science schools in the country. There was hope the students could do better in future, if Mobil allowed. So, with 70 dollars per barrel of oil, what’s the incessant fee hike about? Is it Mobil that needs that money or somebody is using it on Mobil’s behalf?

 

The “good corporate  citizen” thing must be earned. If for instance, Mobil Pegasus schools had developed into a standard secondary school, the children from Akwa Ibom would not have gone out in search of better schools – even as far as the Jesuit College in Abuja. Four pupils, who transferred from Mobil Pegasus Schools died in the unfortunate Sosoliso crash in Port Harcourt last year – all because Mobil slept on its vow “to touch a life…” 

 

Now that Old Woman’s children are back in the dark, damp and stinky shoe polluted by oil spill, acid rain and carbon, I hope somebody’s blood pressure in Mobil is down. But what goes around sometimes goes around. Especially if somebody is spinning the wheels. The only consolation Old Woman can give her children is the adage that whoever digs a pit might fall into it. Well, in truth, he might not. But his wife, in-laws, mistress(es), grandchildren, etc, might. Same with a mad fellow who throws stone into the market. It may miss his head, but what of his relations’?

 

 

 

  • First published in Saturday Sun of  April 01, 2005

 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I DID A DNA TEST AND I WAS SHOCKED!

  Chief Oga was livid, eyes red like fresh tomatoe! He strode into his lavish living room, waving a DNA test result, as if it was  a winning lottery ticket. His voice boomed with indignation as he confronted his wife, who’s calmly scrolling through her phone as if nothing was amiss. Chief Oga: Adunni, this DNA test says Junior isn’t mine! What have you got to say to that?” The wife raised one eyebrow and returned to her phone. “Oh, dear. Must we discuss this now? I’m busy with Tapswap, I must win N10 billion in one minute from this virtual money. After that, I’ve Telemundo and Candy Crush Tournaments. Today is the finals.” Chief Oga: “When do you want to discuss it? When Junior is old enough to get married?“ Okay, Chief Oga just found out that his 9-year-old son was, ironically, not his. That discovery was part of a growing trend that’s recently turned DNA testing into Nigeria’s national pastime. Yet, the implications are far from trivial. Nigeria, a land where drama is a...

Losing My Senses

    I’ve been thinking. In the face of much disenchantment, what would happen if I lost my senses. Like many a depressed Nigerian, the mind veers off sometimes. Then, I wonder if life would be better without “number 5.”    If, for instance, I lost my power of “taste,” I could eat just anything, couldn’t I? That, I’m sure, would be the solution to the Obasanjo-induced hunger in the land. I could swallow stone, the way I do  eba , and still go on strong. On the other hand, I may not even be hungry, since I’d have no feeling,  abi ?  Indeed, I won’t need to know if a particular food had salt or fish or meat in it. It wouldn’t matter if the dish were Yoruba, Igbira, Efik, Igbo, Ibibio, Hausa, etc. Just stuff the thing down the throat, drink water and say thank you. I could drink tea with vinegar and lick my lips like I just had a breakfast of sugar sauce. All those would save me the problem of having to buy those tiny things that seem inconsequential but a...

Time to Name Our Own Hurricanes

  I don’t know why the “civilised” world picks names for disasters without considering Nigeria. It’s unfair to ignore a country that has borne the burden of every African nation, except Nigeria. Nigeria has tried, I swear by the biggest Bible. The biggest Quran. And my big head!   “Oyinbo” people are so selfish. Imagine, of all the names of natural disasters, none is African. No, Nigerian. That’s why I sent away my maid named Katrina. “Oyinbo” even name hurricanes after saints, girlfriends, years and First Ladies. One was named “Bess,” after President Harry Truman’s wife. Imagine! Why can’t they name one “Hurricane Stella”?   Anyway, I suspect the Americans are at the centre of this conspiracy. To deprive Nigeria of its God-given endowments. See, we may not have enough “natural disasters” to compete with the Western world. But our politicians and their families are enough in that category. And, we have created some disasters of national dimension, haven’t we?  I...