The Wickedest Man in Nigeria By Jason Abaga @jasonabaga

Since I was a little lad pulling little girls’ braids in Sunday School and making them cry, I’ve always wanted one thing, and one thing only: to be the wickedest man in Nigeria.

Other children wanted to be doctors and pilots and teachers. Not I. I wanted to burn things down and deface posters. I wanted people to curse and revile me as I passed by. I wanted them to spit at the mention of my name.

It has always been my purpose to be wicked, as I’ve said. So as soon as I was done with school and finished my NYSC, I set about looking for the most nefarious things and person to be. This was not easy, I assure you. All around me, the competition was stiff. There were more wicked people than I had imagined, all living in one country.

I realized that in order to set myself out as truly wicked, truly mind horrifyingly ghastly, I would have to excel above my peers in a manner never before seen.

I immediately set about my plan.

At the bank where I worked, I spread evil rumours behind my colleagues’ backs, pitting one against the other. I played with the accounting figures to insure they never balanced. I insulted the customers and refused to attend to them.

I waited my punishment.

It came in the form of a promotion. I was made the branch manager and asked to teach the other branches in the area my “customer service skills and marketing techniques.”

Dissatisfied, I spurned that job and sought work in the public sector. Here is a place, I felt, where my talents would be more appreciated.

As a civil servant, I made it my duty to do nothing. I would show up for work only on pay day. I misplaced files and ruined careers. I accomplished nothing, and when that became boring, I destroyed the work other people were trying to accomplish. I would laugh each evening to myself over a job well done, or not well done, as the case might be.

2 years into my prodigal adventure, I heard the Director wanted to see me.

I strolled into his office head held high, awaiting him to curse and revile me. Instead he got to his feet, and shook my hand: “How would you,” he asked, “like to be department head?”

Disappointed, but not defeated, I accepted and quickly rose up the ranks.
I outdid myself. I fabricate documents. I stole from the poor and gave to the rich, and then stole from the rich till they were poor.

I moved the pensions of about 60,000 citizens into my foreign accounts. I defrauded and cheated. I bribed policemen left, right and center.

I was rude to old women and did not pay my taxes.
I did all these so that my name would be reviled.

It must have worked, because one day, I got a message: “The commissioner of police is here to see you.”

I rubbed my hands with glee in anticipation of the headlines. I could see it- my name plastered everywhere: Evil Genius Caught By Police, the Headlines would read. Or Raving Madman Is Worst Man In The World.
When he stepped into my office, I stood up.

“Make it quick,” I asked, putting my hands in front of me to be cuffed.

“Good sir”, he said, “The people of this state have asked me to ask you to run for Senate.”

I fell to my seat stunned.

Any other diabolical mind would have despaired and giving up. Not me. I stayed firm in my efforts. I was rude in the Senate. I caused fights whenever possible. I threatened opposing senators and then sent thugs to ruffle them up.
I bribed and racketeered like no man had racketeered before. I wasted taxpayers money on lavish lifestyle.

I philandered amongst the women.

But despite my efforts, all I got was recommendation after recommendation. Appointment after appointments.

Driven to the last desperate edge, I tried my hand at one last gamble.
I loaded my car with explosives, drove to the City Center and took out that entire section of the town.

They came for me as I expected.
But by goodness, the results are worse than I feared!
They are calling my act one of heroism.
They’re applauding my “careful reconstruction and developmental efforts in the city.”

They want me to run for President.

The views expressed above are solely that of the writer and not necessarily that of or its associates.

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