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Men Of Goodwill By Charles Igwe

POSTED 09/10/2018 14:59
1651 Reads Men Of Goodwill By Charles Igwe, Story on Tushstories
The air conditioned executive office was getting too hot for me. For the first time in my twelve years rule as the President of the Federal Republic of Burundi. My 1.5 million dollars (roughly 3 billion jewa of our local currency) became so hot for me to sit on.


Because of these bloody civilians demonstrating outside for my impeachment. Look at them wanting me to leave office. In their weak brains they think it is too easy to forfeit the sweet aura of power.

I stare outside, and see the people in their thousands standing in front of the government house. The chief rioters are of course no others but the ‘Nyoki’ tribe.

These godless tribe comprising seven states have failed to bow before Allah and have remained a threat to us the ‘Lualas’ being always at the top of power as we deserve. As promised by our father, Prophet Sekou.

I continue to stare hard as I see these people defying the military men who I have assigned at the gate and ordered to shoot anyone who attempts trespassing into the government house. Already, from reports reaching me from the Minister of Peace, Ibrahim Halai, twelve people have already been shot dead and properly disposed of as we continue to strive to conceal key facts from reaching the Western world.

Those hard-faced nosey rats.

To my disgust, I see an Nyoki woman in shabby clothing with a baby strapped at her back boldly brandishing a placard.


The tribe of Nyoki for some time now had begun canvassing for secession.

Who even wants them?

If it were left to ourselves alone, we would have massacred these heathens long ago.

Yes! I mean total annihilation. We have absolutely nothing in common. Our music, our food, our total way of life is different. If not for the ‘Oyibo’ man who joined us together for their own greed, we for no be one Burundi.

Sha, their only grace na their rich agricultural boom which generates much revenue for the country. If they secede now, our economy is over. So we no like them but wetin man go do?

The imminent matter now is these bastards trying to pull the Kabou rocks down. I have only spent 12 years in office and am still trying to review the constitution for a successive third tenure.

Yes! Power is sweet.

I even dey considerate compared to other African leaders.

talk say; “Fear those who clamour for change.”

They are just busy talking of the decline in the Jewa currency and the outrageous petroleum prices.

Na today im start?

The door opens and My Chief of Defense and Army staff, Colonel Lasmi Idris walks into the office.

Idris, a middle-aged man with the physique and face of a warrior has been my closest friend and associate since my training days in the military. It seems we were destined for each and made to be side by side when we were being moulded by Allah. We met during our recruitment examinations in the early 70s and when our attempted coup a decade later to eliminate the then dictator, Jumai Bulda, failed, we were both sentenced to a life imprisonment sentence. A fate the Almighty Allah saved us from. Eight times I contested for the presidency of the nation when they seemingly made a transition to democracy, eight times I failed. Yet, Idris stood by me and when I finally made my way into the seat twelve years ago, the rest has become history. Twelve years of success and affluence, billions of money around the world, public recognition by world leaders. It all seemed all a fairy tale that was never going to end, but now…

“My Excellency am afraid you have to leave the country for some time” Gen. Lasmi Idris interrupts my thoughts. “The people are very much agitated now and even some of our tribesmen are no longer in support of your regime, we have to move you to safety or else things might get bloody,” he continued. I open my mouth to protest but then instantly shut them as I stare into Idris’ cold eyes. Years of friendship and work with Idris has taught me never to question his decisions.

Just like when he made me close the borders generating trade for the Nyoki people.

I immediately pack my documents and hurriedly take the staircase which leads to the underground complex of the building. There I see a private helicopter already waiting for me. I turn and stare hard at Idris. He may have seen the doubt and worry written all over my face as for the first time since today he smiles.

“Everything will be fine Hassan” says Idris. He rarely calls me my first name since my election as the President.

We embrace and I hurriedly climb into the helicopter wondering what fate has in store for me.


I wake up in my place of asylum; Jango Republic, with shouts and rumors of a coup d’état that has taken place in my country. I hurriedly run to the sitting room and tune on the radio.

As the radio tunes on, I hear the new Head of State already in the middle of his speech.

“…The Republic of Burundi is one that has been given to us by God and we shall continue in our fight for unity and now that the weakling President has fled, let us unite to create a new and rebranded Burundi…”

I recognize that voice with utmost dread…

It is Idris.

I am utterly shocked. I have been betrayed by my closest friend whom I broke bread with. Death alone should be my companion in this grief.

Somewhere in the distance I hear the beat of the legendary Fela’s song…

“Soldier come, soldier go… Barracks remain”

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