The weather was clement. All was going well. The election spacecraft was going smoothly into the stratosphere, carrying the banners of Nigeria. The whole world was watching and praying nothing would go wrong, because if anything goes wrong, the whole of Africa and the world at large will suffer its consequences.

On the control is Captain Attahiru Jega, the pilot, the Nigerian hero. So cool. So calm. So composed. So focused in his determination to carry Nigeria to its political destination. He was soaring high on the wings of prayers. A whole nation was praying that he would land safely without any incident, without any accident. But then, out of the blues came this phantasmagoria. A figure wearing a hat and armed with a microphone, threatening to hijack the plane. If this is not a coup attempt, what else is it?

There are all kinds of coups. There is coup de theatre. Coup d’etat. Coup de grace. Coup de piece. Coup de resistance. I don’t know how or where to classify this coup attempt. Maybe I should call it: coup de what? Or coup de l’absurd.

It was one theatre of the absurd that frightened everyone. It reminded me of the German pilot who locked the cockpit door shortly after the main pilot had gone out to wee. Then he went ahead to crash the plane and wrote his name in history. History of infamy.

Oh my God! I was scared. I was so afraid. I was embarrassed. To think that this should happened at a time like this with the whole world watching. Is this the beginning of the prophecy that Nigeria would tear apart in 2015? Is this the anti-Christ or what? I was praying that God should intervene. I remembered Murphy’s Law. Whatever would go wrong would go wrong. I was hoping that Jega, the referee would use his red card and send the fellow out of the field. But it seemed Jega didn’t come with his red card. He just sat there. Cool. Calm. Composed. Focused. Restrained. Not losing his mind.

It was obvious a script was being played. But he simply refused to be ensnared in the trap. This pilot would not just play along.

I was hoping somebody would do something. Hoping that the security men would pounce on him. But nothing like that happened. And the actor had a field day. His day in the global spotlight. He was raving like a mad man. But there was a method to his madness.

He was reciting his lines so adroitly. At a point, there was a lull. And Jega wanted business to resume. But the man would not allow business to resume.

“Please, leave me,” he charged menacingly at the approaching cameramen and security men. “Don’t near me. Jega is tribalistic. Jega is partial. Jega has released the result to the APC. Prof. Jega, you cannot continue…You cannot continue…”

But thank God, it all ended well. Normalcy was restored at last. And Jega finally brought out a yellow card, saying something like: “You were a former minister. As a former minister you are a statesman in your own right. But you have not behaved like a statesman. This exercise had been going on smoothly until you came in to disrupt this peaceful exercise.”

There were other moments of fright and absurdity. I remember the comic professor who was finding it difficult reading the results. He indeed offered comic relief. But that was not what we were looking for at that point in time. Thank God, somebody was sent to assist the Professor in that theatric moment of absurdity.

My third frightful moment was when President Goodluck Jonathan’s fingers refused to be recognized by the card reader. That was the first sign, the first bad omen for Mr. President. The First Lady, “Madam Peace” also tried her luck and the machine rejected her. Another bad omen.

On Facebook, I tried being a reporter. I wrote on my wall: “Bad luck! Card reader appears to malfunction as President Goodluck Jonathan attempts accreditation at Otueke.”

I thought I was just reporting. But like bees, the fans of President Jonathan swarmed on me, stinging me from all corners. An army of my supporters fired back, telling the Jonathanians that I have said nothing to warrant such abuses.

This was one election that divided Nigerians 50-50. That is the way it should be. We need a strong opposition to keep democracy alive. But I hated the extremity of it all. The hate language and what-have-you. We should not kill ourselves in the name of politics.

Jonathan’s Finest Hour

This election was President Jonathan’s finest hour. He saved the best for the last. Awwwwwww. He is my man of the week. He behaved like a leader, a statesman, a good man, a patriot, someone who loves Nigeria and wants to keep Nigeria intact.

I was watching as he stood under the tent, confused but composed when the reader card failed him. I was praying that Madam Peace would not go into a tirade, accusing her political enemies of sabotage. But she comported herself. Oh, we will surely miss this woman. She brought in something unique to the office of the First Lady. We would all miss her sense of humour and her natural acting prowess. She was born to act.

On the Election Day, the devil tempted the President to turn the tables and say something negative against the new technology introduced into our elections. The technology that failed a whole President. But he took it calmly, explaining that it is not about him. That the technology should be given a chance to work. Mr. President, thank you very much. In my book, you are now a hero, my hero. And thank you for doing the unexpected. Left to your followers, Nigeria should have been turned upside down into a theatre of chaos over election results. But you took the road less travelled. You calmed the nerves of Nigerians and the world at large by going to congratulate the General. That is the way it should be. You stole the show and turned the theatre of a near-war situation into a theatre of peace. God bless you, sir.

Pastor Kalejaiye 

Finally, I salute the man of God, Pastor J.T. Kalejaiye. The man who stood on the pulpit to deliver God’s message that Buhari will win this election. I wrote about it in this column and verily, verily, God’s words have come to pass. Yes, there is God. And He loves Nigeria