Koboko: A Corrupt Politician Becomes an Unlikely Superhero to Fight Crime and Corruption in the African State of Wazobia

By Uche Nwakudu

Koboko

When Dr. Ted Milo Moro closed his successful medical practice in the USA and returned to his African homeland of WaZoBia, he had only one thing in mind; to run for political office and help bring about much needed reforms to WaZoBia.
However, he soon realized that the problems that plague his homeland were way bigger than any one man and required much more than honorable intentions.
Frustrated and nearly out of money after two years of trying to gain a foothold in the political arena of WaZoBia, he was faced with the option of either embracing corruption or packing his bags and returning to the US. He chose to embrace corruption and settled in to enjoy the spoils of high political office.
But when a bizarre and near-fatal encounter with a swarm of an unknown species of wasps transforms him into a super human with formidable abilities, he becomes an unlikely hero to take on the scourge of crime and corruption in WaZoBia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477276464

Uche Nwakudu

Uche Nwakudu's style of writing has been hailed as unique and audacious. He infuses an intuitive philosophical slant in his writing that gives his reader a pleasingly stimulating and daringly fresh perspective of viewing things. He has devoted much of his writing to biographies, political and social commentary, poetry, non-fiction and fiction. While living in Nigeria through the late 1990s Uche worked as a newspaper journalist, magazine editor, public relations consultant and publisher and wrote scripts for television and movies. Uche was born in Kano, Nigeria and attended Government College, Ughelli and University of Port Harcourt where he studied English Literature. While at the University of Port Harcourt, he founded and published Campus Watch, a campus rag which helped invigorate and accentuate campus life in one of Nigeria’s premier universities in the late 1980s. He holds a Juris Doctor (JD) from the John Marshall Law School, Chicago, USA and is the Principal of the Chicago law firm; Uche O. Nwakudu & Associates, Ltd.

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© 2012 Uche Nwakudu. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/18/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7646-4 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7647-1 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012918373

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CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

BOOKS BY UCHE NWAKUDU

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dedicated to

Ursula, Chinwendu, Sarah, Ugonna, and Urenna

Who encouraged me with their laughter and hilarity as I broached the idea of this story with them one summer afternoon

And to the memory of my father

Samuel Ndubueze Nwakudu

1923-2010

A veritable Koboko of his generation

People are not bad or corrupt because they come from a particular region or country or place; they are bad or corrupt because they are human beings.

ONE

There were throaty guffaws and hearty chuckles of delight all around as the Executive Council meeting came to an end.

Everyone in attendance was giddy with excitement because there was some money to share.

Everyone would get a handsome package of cash.

It was routine.

And they called it sitting allowance.

It was the best part of belonging in the most privileged and most exclusive club of political office holders in the African state of WaZoBia.

Every first Thursday of every month, the top political gun in the state, the governor, Chief Ajas, held a glorified cabinet meeting with the big boys and girls as he called his handpicked appointees to commissioner and adviser positions in his administration.

In the eyes of ordinary WaZoBians, the monthly Executive Council meeting of the governor and his cabinet was for the purpose of discussing important state policies and issues as well as public projects that would benefit the state and the citizenry.

However, that was hardly ever the case.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, the only significant reason for the meeting was to share amongst themselves part of the monthly monetary largesse meant for state coffers.

In WaZoBia, corruption is king and the number one unwritten rule which every partaker knew by rote is, serve your pocket before you serve the public.

Oh, and by the way, WaZoBia happens to be one of those oil-rich African states with gazillions of dollars in yearly revenue and a deluge of corruption to boot. It has a population of a hundred and something million people and more than seventy percent of them live in abject poverty and painful penury.

Gentlemen, said the governor, holding up his wine glass in toast to the gathering, By this time next month, he said, We shall have an even bigger reason to be cheerful. The big payday is coming. The oil contracts are in the final days of being wrapped up. That means our state will be swimming in money and those of us who are lucky to be serving the people will get our reward first. What you got today will be pocket change compared to what is coming. Let’s keep the good work going. We paid our dues and came this far, now’s the time to reap the benefits!

The attendees chorused their agreement with enthusiastic nods and excited yeses and raised their glasses in salute to the man who had so far paved their paths with gold and guaranteed financial security for their families.

And with that, the meeting was officially over.

As the governor pushed his chair back to rise to his feet, the others quickly scampered to their feet out of respect.

Yes, they feared him. More so because he was a wily machinating boss who never missed an opportunity to assert his authority and to repay impunity with vengeful wrath.

He could at will fire any of his appointees who as much as gave him a funny look or even no look at all.

He was that powerful.

As the governor left the room, two aides trailed him with two large duffel bags filled with raw cash, his share of the largesse.

Yes, he always took the lion share. His share was always many times larger than the share of any other person in the room and more than double the shares of the others combined and no one had the guts or temerity to question him about it.

He was the chief thief and the others were mere accomplices. Because of that, his say-so was equal to the say-so of a god.

The rest of the cabinet members soon began to disperse after the governor left. Everyone was careful to maintain a cheerful disposition and a happy face even though it was clear many were not thrilled with the lopsided share ratio.

You did not let your dissatisfaction show in that meeting room. And you dared not voice your objection to anyone other than yourself because there were people in the room who would not think twice about snitching you out to the governor in the hopes of winning special favors with him.

You had to be careful. Keep tight lips and show gratefulness even when you were disappointed. Keep your resentment and frustration to yourself. Play it safe.

That was another unwritten rule about political survival in WaZoBia that everyone in attendance knew by heart.

Of all the minions and cheerleaders of the governor in attendance, the most resentful of the manner the governor handled the largesse sharing was Dr. Milo Moro, the deputy governor.

For months, he had watched with growing infuriation as the governor kept a big stack of cash for himself and distributed to the others what amounted to pittance. Now, the seething inside him had reached a demoralizing boiling point and he was no longer sure he could contain himself.

By the time he got back to his office, he was so livid with rage that the veins on the side of his neck were bulging.

In anger, he flung his packet of money on his desk and stared down at it with a flame of fury in his eyes. Again and again, he pounded on his desk top and swore bitterly under his breath.

I can’t take this anymore. This is arrant nonsense! This is insulting and humiliating! He muttered with clenched teeth.

He then let out a deep snort and picked up the packet of money. He tore it open and riffled through the notes, counting them. It was a meager seven thousand US dollars. He shook his head, sadly, in self pity and regret. And how much did that bastard of a governor who did not even go to college get? Probably close to a hundred thousand dollars! He mused regretfully to himself.

This is outrageous! I deserve better! He spat, pounding the desk one last frustrated time with his clenched fist.

Yeah, maybe he deserved better.

Then again, maybe he did not.

Maybe you could say serves him right for daring to imagine he could venture into the jungle of WaZoBian politics and think he could out-maneuver the dogs and wolves and foxes who had mastered the ways of the jungle long enough to make their crafty antics seem like a second nature.

It had to be hard to imagine that not quite four years prior, Dr. Milo Moro was one of those idealistic WaZoBians who believed that because they had lived abroad for many years, they had the moral and temperamental wherewithal to salvage WaZoBia from the doldrums of political ineptitude and social decay. Until four years ago, he was a medical doctor with a burgeoning medical practice in the United States of America.

At fifty, married with two children who were already in college in the USA, and having spent more than twenty years of his life outside the shores of his homeland, Dr. Milo Moro believed that the time had come for him to pack up and head back home. He was enthusiastic in his resolve and confident that types like him could make a significant difference in his homeland.

Incidentally, that was exactly the impression WaZoBian politicians visiting the US always gave WaZoBians living abroad.

WaZoBia needs your talents and expertise to help build our homeland, they would always say. It was usually more of a patronizing platitude than a patriotic gesture. But many Diaspora WaZoBians always seemed to take it to heart and few fell for the ploy.

Dr. Milo Moro was one of those who were deeply convinced though that their years of experience living in the United States would be invaluable to their homeland. It was a well-accepted fact that WaZoBia was crumbling under the influence of corruption, political high-handedness, infrastructure decay and wanton crime and he was sure that folks like him who had imbibed the virtues of a civilized and well-advanced country like the US were what the state needed.

Thus with his sights set on transforming his home state, Dr. Milo Moro sold his medical practice, gathered his savings and launched himself into the fray of WaZoBian politics.

With a tidy sum of three million dollars, he set his sights for high office because he reckoned that the best way to make a difference was from the top. Not the very top, but close enough.

In less than a year after returning home, Dr. Milo Moro was already making useful inroads into WaZoBian politics. He joined the most powerful political party of the day, the WaZoBia Democratic Party or WDP and established some well-heeled connections amongst party heavyweights.

However it all came at a significant financial price.

He had to spend huge sums of money building a support base and organizing events in order to pave his way and to earn the good graces of top party leaders.

This was made more worrisome by the fact that there was no money coming in by way of income. All he did was spend, spend and spend.

Without money, he was quick to realize that he did not stand a chance in WaZoBian politics. All those people that had encouraged him to come back and join politics and run for office were of no significant help in that regard.

They had encouraged him because they believed that he would show up with bullion of hard cash. And when he was almost flat out broke, many deserted him.

It was while still trying to cement his foothold in the political arena in preparation to run for elective office that he ran into Chief Ajas.

They were childhood buddies going way back in their high school days but had not seen each other for a good while.

Oh my! What a pleasant surprise! Dr. Milo Moro enthused with a broad-faced grin, clasping Chief Ajas’ forearms in a half-hug.

Milo! What a surprise! Chief Ajas bellowed in return, truly surprised. What are you doing here? I thought you were living in the United States? he added, his eyes narrowing to squints as he gave Dr. Milo Moro an up-and-down assessment.

I guess you can say that I was. I’m back here now. Dr. Milo Moro returned gleefully.

Wow! That’s interesting. I didn’t know that. Welcome back!

Oh my, look at you! What happened to you? The last time I saw you was about eight years ago, remember? Dr. Milo Moro asked, looking his old pal over with curious inspecting eyes.

Sure, I remember. Chief Ajas said, nodding, unembarrassed by the inspecting eyes.

Dr. Milo Moro was visiting WaZoBia with his kids eight years ago and he took them to see his old high school which incidentally was located in Chief Ajas’ hometown. By some stroke of luck, they ran into Chief Ajas. He did not look as robust and fresh then as he did now. He was a down-on-his-luck guy hustling to survive in his village then and nothing much was happening for him. Dr. Milo Moro remembered Chief Ajas pulling him to the side, outside the earshot of his children and practically asking him for money. Dr. Milo Moro felt scandalized but was happy to part with a couple of thousand bucks for his old pal who didn’t seem to stand a chance in life.

What happened? Look at you! Dr. Milo Moro could not believe his eyes. You are obviously a far cry from the way you were eight years ago! He said, unable to contain his starry-eyed amazement.

Well, my brother, it’s a long story. Chief Ajas replied with a broad grin. There was an air of confidence about him that was a far cry from the sadly withdrawn image he presented eight years ago.

Oh come on, is that WaZoBian for you don’t want to tell? I cannot tell you how many times I have heard that it’s a long story cliché. When people don’t really want to talk about something, they premise it with it’s a long story.

Well, I can see you are already learning the ways of your people after these many years in the US. Why did you come back? What brings you here?

Dr. Milo Moro laughed stolidly. I am tempted to make use of my own it’s a long story now but I’ll save it for later, he told his old friend.

And that was how Chief Ajas became Dr. Milo Moro’s political mentor in WaZoBia.

It turned out that since the last time Dr. Milo Moro saw Chief Ajas, he had gone from being a man who barely finished high school and a village bumbling to a power broker within the WDP.

Dr. Milo Moro remembered telling his kids when they ran into Chief Ajas eight years ago that because Chief Ajas did not take his studies seriously like their dad obviously did, he ended up a good-for-nothing bum in the village. Now much to his amazement, he was all chief and influential power broker.

As if reading his thoughts one day, Chief Ajas said to Dr. Milo Moro, That’s the promise of WaZoBia. You could be nothing today and something tomorrow. In America you people dream, in WaZoBia, dreams happen. If I lived in America, I’ll be living an empty dream. It’s only in WaZoBia that my story is possible.

But that’s only because of corruption, Dr. Milo Moro retorted.

You make corruption sound very awful. Chief Ajas said.

Well, isn’t it?

What if it’s the only way that someone like me who had no chance could make it in life?

The problem with corruption as a way of life is that it is not available for everyone who wants to partake in it. It benefits only a few people.

Show me one system that benefits everyone within that system. Even your American system benefits a few people.

I agree that the American system does not benefit everyone in the system. However, it benefits more people than an inherently corrupt system like WaZoBia’s does.

I will not argue with you on that one. Our system here permits you to get ahead with corruption if you can. If you are willing to use it, the sky is your limit.

But that does not augur well for society. Look, because of the same corruption, there are no good roads, no electricity, no water, no amenities, no security, nothing works in WaZoBia! How’s that a good thing?

Sorry for that my brother. That one is not my fault and not my problem. Unfortunately, we are used to it. And you, you better get used to it too. If you have come back to badmouth corruption in WaZoBia, I can tell you now that you have missed your way. You have come to the wrong country. You’ll be better off packing your bags and going back to your so-called civilized country.

It did not dawn on Dr. Milo Moro then that there was a ring of reality to what Chief Ajas was saying. He had embarked on a long and winding journey without understanding where his destination lay.

By the third year of his return, Dr. Milo Moro was getting a little frustrated and desperate.

He was speedily running out of cash and still, nothing was coming in.

His children had come to visit for the summer and his wife Linda had traveled with them back to the US for a month’s vacation. However, he remained hopeful that soon his political career would take off.

Thankfully also, he had built a neat country home in his home village years before and it was coming handy as his primary place of residence.

He also had a house at the state capital and the two cars he had shipped back from the US were still in good shape.

The elections were coming and he was preparing to run for national office. The senate would be a good place to start. That way he would be in a position to make the most impact.

The country was in need of serious reforms and some of his party leaders were already listening to his ideas about reform. They appeared willing to support them when the time came.

Originally, he had planned to run for governor, but Chief Ajas made it clear that he, Chief Ajas, was already the anointed next governor of WaZoBia.

Three months before the elections, Chief Ajas who had introduced him to many influential party chieftains at the local and national levels called to inform him that the party leaders had decided to go with another candidate for the senate race.

Why? Dr. Milo Moro was taken aback.

Well, I can only tell you that it is because the other guy has contributed more to the party. Besides, he was in line before you. You just have to wait for your turn, that’s what it means. That’s the way things happen here. Everybody takes turns.

How can that be? Dr. Milo Moro queried. How can they just get up like that and decide who can run and who cannot? This is a democracy, not a dictatorship.

Unfortunately, that’s how they decide things here, my friend.

That’s not fair at all?

Who said anything about fairness? When you are here, what you see is what you get.

This is too devastating for me. I have staked everything in this.

You’ll be surprised what many others have staked. Unfortunately, it’s not about how much is at stake for you, it is about how much is at stake for the people that matter.

That is absolutely ridiculous.

I’m sorry Milo. I am just a messenger for the biggest fishes in the ocean.

Dr. Milo Moro thought about the whole thing for a second. There was no way he could just accept the situation. He could not even afford to.

What about the corruption thing? You said it works for those who are willing to use it. He sounded desperate now.

"You said you are opposed to corruption, didn’t you? Maybe the party top-guns are actually scared of your reformist ideas. You have impressed them with earfuls of them recently. Maybe that’s why they have suddenly developed cold feet about you. They are looking for senators who will continue the status quo and rubber stamp things not senators that will question everything and upturn things. Maybe they think you are