Apaara, like any sleepy town was a community where gossip travelled faster than motorcycles and truth arrived limping behind it. The consolation was that, limping or crawling, the truth always arrived. Just like the fate of darkness, the reign of the night is never forever. In this town once lived a man called Fapo. No, he was not named Fapo on the day when as an infant palm oil, water and honey were dropped on his tiny lips. His real name was Fapohunda, meaning: the oracle changed its opinion.
But life has a way of renaming people. Fapo swept through trouble the way a broom sweeps through dust. When he was not drawing trouble, he was hanging out with mischief. Nothing about him was light or straight from dawn till dusk. He was always looking for or doing something that would draw attention to himself.
Every old and experienced man and woman in Apaara knew Fapo would not end well. They called and warned the young Fapo about what the gray hairs on their ageing heads told them. Fapo laughed and told them he knew what he was doing. He sneered and said he was not willing to do life the way the old people did it. When threats and cajoling failed. Friends and family let Fapo be.
Fapo’s choices were bent like a goat’s horn.
As a young man, he joined a secret society known as the Alatupa Oru (The Owners of Night Lanterns). The members met at odd hours, wore darker-than-dark expressions, and spoke in whispers that make the uninitiated tremble like nervous palm fronds. To the villagers, they were “those boys”. To themselves, they were “The Fear of the Fearless”.
Like many cultists, the lust for power, money and influence was their driving force. They did whatever they had to do to get ahead. Indeed, the rumour mill said shedding blood was not beyond them. They were feared. But like most fearsome things, members of Alatupa Oru feared failure and exposure most. Nobody really knew for certain who the members were. There were a lot of wild guesses but no concrete proof. Until one of them goofed and squealed.
The cult had a shadowy trade syndicate people simply called “The Cabal”. And no, they dealt not in vegetables or fish, but in secrets, smuggling, and schemes as tangled as fishing nets.
Fapo rose quickly among them. He had quick feet, quicker lies, and a smile that could convince a hen to babysit a fox. He did not hide his sudden wealth and influence. He strutted. He partied. He loved the women as much as they loved him. The day of reckoning was not far.
One night, the wind changed.
The cult had ordered fast-rising Fapo to deliver a package sealed with red wax. “Do not open it,” warned Chief Cobra, the Alatupa Oru leader, with eyes still as stagnant water.
The soup an elder carries in his stomach must not move, even when he stumbles.
Now, if you tell a man not to open something, curiosity grows teeth.
Fapo waited until the moon had spread its beam sky-wide. Then he broke the red seal. Was he expecting to find gold, diamonds or rubies? He found something heavier. It was a ledger.
Names of people who disappeared suddenly and were eventually declared missing.
Payments to known thugs, scary groups. Deals. Bribes. Even the name of the Apaara’s most pious deacon sat comfortably beside suspicious numbers.
Fapo’s stomach tightened like he had just drunk a bowl of water after running 20 kilometres, yes. Like the beginning of ‘aworoko’.
He had thought himself a fox among chickens. But now he realised he was merely a chicken among crocodiles.
The cabal was not just a group. It was a web with everyone, from councilor to catechist, tangled somewhere in its silk.
Still clutching the ledger, Fapo ran to the compound of Mama Erelu, his late mother’s sister, the only one he could trust on a night like that.
“Maami,” Fapo whispered, “if a man has walked too far into darkness, can he return?”
His aunt did not look up from the herbs she was pounding.
“Did you borrow the darkness,” she asked, “or did you buy it?”
“I invested in it,” Fapo replied weakly, cold sweat running down his back.
She finally looked at him, eyes sharp as pepper.
“Then return, you must return it with interest.”
Now, how does one return darkness with interest?
Fapo thought long and hard. He could run away. But the Cartel had legs longer than rumour. He could stay silent. But silence feeds monsters. He could confess publicly. But that had never been known to end well. There were stories of cases where such confessions were followed by grave diggers getting called in.
But he was determined to do something. He was done with this lantern that served only darkness.
He took the ledger and went early to the market square, and called out to people that were on the way to their farms and market. He spoke until his throat felt sandpapered. He revealed the secrets of the members of Alatupa Oru. He named them one by one.
Arrests began quietly. One councillor and catechist vanished during Sunday service.
Fapo was summoned “for questioning”, which in official language means “come along with your toothbrush.”
The town buzzed like a disturbed hive.
So these are the good men during the day and demons at night? Fapo became a pariah.
Mothers cautioned their children, ‘Don’t run errands for Fapo lest you disappear.’
‘He had a dungeon in that evil compound. Don’t go and fetch water for him.’
Alatupa Oru dissolved like sugar in hot tea. Some members claimed they had only joined for the friendship. Others said they were lured and blackmailed. Many started calling for help from other lands.
One day, Mama Erelu visited Fapo in his lonely hut.
“So,” she said, “did you return the darkness with interest?”
Fapo nodded. “I added a little light.”
She chuckled. “The journey ahead will be hard because it is uphill. Remember, my son, the town forgives slowly, but it forgets even slower.”
Now to today’s class.
I know you have seen the ripple effects of the outbursts from the former governor of Kaduna State, Malam Nasir El-Rufai. I am also sure you have been generous with your comments on social media. Well done. However, in this class, you will hold your lips and learn. Here, your comments don’t mean a thing. Here we go.
Public outbursts by political leaders often spark controversy, debate, and reflection. When a figure as prominent as Nasir El-Rufai speaks passionately—especially in moments of anger or frustration—the reactions are swift and far-reaching. Beyond the headlines and social media arguments, such moments offer important lessons about leadership, communication, and public responsibility. Here are ten key lessons drawn from Nasir El-Rufai’s outburst.
- Words are like eggs
An emotional outburst may feel momentarily satisfying, but its impact will linger far longer than intended. Leaders should know they are leaders round the clock, not just when they choose. Angry statements when spoken is like a broken egg that cannot be gathered.
- Emotional Intelligence Is Essential
Leadership is about emotional control. Even when faced with the unexpected microphone, a smart leader must pause, reflect, and respond thoughtfully. How a leader responds under pressure reveals more his intelligence and competence than the number of courses he took at Harvard or Stanford.
- Big boys in politics can’t afford to lose focus
The person we are looking up to cannot be caught watching the Agemo dance troupe. Even when provoked, leaders are expected to model composure. Outbursts only expose a leader’s weakness.
- Candid vs Combative
There is a fine line between being candid and being combative. When not handled carefully, emotion-driven communication often shifts attention from the message to the manner in which it was delivered.
- The Power of Media Amplification
In a digital era, whatever an A-line politician says will go viral in minutes. What might once have been a limited exchange can quickly become national or global news. Leaders must assume that every comment could become headline material.
- Reputation Is Fragile
Years of public service can be overshadowed by a single viral moment, especially for political opposition figure. Whether fair or not, public perception is influenced strongly by dramatic incidents. Protecting one’s reputation requires consistent discipline.
- Accountability Matters
When outbursts occur, how a leader responds afterward is critical. Acknowledging a misstep is not a weakness. Clarifying intentions, or offering apologies when necessary, are important because that is the only way he can restore public trust, not signing more combative statements.
- Critics Are Part of Leadership
Political figures cannot avoid criticism. While reacting strongly to critics with colourful lines may energise supporters, it can also deepen divisions. Smart leaders develop strategies to address opposition without personal attacks.
- Leadership Sets the Tone
How leaders carry themselves influences their followers. If leaders communicate aggressively, supporters may mirror that tone. Conversely, calm and constructive engagement can encourage healthier public discourse.
- Moments of controversy are learning curves
Controversial episodes can become turning points. They provide opportunities for reflection, growth, and recalibration. Leaders who learn from heated moments often emerge more measured and strategic in the future.
The big lesson here? Nasir El-Rufai’s outburst just shows that he is human, like the rest of us. He can cause trouble like any wife of a policeman or any of my gender with a shop at any motor park. We are all human. It’s just that political leaders are held to higher standards.
The soup an elder carries in his stomach must not move, even when he stumbles.
Class dismissed.
*Egbemode ([email protected])
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