Trump’s Thunder: A Warning to Nigeria and the Echoes in the Village Square
In a time when the harmattan’s bite was still sharp, a blinding flash of lightning and a thunderous roar split the sky. The chilling bellow that followed could not be ignored. It was the voice of Trump the Thunderer, the ruler of the distant, golden empire of Merikaland. Standing atop his shining hill, he raised a huge trumpet and declared:
“It is finally judgement day and I shall send fire to destroy all the terrorists in Nigeria!”
His words traveled across farmlands, seas, and deserts until they reached the king and people of Naijaland—a place where news spreads as quickly as gossip, with a radio on every tongue and a drum in every arm.
The Gathering at the Village Square
The people assembled swiftly at the village square. Men left their pepper soup and companions. Women set down their baskets of plantains, adjusting their wrappers. Children abandoned their games. They all congregated beneath the old mango tree, where arguments often grew faster than fruit.
Soon, the talking stick arrived, signaling the start of a serious debate—though not all talks remained serious for long.
“Did you hear the Oyinbo giant? He says he will kill our terrorists,” one voice called out.
Immediately, the crowd split like oil and water.
The first group, the Thunder Worshippers, cheered, “Let him come! Our leaders fear only white thunder. Perhaps this foreign fire will cleanse the land!”
Another added, “Since our leaders act as if all is well, let the white warriors bail us out. The Thunder has bigger guns and will not look at anybody’s face.”
The second group, the Countrymen, retorted, “Is our country his backyard? Even a stranger must knock before entering a compound! Today it’s terrorists, tomorrow it may be us!”
Then came the third group—the A-don-care, who found merit in every argument. They nodded to both sides and mused, “We only want peace, whether it comes from heaven or Washington.”
Another from their ranks asked, “If after the thunder and lightning, there is rain, what is wrong with the arrangement?”
The Spirit of the Land
That night, as lightning danced across the sky, the Spirit of the Baobab rose from its roots and sighed:
“Ah, children of Naija, you quarrel over every thunder, but forget that the rain falls on both the just and the unjust. Did you not once cheer when outsiders armed your soldiers? Did you not also weep when the same guns turned on your villages? The fire that promises to burn your enemies may not stop at your neighbour’s fence. Indeed, it may become a fiery furnace and engulf the entire village. Or hasn’t anyone told you that fire does not respect even the one that kindled it?”
The Morning After
By dawn, the argument continued—on radios, in buses, in WhatsApp groups, and even in dreams.
The Thunderers still shouted, “Let the fire fall!”
The Countrymen still cried, “No foreign flames!”
And the A-don-care fellows sipped their tea and said, “We are watching.”
But the Spirit of the Baobab chuckled softly and whispered to the wind: “A nation that quarrels over every thunder will one day forget to repair its leaking roof.”
May the rain fall—not from the Thunderer’s heaven, but from Naija’s own sky, to drench everyone equally. It is the only rain that will not sweep away both the good and the bad.
Moral of the Story?
When strangers quarrel about your home, you must first ask yourself who left the door open.
It is acceptable to speak English and test our rich diction against President Trump’s warning. It is our way. Once a problem emerges, we dive into our book of rhetoric.
How dare Trump? This is a sovereign nation, as sovereign as the United States of America. Trump has no right to threaten Nigeria. The National Assembly and the Presidency must respond promptly with a strongly-worded statement.
All of this is followed by copious references to the Nigerian constitution, United Nations treaties, and other self-righteous grandstanding. I suppose this is all part of the diplomatic banter. But noise of any kind—whether from motor park conductors or politicians claiming insult—will not make a dent when real trouble arrives. And Trump and his warning of war is a real and present danger. We can deny it all we want, even assure ourselves that ‘nothing will happen,’ but we know deep down that an American warning is different from a Donald Trump warning. One can be reasoned with; the other cannot.
Source: Tribune Online