The night was thick with darkness, an eerie silence blanketing the land as rain poured relentlessly. Bandits—faceless figures with stuffed ballot boxes slung over their shoulders—raced through the storm like thieves in the night, their hurried footfalls merging with the pounding rain. “Ole! Ole! Ole! Thief! Thief! Thief!” the enraged citizens cried, chasing the robbers who neither turned nor paused.

But like seasoned predators, they reached their fortress—a citadel protected by both gunmen and the Constitution—and vanished within, slamming doors, windows, and ceilings shut before the people could break in. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of rain, sweat, and victory. Laughter erupted, backslaps resounded, and hands were shaken in celebration of their successful heist.

At the center of the room sat Apkabio, the leader of the hunting pack, gripping his gavel with a smug grin.

“Distinguished ladies and gentlemen, I hereby grant Mr Clerk the permission to address and pray for us. Let us celebrate this victory till morning!”

The official manservant, Mr Clerk, nodded in reverence, stepping forward to deliver a prayer that reeked of irony.

“Lord Almighty, we thank You for granting our returning members sweet victory. Though the battle was snatch and bolt, rip and run, the Lord gives victory to whom He loves…”

A chorus of “Amen!!!” echoed through the chamber, masking the grotesque reality of their deeds.

Power, Women, and Dirty Politics

The festivities raged on—songs of fraudsters and crooks blared as glasses clinked and promises were exchanged. But amid the merriment, a certain Honourable Natahsha was not in attendance. She had filed a petition regarding the chamber’s arrangements, and Apkabio saw an opportunity.

“Mr Clerk, tell Honourable Natahsha to see me in my private residence asap. There’s an urgent national assignment for her… in my bedroom.”

The chamber erupted in laughter, a grotesque carnival of greed, lust, and impunity.

Meanwhile, within the corridors of Apkabio’s estate, the domestic staff gossiped, their whispers revealing truths that could shake the entire fortress.

“Did you hear? That yellow canary oga thought he caught in his hat—by the time he put his hand inside, he grabbed nothing but shit!”

The yellow canary—Natahsha—had refused to stay silent. She had taken her fight beyond the corrupted courts, singing her truth at an international tribunal. And suddenly, the air around Apkabio grew thick with fear.

The Fall of the Kingmaker

The following day, Apkabio locked himself in his chambers, drenched in sweat and paranoia. He stared into the mirror, but what stared back was a one-eyed, one-horned beast—a principality of corruption.

His mind screamed.

“Apkabio, you are a disgrace! You stole your way into the House, yet you refused to change! What legacy will you leave behind? A professor was jailed for rigging your election! You lead a den of criminals—some wanted in the US and Europe! A current member of your gang is still in prison abroad! Look at your life, Apkabio!”

He clutched his chest, panting, as memories of his past sins flooded his mind.

Then came the dream—a nightmare so vivid, so real, it felt like a prophecy.

Apoti, the very seat of power he had fought for, rose from the ground, morphed into a beast, and dragged him to the edge of a cliff. Then, with one final push, it hurled him off…

He woke up shouting and trembling, sweat pooling at his feet. Mrs Apkabio rushed in, alarmed.

“Ha, my lord, why are you shouting and sweating like this?”

“It’s that witch, that ashewo girl! She pushed me off a cliff, but Mama Bourdillon caught me before I hit the ground!”

Mrs. Apkabio sighed.

“This will pass, my husband. I’ve mobilized crooks and mercenaries—politicians, lawyers, even militants—to sing your praises and drown her voice. But you sef, why can’t you resist anything in a skirt?”

Apkabio groaned, placing his hand on his head.

“Na my enemies use women curse me, I swear!”

His wife scoffed.

“He-goat! I’m going downstairs to pay the Niger Delta militants threatening violence if you’re removed.”

They laughed, but the laughter lacked conviction.

The Weight of Conscience

Now alone, Apkabio stared at himself in the mirror again. But the beast in the reflection remained—mocking him, condemning him.

His sweat mixed with regret, and for the first time, silence filled the room. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating.

Then, in the distance, he heard the Yellow Canary singing again.

And this time, the song would not be silenced.