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WHEN HALIFA CALMS THE NATION
The youths were gutted on Wednesday. Those at arms, uniformed or not were running out of ammunition. Some boys picked up used shells to show the camera. The house of the police anti-crime chief became a collateral destruction. All his family members in that residence fled. He had to ditto.
Neighbors, usually women, with that maternal instinct came to the anti-crime boss’ residence to appeal to indignant protesters. “I saw them coming from all directions. They were many. And I’m a woman,” stated a lady who added she was Gorgui Mboob, the crime-hunting skipper’s sympathizing neighbor. And really sympathizing she was, especially when bags of sugar, rice, and basic household staples were allegedly looted from the dwellings of one chiefly tasked with the very antithesis of such action.
Neighbors took turn to visit the torched house. “I’ve seen a bag of rice, sugar, gallons of oil, and other valuables being taken. I saw one guy that I can’t recognize,” said another woman. Many witnesses said the paramilitaries were overpowered. And so it was—in Ebo Town Wesnesday.
“I’m Gorgui’s nephew at work. I got a call from someone I don’t even know, telling me something was seriously happening at home. I said I would go home, but the caller cautioned me not to because it wasn’t safe,” said a family member.
Negotiations were being held at the offices of the anti-crime unit where the angry youths were asked to select three reps to meet with police. They wanted an unconditional release of their mates in custody—mates they feared might end up being another Ousman Darboe, Wednesday’s last straw that broke the camel’s back. Ousman would be remembered as another Ebrima Barry, the Jammeh regime’s ubiquitous nemesis.
The deadlock was obvious. The protesters said the anti-crime personnel were themselves the biggest criminals. “Go to Senegambia at night and see them where no one is allowed. They say we deal in marijuana. But they smuggle cocaine here. Cocaine is now here, and young people are using it. The anti-crime people smuggle it,” stated another protester.
He mentioned he used to sit and get high with some people that are now personnel of the anti-crime unit of Gorgui Mboob. “I went to Casamance. Before, it was the soldiers that used to smuggle marijuana into this country. Now it is the paramilitary personnel doing it,” continued the visibly angered youth.
Tension was beyond metastasis. The streets were not safe on Wednesday—in both Serrekunda and Brikama. Ecomig forces had to be deployed. Gambia’s deputy Chief of defense Yankouba Drammeh tried reasoning with the indignant protesters.
It was Halifa sallah that had to be “Halifying” again to keep Gambia calm and safe. When the nation was febrile with Yahya Jammeh’s adamantine wont, Adama Barrow and his coreligionists fled to Senegal, perhaps to be indoctrinated into whatever they are today. It was Halifa “Halifying” the nation—both at domestic and international fronts.
But ever before any soul perceived of an electoral-process Jammeh ouster, those honest souls at the coalition round table knew of Halifa’s “Halifying” factor. The formation of the coalition itself witnessed a huge financial contribution, besides the mature and measured statesmanship of a man we are not here to sell to anyone. We are not here to even sell ourselves. We are here to sell what is best for Gambia’s peace and prosperity!
Wednesday’s was, perhaps, the best time to invite President Barrow to his failed “Where were you” leitmotif. Where were you on Wednesday, Mr. President? We expect not your appearance amidst angry multitudes in very volatile milieu. But how about an immediate GRTS or even a QTV nation-wide address?
Yankuba Drammeh and his team tried their best. We admire his courage and professional instincts in coming off a high horse to eye-level with those society tend to stereotype, “jobless nonentities and losers.” But who gave them any job anyway—in the first place? To Yankuba Drammeh, we say thank you for the well-meaning initiative. You see, when the plebeians cried in Rome for bread and corn, the affluent who ate to bellyful despised meeting them in the streets, some saying their poverty makes their breath stink. It was Menenius Agripa who fought his whims to reason with them. Agripa didn’t die. But Coriolanus did—his protagonist role irrespective.
It is tear-evoking to see anger morph into cheer and joy as the multitude scream the name of a man whose statesmanship has been an exhibit at providence’s own museum for decades—but alack! Gambia seldom heeds the need for his ascension to the Banjul chair. We would rather give the compass to simpletons who barely understand neither scholarship nor leadership—simpletons who abandon their veritable masses and run to Dakar only to ask others with a rare chutzpah after the storm “where were you?”
When things were all pomp and fanfare, the Ousainou Darboes, the Mai Fatty’s, the Fatoumata Tambajang’s, etc summoned the courage to jettison this very Halifa. Later, when they fell afoul of one another, some of them ran to Halifa again for another “Halifyng” dosage in what they disingenuously called another coalition talk. Coalition—really?
If God has it that Halifa will never rule Gambia, at least he will be remembered and celebrated for something he commands and never boasts to patent—the “Halifying Factor.” In it is wisdom and a gem of leadership and unused follicles of statesmanship never accorded a full chance. In it is Socratic demeanor, prophetic diplomacy, and seer or sage propensity in broad day glare.
It is man’s tongue that lies as does not his heart. But hearts don’t convey phonetics directly as do mouths. If one opens Adama Barrow’s heart, it may be inscribed in it, in very intelligible calligraphy: “Please give the nation to that “Halifying” factor—that armless sage who, without a magic wand, instantly transforms a multitudinous venom, anger, frustration, and a rare rage into cheer and madrigal.