One Man’S Terrorist’S Another Man’S Freedom Fighter: Query Satanic Policies of Usa Globally

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

& CREDITS

PROLEGOMENON

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

POSTLUDE

To

USA’s George Washington

South Africa’s Nelson Mandela

South Africa’s Winnie Madikisela-Mandela

France’s Maximilien Robespierre

Cuba’s Fidel Castro

Palestine’s Yasser Arafat

DR Congo’s Patrice Lumumba

USA’s Martin Luther King, Jr.

India’s Mahatma Mohanda Gandhi

Russia’s Vladimir Lenin

Nigeria’s Vin-Pedro Olu-Afoenyi (Urunnebo, Enugu-Ukwu)

Nigeria’s Dele Giwa

Nigeria’s Bola Ige

Nigeria’s Ken Saro Wiwa

Nigeria’s Kudirat Abiola

Ghana’s Kwame Nkrumah

Nigeria’s Odumegu Ojukwu

Nigeria’s Bala Mohammed

Nigeria’s Gani Adams

Israel’s Golda Meir

Zimbabwe’s Robert Mugabe

Pakistan’s Benazir Bhutto

China’s Mao Tse-tung

Chile’s Salvador Allende

France’s Olympe de Gouges

Mozambique’s Samora Machel

El Salvador’s Oscar Romero

All the victims of 9/11

All the victims of 12/21, Lockerbie

All the victims of 8/26; 6/16; 10/1, 11/4, Abuja

All tourist-victims of terrorism.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

& CREDITS

I should thank Librarian Tise Abomoge of the Kenneth Dike’s Library, University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria for his unflinching support in the block-laying process, leading to the realisation of this book. Let me also thank my companion and intellectual consociate, Nkiru Torera, for her contribution. Thanks are due to the following lovely people and institutions: HRH Eze Aboh, Chief Chris Mbegbu, Oloye Jacob Olatunbosun, Anthony Kehinde, Dr. Biodun Oni, Dr. Okeh C. Okeh, Bola Bosun-Ogunjobi, Dns Ololade E. Otuyelu, Dns Christine M. Okewole, Dns Bukola Apoeso; RCCG Jesus Ark’s Pastors: Gbenga Aluko, Yomi Odewenwa, Ebenezer Okunrinboye, John Oladosu, Ayo Babalola, Temitope Ala, Chris Esuga, Leonard Ohia, Nelson Okoi-Inyang, Bisi Shoyombo, Femi Oyinloye, Sunday Adeagbo, Gbenga Ojo, Alex A. Sewo, Adeolu Adebajo; Sis. Modupeola Ijaopo, Sis. Florence Ajibade Onaolapo, Funke Olanrewaju, Barr. Adesuwa Ibharebhor; Adenike Osinloye, Tunde Oluwanike, Dare Adekanmbi, Kayode Akinsola, Bisi Akanji, Moyegun Ilori, James Oyekanmi, Duke Benyin, Blessing Oludahunsi, Jelilat Sulaiman, Zaynab Hussein Abdullah, E.O. Ighalo, Bro. Olugbenga Oluborode, Victor Onifade, Adeniyi Kehinde, Madam Uchenna Okeh, Anuoluwapo Oladimeji, Madam Scholastica Nwibo, Revd. Tunde Kasali, Pastors Stephen K. Olutoki, Segun O. Morawo; Mac Steve, Beatrice Fagbolu; Obafemi Awolowo University Consultancy Services Centre’s (UNIFECS, OAU, Ile-Ife) Consultants MKO Ayeni, Sam Itakpe, Ikeade K. Olawoyin, Gbenga Obajuwon; Ms. Unoma Olu-Afoenyi, Michael Yiolokun, Gbenga Emiola, Femi Olalere, Tony Addo, Ekene Oko, Madam Monica Ukigwe, Mrs. Funke Olaitan Morawo, Motunrayo V. Akande, Ronke Omolewa, Elizabeth Kumah-Ogunmola; Messrs. Desmond Eneja, Oye Adeitan, Titus Chiemerie, Ikechukwu Ekechukwu, Izuchukwu Ezeaghaukwu, Funso Areo, Wasiu Alowonle, Lateefat Salman, Uncle John Ajekiigbe, Sunday Ogunsade and Mrs. Biodun Jide-Olatunbosun. Thanks are due also to all the Author House publishing consultants: Roger Adams, Marcus Montegrande, Jimmy Alvarez, Hazel Larosa, Tim Mendoza, Joseph Alvarez, Simone Rodriguez and other editorial and management teams of Author House, UK for their positive roles in getting this second book published. Children: Ololade, Korede and Subomi for their love and encouraging remarks in the course of putting pen to paper, thanks. I cannot but thank the typesetters C.O. Adekola-Kemtot and Abeeblah Kehinde Hamid. Above all, I thank God Almighty for His mercy!

PROLEGOMENON

Terrere

Call me a fake friend: a familiar foe.

I engage in both unlawful and lawful use of force or violence against persons and property to intimidate, coerce or to strike fear in a government, the civilian or military population, or any segment thereof, to further political and social objectives.

I slake my thirst for publicity, for some cause, to obtain concession or bring about social change on the terrain of extreme radicalization. You can octopially label me. You can trace my roots in English language to the French Revolution: The Reign of Terror (1789—1798). Immanuel Kant used me to describe a pessimistic view of the destiny of humankind. Anarchist Peter Kropotkin (1842—1921) called me propaganda by deed. Carlos Marighella, around 1930, wrote on me in his Latin American Handbook on terrorism requiring adherence to a higher morality, and that one man’s terrorist is another man’s liberator. I assisted Ireland, Algeria, Tunisia, Israel others to become independent republics.

You can classify me in different ways depending on your interests as classifier. Come along.

Am domestic in the terrorists’ own country against their own people—Boko Haram in Nigeria.

Am international in another country by non state actor—al Qaeda.

Am state-sponsored by a government against their own people or in support of international terrorism.

Am political for ideological and political purposes.

Am non-political for private purposes or gain.

Am quasi—for hijacking, hostage-taking, kidnapping, robbery and banditry.

Am limited political for ideological but not revolutionary.

Am official or state when used against nation or people.

Am revolutionary if aimed to overthrow or replace an existing government.

Am political as groups that focus on gaining power, or changing beliefs.

Am nationalist when promoting the interest of an ethnic or religious group that is seen as being persecuted by another.

Am cause-based groups devoted to a social or religious cause using violence to address grievances[in Jihad or Crusade].

Am environmental as groups dedicated to slowing down development they believe is harmful to animal in Animal Liberation Front.

Am state-sponsored when a ruling regime provides funds, intelligence or material resources to terror groups, usually operating outside our borders[friend of Iran, Libya, Iraq].

Am genocidal when a government seeks to wipe out a minority group in its territory[Rwanda, Cambodia, Bosnia, Iraq, Nigeria vs Niger Delta].

I mean so many things to so many categories of people home and abroad. I use hopelessly brainwashed persons to carry out lonely lethal mission to do maximum damage.

Am a vital vein in the chemistry of counter-cultural communication.

I feed on long-nosed persons and property.

I feed on flat-nosed people as well.

I know no sex, race, colour or sacred centres.

I dine with demons.

I embrace sorrow.

I hate peace with passion.

I drink fresh red juice.

I feel good whenever I hit my target.

I rule the heart, head and hands of willing subhumans.

Am here to rule the world to tame the hegemonists.

Am here to Satanise the use of fake and fluke freedom of conscience to wreak havoc upon the earth.

Am a tool in the hands of fire-eating clerics in spiritual warfare against the kingdom of darkness.

I fuel the tension on the Good-Evil continuum.

I generate authenticity.

Nuclear terror—that may be the grand finale. Noooooooooooooooooooo!

Let me take a bow—but before then:

Obama vs Osama

Osama dares Obama

Obama jabs Osama.

CHAPTER 1

CULTURE OF VIOLENCE

It was sometime in August 2010. Time was ticking towards an unforgettable end. Time stood at 12noon: it was teeming with rain in Ile-Olumojo. What followed was a surprise. But not too surprising to the earthlings in other climes. The following day, people trooped out to go about their normal duties. But alas, the abnormal had happened. Odigoma was highly inquisitive; she would always want to know and know more and more to a falt at times about the goings on in her environment: seen and unseen. She had returned from the Ivory Tower where she was processing her admission to read social philosophy. She was admitted. She passed her Senior Secondary Examinations conducted by NECO inspite of the general mass success recorded in the year. Odigoma picked all her writing and recording materials, heading for Oroke Hill. She would’ve to pass through Akota River in order to get to her destination. On top of Oroke Hill was a cave sheltering a great knowledge sharer by name Oketiiriwoye. Upon citing a young girl of sixteen from afar off, the great knowledge sharer, mind wondering consumed the chemistry of the Old Man who had decided to stay away from the hustle bustle of modern life. He had preferred to live in the cave for safety and security reasons. Odigoma raised her hands while approaching the cave. She didn’t no that the Old man had cited her from his native intelligence radar.

Odigoma was moving uphill clasping shrubs and trees to gain toehold. She got to the cave.

Hullo, hullo, hullo, Odigoma greeted. Oketiiriwoye came out grey with long beard, stricken with age. Beamed with smile: how ‘re you my daughter? Am fine. Odigoma replied. How has life been with you here, sir? Odigoma inquired. Life’s good if you know what to make of it, the Old Man replied, caressing his unkempt beard. What really happened yesterday that made it difficult to get to other towns?.

How did you know, sir?

Don’t bother yourself on that, my daughter.

If you said so, so be it, sir.

What happened was bad to the extent that farmers and traders found it difficult to return home using the thorough fare. It rained. It was so heavy that the land opened its mouth.

You mean landslide? May be, may be not.

The road leading to a nearby town was massed with mound of earth.

That’s incredible. Anyway there’s nothing new under the sun, my daughter.

Oketiiriwoye gave some rules of behaviour in his cave to his visitor with the warning that discipline and punctuality must be maintained at all times. He stretched his right hand at Odigoma with the aim to extending bodily courtesy to her. The girl knelt down to return courtesy to the Old Man at the portal of the cave.

I’ve a purpose for visiting you, sir, Odigoma asserted.

What’s your purpose, my daughter?

My purpose is simple: to seek knowledge as to the reason for violence and justification of violence in the higher animal kingdom.

Wonderful, wonderful, chei, you’ve the courage despite the social distractions in town to come here to drink from the fountain of knowledge?

Yes, sir, Odigoma replied.

Do you know what it takes to talk on the concept of a culture of violence?

I don’t know. And I want to know. And that’s why am here. And I think you’re going to do justice to that.

Thank you, my daughter. You know you’ve to visit me in my palace on Wednesdays, starting from 7a.m.

I concur, sir.

Night was gradually falling. Odigoma had to leave for home. One major merit was that she had vacated from school. Ample opportunity had thrown itself up. She stood up, while holding firm the left hand of the Old Man and bade him good night. Odigoma got back home in a manner regarded as quite unusual. She was high in spirits. She sneaked into her abode. She was the only person living in an abandoned house. She had lost her parents to the uprising in the northern states of the Republic of Wasobia. It was a sort of sectarian violence christened, Boko Haram. It was a battle between the head and the heart. It was scenically gory.

Odigoma cleaned up. Her monthly visitor had occupied her thought. She tried to cook amala and ogbono soup. She demolished the delicacy in a delightful mood. She picked her study kits, made straight for her destination to start the work proper. It was a Thursday. Odigoma stubbornly eagerly decided to go to Oketiiriwoye’s cave. While she was about leaving for her destination that fateful morning, Odigoma saw people on the street in groups wearing mournful looks. The security operatives were present taking briefs from the volunteer witnesses. One pastor-prophet-Apostle-Evangelist-Reverend Ekepo had been nabbed with a fresh human skull in his sitting room. The man of Satan—I mean, the man of God didn’t mince words: he confessed and expressed his readiness to face the consequences of his actions. The situation set Odigoma for further thoughts—is this how to be one’s sister’s keeper? She asked rhetorically. Odigoma finally arrived at the Old Man’s cave. She gave the signals as