So here we are, in the eerie calm after the storm. The man who once held press conferences like church revivals, complete with call-and-response, holy indignation, and the occasional verbal crucifixion is now quieter than a church mouse in a soundproof booth.
Wike, the maestro of media madness, the conductor of chaos, the one-man orchestra of outrage… has gone mute. And Nigerians are starting to worry. Not about his safety, but about the national decibel levels. The silence is deafening. Harmattan has come early.
So we ask:
- Where is the tree-side press briefing?
- Where is the 3-hour soliloquy about betrayal, loyalty, and “I no dey fear anybody”?
- Where is the legendary “Let me tell you something!” finger jab?
Wike, we miss the drama. We miss the sound effects. We miss the Wike-isms. Come out, sir. Do the rounds. Face the cameras. Let the microphones tremble once more. Or has Sowore installed a permanent mute button?
We dare you:
- Hold a press conference and explain how your father became General Manager overnight.
- Tell us how your father-in-law became a dollar-drenched tycoon in America while Nigerians queue for fuel.
- Defend the J Signature Hotel, HyperCity, Anderson Hospital, and Port Harcourt Mall with your usual gusto - bonus points if you do it in pidgin.
Better yet, go full vintage Wike:
- Wear a safari suit.
- Sit under a mango tree.
- Call journalists “my friends” while threatening to sue half of them.
- End with “Let me warn you people!”
But alas, the lion sleeps tonight. And the jungle is watching.
Wike’s silence is not golden, it’s suspicious. And while he plays chess with his blokkos exposed, Sowore is hosting a carnival with the confetti of his shredded reputation.
So, dear Wike, speak now or forever be remembered as the man who roared until the viper hissed. Nigerians are watching. The popcorn is hot. The stage is yours, if you dare.