A Stroll with the President
A Stroll with the President
It all started on a quiet, random morning while I was with Mr. President, the Nigerian President, whose youth and energy were still visible in his stride. It was unexpected, almost surreal when he announced that he wanted to take a stroll, yes, a casual stroll along the bustling axis of Wuse 2, heading toward Berger Underbridge in Abuja. His security personnel immediately protested, insisting that it was too risky, but he brushed them off. He wanted to blend in, see the city firsthand, and observe the development, undisturbed and incognito. And to my surprise, he picked me as his walking companion.
Why me? Well, he noted, I had the qualities he needed for the journey. I was a seasoned hiker, with the endurance to handle a brisk, extended walk and an understanding of the city’s nooks and crannies. I guess Mr. President figured that if anyone could navigate the labyrinth of Abuja’s streets while flying under the radar, it was me. Still, I couldn’t help but be taken aback. Walking side by side with the President of Nigeria in such a casual setting, it was an invitation few would dare to dream of.
So, there we were, setting out for an impromptu journey through the heart of the city. For the first few minutes, I was completely swept up in the euphoria. Here was Mr. President, right beside me, without any close aides, no layers of security between us and the world. It was just us, blending into the morning crowds as if he were any ordinary citizen. We strolled past the familiar haunts of Wuse, sharing light-hearted conversation that steered clear of politics or economics. We talked about random things, like the feeling of moving to a new city. Mr. President was relatively new to Abuja, after all, and he seemed intrigued by its pace and the distinctive energy that hummed in its streets.
The journey was exhilarating. I guided him through some of my favorite shortcuts and pathways, pointing out interesting spots and hidden gems along the route. He listened with genuine curiosity, seemingly eager to see the city from a different perspective beyond the grand vistas his office might afford.
But as we neared Berger, I began to notice a shift. Small groups of people started glancing our way, pausing mid-stride as if trying to confirm an impossible hunch. The whispers grew louder. Strangers gestured, cautiously pointing in our direction, as if to ask, Is that really the President? Word spread with the swiftness of a summer breeze, and the small groups began to merge, swelling into a larger crowd. It was a scene I had not anticipated.
Two or three men stepped forward, their faces creased with curiosity and perhaps frustration. They inched closer, hesitant but determined, eager to know if the man walking beside me was indeed the President. As their suspicion mounted, so did their need to speak about the economy, the struggles with inflation, the price of fuel, and the ripple effects of naira devaluation on their daily lives. It was clear they weren’t just curious; they wanted to deliver their concerns directly to the President.
Realizing what was unfolding, I acted quickly, engaging the men in conversation. I tried to slow them down, distracting them just long enough for Mr. President to gain a bit of distance. It was a strange moment of subtle maneuvering, yet my instincts kicked in to protect the brief tranquility we had managed. By the time I turned back, however, a nondescript, ambulance-like bulletproof van had pulled up beside Mr. President. Without missing a beat, he slipped into the van, still on his phone, barely glancing back. It was as if he had known all along that his peaceful stroll would only last so long.
And just like that, he was gone, whisked away in the blink of an eye, leaving me standing there alone amid the lingering crowd. I wasn’t exactly a target or in danger, just a random citizen left to absorb the surreal moment. Then, in a single, disorienting flash, I woke up to my true surroundings. I wasn’t on a stroll with the President, after all. Instead, I was lying in a bed in a random hotel room in Kaduna, realizing it had all been a dream. The vividness left me momentarily dazed, and I chuckled at the absurdity of it all.
As the reality set in, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. What if I had used that dream as an opportunity to discuss something meaningful? What if I had brought up the critical issues affecting the nation, even in such a fleeting encounter? We could have talked about the state of the economy, the fuel crisis, or the growing frustration of everyday Nigerians struggling to make ends meet. It was a missed chance, even if only in a dream.
But then, it got me thinking: what would you say if you had a similar chance? What single issue would you bring up with the President if you had just five minutes of his undivided attention? Would it be the price of fuel, the state of the roads, or maybe the need for stronger support for local businesses? Or would you delve into the long-term vision for the country, asking him what he truly envisions for Nigeria’s future?
This dream may have been random, yet it sparked a realization. In those rare, imagined moments of closeness to power, we’re reminded of our own hopes and frustrations. It’s a reminder of the conversations we wish we could have with our leaders, and the topics that are closest to our hearts as Nigerians. So, if you had the chance, what would you say? What’s that one thing you’d want to impress upon the President, given only a brief moment to make an impact?
A stroll with the President may be a distant dream, but the issues we’d discuss are very real. What would you bring up in your five-minute window of opportunity?
