In a den of thieves continued.

Likewise in the society there was a clear demarcation of it's own acquired schizophrenia, with two worlds living parallel to each other; on the the one hand there was the rich who lorded it over the poor with a despotic profligacy, and on the other there was the lot of the dispossessed who feigned a servile posture while the hatred of their situation simmered as an unquenchable fire in their souls waiting for the right moment to erupt.  Like an active volcano the people waited for the right moment, for it was no longer a matter of if, no it was a matter of when.  For life was quickly becoming so unbearable, that death was no longer feared but even anticipated as a welcome end to the life of turmoil and strife.  For in death, the soul could sleep in the night without fears, and there catch up on the long nights  of lost sleep due to terror.  For in death, the body plagued by sickness for which a cure was unaffordable due to prevailing circumstances, there it could rest peacefully, and without pain.   what a tragedy, that a people who had set off on a journey of optimistic independence from colonialism should  come to a screeching halt and meet their Waterloo in the quagmire of the Presidency at Aso rock.  Where the President of Goodluck, operated as a rudderless boat in a manner which could only have rivalled the infamous and insignificant presidencies of his predeccessors.  The public could rest assured of one thing only, and that was that it's leadership would continue to entertain the world with it's blatant mediocrity and total absence of imaginativeness which was near comic in it's utter deatchment from the reality of the people.  In effect, the president presented himself as a buffoon who had strong inclinations to jetting around the world in a jet ( whose purchase was misguided) attending international meetings to which he could contribute little or not at all, thereby reiterating to the world at large his own irrelevance.