Let’s start with the literal. Tomorrow is Easter, the day Christians mark the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Yesterday was Good Friday, the day He was crucified.

Let’s start with the literal. Tomorrow is Easter, the day Christians mark the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Yesterday was Good Friday, the day He was crucified. The preceding Thursday called the Holy Thursday, was the day of the Passover which all Jews were obliged to celebrate. Jesus celebrated it with His disciples in the Upper Room in Jerusalem—I have been there before and wondered how that small place was able to accommodate a banquet table with at least 12 disciples. But that’s a story for another time. This was where He symbolically offered His body and blood for the salvation of mankind with that famous declaration of: ‘This is my body…’ which has since formed the kernel of: ‘The Holy Communion’ in all Christian churches irrespective of denomination. This was also where a bosom friend, a confidant, a companion, a disciple, one who dipped his bread in the same soup bowl, finally showed his hands. That Holy Thursday was anything but holy. It was a day of serial betrayal. Judas, first betrayed his friend and master with a kiss. Peter, the man around whom Christianity was later built, then betrayed Him with denial, once, twice, three times. The other disciples, including the two who wanted to be with Jesus permanently in His Kingdom, betrayed by running away. The silent supporters of Jesus within the Sanhedrin, betrayed with acquiescence or silence. The crowd which just a few days earlier, had shouted, ‘Hosanna to the King’ now shouted ‘Crucify Him’ almost with the same passion. Some of them might have been people who witnessed the miracles of Jesus. Or might even have been beneficiaries. Yet, they betrayed Him when they turned their backs. Pilate, who had the authority to set Him free betrayed Jesus by handing Him over to his accusers. It was the season Jesus was stripped naked physically and spiritually. It was the season of betrayal.

A certain politician who sees  himself as personifying Lagos, was said to have made a comment years ago, when he was still directly running the state. After a hard day’s job attending to the affairs of Lagos, with its intrigues and power play, this man allegedly got up, stretched his arms and torso before announcing to those in his company that he was tired and wanted to go to bed. Nothing is wrong with that. However, his alleged choice of words did not escape the notice of those in the room and possibly the entire state in its import. ‘Ore Eko. Ekofelo’sun.’ (Lagos is tired. Lagos wants to sleep).

Politics is primal. It is intrinsic to all Homo sapiens. Wherever two or three are gathered together, whether at home or in the office; whether at the club or in church; there you will find Mr Politics. What determines the kind of politics played is not necessary how high the stakes are, but what the rules of engagement stipulate and the character of the players. Especially the character of the players.That is why politics varies from situations to situations and countries to countries. Some will follow the rules. Some will manipulate the rules. Some will be civil while some will be vicious irrespective of the stakes. In any case, the importance or otherwise of the stakes is in itself, subjective. It depends on what stock the contestants put on influence, money, position and ego.A good example of the subjectivity of stakes is the biblical Mr Jacob who demanded his twin brother’s birth right  because of a mere plate of porridge and Mr Esau his brother, who readily agreed to the terms.

I don’t know about you, but I am just glad that these elections are about over—we are now at the stage where judges and senior lawyers can earn their pay. The expectations had been high.