Whenever the biography of Sam Omatseye is written by history itself, as against constructs by fellow sycophants — I am sure the difference between story by history and story by the historian is beyond his grasp — it will be mentioned that he deployed not only his barren intellect, but his miserable soul solely to the cause of the brigand, Bola Tinubu. Tinubu has no pedigree; he belongs to the class of criminals immolated in the days of yore, but who, by the accident of history, have now found themselves in the commanding heights of timed power.
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