The African Zacchaeus

Ajulo David

Biography: Ajulo, David Olufemi is a multifaceted professional whose career and passions span technology, literature, business, and agriculture. Trained as a Telecom Engineer, he has built a solid reputation in the world of communication technologies, ensuring innovative solutions that connect people and empower industries. Beyond engineering, Olufemi is an internationally recognized Sales Professional, celebrated for his outstanding ability to build relationships, inspire trust, and deliver results across diverse markets. His creative spirit finds expression in revolutionary poetry, where his words resonate deeply with audiences, weaving themes of humanity, egaliatrian society, resilience, and the beauty of existence. As a passionate poultry farmer, Olufemi demonstrates his belief in self-sufficiency and sustainable living, nurturing not only livestock but also a philosophy of responsibility and care for the earth. At his core, Olufemi is a lover of nature and all that is good to behold. Whether through professional excellence, poetic insight, or his agricultural endeavors, he embodies a rare balance of intellect, creativity, and a profound appreciation for life’s simple yet profound wonders. The number to reach him is 07061394472.

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Ajulo David

Thursday 9 October 2025

The African Zacchaeus

Nigeria was in "bulaba", "balablu", and "bulubla",

A circus of chaos — a political abracadabra.

Rulers feasted while the people fasted,

Dreams decayed, hopes long lasted.

Corns of swine fed the sons of man,

While kings dined fat on stolen yam.

The air was thick with lies and lament,

Where progress died and poverty bent.

Roads looked like faces battered and torn,

Each pothole a wound the nation had worn.

Bridges groaned with forgotten pain,

As rain returned the land to drain.

Governments sweating in their deceit,

Corruption dancing on every street.

Ten percent pay tax — the rest pretend,

While the nation bleeds with no amend.

Twenty-three million “worthy” they say,

But the hidden billions pave their way.

Evaders smiling in silk disguise,

As justice sleeps with covered eyes.

Then came 2023 — a year of thunder,

When the throne quaked and the earth wondered.

A man arose — short in mercy, tall in tax,

Climbed the sycamore tree with economic hacks.

They called him The African Zacchaeus, bold and shrewd,

Preaching reform, yet plundering the brood.

He slew the subsidy with a prophet’s flair,

Devalued the Naira beyond repair.

He spoke of palliatives — sweet words, hollow,

That melted away by the breath of the shallow.

Politicians feasted, the people wailed,

Every promise — half-fulfilled, derailed.

Then came the taxes — relentless and raw,

He taxed the sweat, the sigh, the straw.

He taxed the market woman’s grain,

He taxed the tears, he taxed the rain.

He taxed the dead in silent sleep,

He taxed the poor, whose souls they keep.

From salt to soap, from bread to breath,

He turned taxation into death.

And the people watched, with weary eyes,

As hope was sold for foreign ties.

Repentance was preached, but none was done,

For the climb had just begun.

The African Zacchaeus, perched on high,

Saw the crowd below and passed them by.

He never came down, no restitution made —

Just shadows of promises, fading in trade.

Nigeria waits beneath that tree,

For justice lost in currency.

Will he descend, to heal the land?

Or keep counting coins with trembling hand?

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