Why Do Trump Supporters Hate Barack Obama So Much?

By Ikenga Chronicles November 21, 2018

–Onyemaechi Ogbunwezeh

I scarcely settled down on the ICE; the German speed train, that swallowed me in its belly, to race me across the boarder to Austria, when a young kid of about 16 sat in the empty seat nearby.

I cursed under my breath.

This was not the answer to my regular prayer, whenever I travel. While many on similar journeys in Nigeria, busy themselves “binding and casting” demons into lakes of fire, I have always asked Amadioha, to be gracious in sending those curvy beings of grace; representing the best of her sculptures; to seat beside me on such long journeys, as to make the journey smooth and fruitful.

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And, when the chosen one smells good; as to scale my olfactory moats, that he Amadioha summons every power of his to make the chemistry rhyme, as to set off sparks of interests. And for him to give me the courage, which no wine or beer can confer; as he arms my tongue with the charms, and eloquence that would make a lady remove the coats to her island of intimacies.

That has been my prayer to Amadioha, whenever the road greets me.

It seemed that Amadioha posted a pair of deaf ears to my entreaties today. Maybe I haven’t been pouring libations, since my neck became too stiff to bow to any Lord, and my knees became too frozen to genuflect at any altars, I thought.

The young kid continued liberating himself from the layers of clothes, he wrapped around himself like a bulb of onions. The cold today was unusual. The winter, though late this year, came with more teeth than usual. He packed them neatly in the overhead bin, where my bag and jacket have also found comfortable accommodation.

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He sank into the seat beside me. Muttered a tired sigh. I nodded my affirmation. I never knew that what I mistook for a tired sigh from the kid, was just the flood-locks to a human waterfall.

I was the one that caused trouble.

He brought out a book, which I complimented in German. He retorted: you sound English but speaking German. I nodded in affirmation, still smattering from the fact that I preferred talking to a beautiful lady during such journeys than the company of a drab, tired sophomore.

Without warning the guy gave me a thorough rundown of the book he was reading. It was Ta-Nehisi Coates’ Between the world and me!

Little did he know that I have a copy of the same author’s We were 8 years in Power, which I just purchased at the Train station Bookshop, resting in bag to be eaten after I finished the “Creations of Patriarchy” that has been detaining my attention.

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The guy captured me with his brilliance, and his proddings made me ‘cry havoc, and let loose the dogs of war’

I tried to create an essential arena for understanding and appreciating the genius of Ta-Nehisi and other writers like him, who have posed brilliant interrogations of the African American experience in the racist puddle that is America. We discussed the black man as the creation of the racist otherness of a Gobinean nature, rooted firmly in the history of European thought.

If young German students don’t force you to expose yourself, nothing would.

I never knew I could think on my feet, as he kept peppering me with question after question. That was when I realized that there is something about German education and questions. The German student is not afraid to question anything. No idea is too sacred to be questioned. This guy proved to me that I could be president. Answering his interrogatories force you to be patient, and task you to think on your feet.

Assertions like “this is how it has been”, or “this is how it is done”, never satisfies a German kid asking you any question. He would continue with his (Warum?), ”why” to every answer you give.

This continues until that issue has been sufficiently trashed to his satisfaction. That is when you would hear expressions like “Ahhhh sooooo”!

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Amadioha must be crazy I thought to myself. I thought I should have been well off chatting up a beautiful girl, only for this kid to come here like, matter, to just have weight, occupy space and throw that weight around, with his brilliance that kept tempting me into thinking on my feet.

He then asked me a question, which is now the title of this write up.

“Why do Trump supporters hate Barack Obama so much”, after all the great things he has done, his personal example and his brilliance?

I blurted out: “Because they are assholes”!!!

I just caught myself on time, to stop the “hole” from rolling out of my tongue. First, we were in a train filled with people in the first-class section of the train, where European “Ajeebo-hood” plays itself out. Secondly, I have been rolling with that pretend elitism since grabbing my reserved seat in the first class cabin. It wouldn’t have been meet, for me to reveal my street and ghetto credentials, with curse words, after speaking Hoch-deutsch for the better part of an hour.

I caught myself and said, because “they are asssssss, you know as…, in fact let me put it this way…

By now, I have collected my thoughts a bit, having saved myself from the brink of showing German “Ajeebutter” that I can curse like a drunken sailor, when racism riles my consideration.

I said in a magisterial voice.

“The point lies in the fact, that just like Jesse Owens did in the 30s; taking a sledgehammer to Aryan supremacist metaphysic of Nazism; and defeated it on the racetracks, to show the world , once and for all, that the presumption peddled by Aryan supremacy minstrels, that Whites are superior to Blacks is a rumour; Barack Obama’s emergence and successful presidency, became the single most comprehensive deconstruction of the supremacist metaphysic of white racism ever. Barack showed the world that a black man is able and capable of the highest achievements; and that he is capable of doing it in style and with utmost dignity.

That is why they hated him so much.

The kid disembarked in Regensburg, not before asking for my number; which I refused with the rejoinder, that he is not a lady, and that I would rather give him my business card.

As he left the train he kept waving. I could see the same surprise on his face as I have witnessed on many White faces sitting around us, who couldn’t stop eavesdropping on our conversation. I would pay with anything to take a peep and see what was going on in that young mind of his.

I smiled. Waved back at him as he disappeared into the crowd on the platform.

Now the seat beside me is empty once more. I have warned Amadioha not to play any tricks this time.

I am waiting.

Gwazia ndi yard unu

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