|France's elite forces were all picking cotton at the time|
“Yassum boss, ah’s a-tellin’ yuh, us Frenchies wun’t nowheres near dat t’ing, no suh!” he explained to sceptical reporters, theatrically rolling his eyes and strutting up and down in his gaily-striped trousers as a platoon of similarly-attired French commandos pushed a confused-looking Mr Gbagbo onstage, flexing their elbows and knees comically as they doffed their toppers.
“Dey native nigga-boys, dey’s a-doin’ it aal bah deyselfs, yes sirree, ain’ dat de troof?” he implored, picking up a strategically-placed banjo and strumming away contentedly.
“Hallelujah!” chorused his troops, waving their pink-palmed hands furiously.
“’Cos if de UN done asked dey Frenchies to take out de bad ole sambo heah, dat be lookin’ like doin’ mo’ dan just de peacekeepin’ work o’ de Lawd, hush mah mouth!” he added solemnly.
“Why, dat be lookin’ mighty like de bad ole days o’ colonialism,” he continued, as he booted Mr Gbagbo offstage into the midst of an appreciative audience of Alassane Ouattara supporters. “Ain’t nobody doin’ dat racist ol’ routine no mo’, praise de Lawd.”