Tribute To The Unknown Soldiers
I had a post prepared, one with mild laughs and genuine care and advice. I was to post it on the 21st of October, 2020. It had jokes, one about seeking a free ride to Lekki and one about the wonder that is protest jollof. Before its unveiling came the bullets. They rained down on unarmed protesters standing in solidarity to the betterment of a fatherland. They reigned through the night for other protesters, delivering a warning to other rebels — Beware! Do not disobey the unknown forces, the message was clear.
Today I am numb, I am angry, I am sad, I am livid, I am scared, I am weak and above all I am you. Going through the only street that offered some sort of solace, Twitter, I witnessed the evil that is poverty, illiteracy, insensitivity and pretense. “Nigeria will not end me” a tweep, Oke-Obi, posted three hours before his demise. Today I learn he wasn’t killed by a stray bullet, he was killed by thugs. The irony! Who are thugs? What makes thugs? Who makes thugs? The same system which gifted us police autonomy and brutality, gave us in mercy thugs. He was Oke-Obi, he was me, he was you and he was those nameless compatriots who died for the betterment of the land. Oke-Obi was a Nigerian. Oke-Obi died a hero. Like Oke, the protesters never expected to be betrayed by the land. They dined on bullets and slept on the nation’s flag, a betrayal from the ones who swore with their lives to protect our lives. Makes you wonder how many lives they have. This is evidence that felines have descendants in Nigeria. Commit them into your prayers.
Young compatriots on the streets of solace are now being targeted for speaking up against violence. Young compatriots are losing their minds and later their lives; little by little a good thing must come to an end. Armed with placards and hashtags, we asked for a better home. In return our blood was spilt. You shouldn’t cry over spilt milk but what do we do when blood replaces milk? The streets are filled with blood and the next fruits will bear souls. Nectar will become blood and the wind will bear voices.
To die for a nation that doesn’t deserve you or to fight till it gets better? This is the real war. To hope that one day we can japa or to stay in hope that it becomes a safe haven? To be Nigerian is to live. To be Nigerian is to die. To be Nigerian is to hope. To be Nigerian is to be loud in the face of adversity, to hope, pray and fight. We either sink as the walls close in or fight with everything till they are no more.