Written in 2011, this piece was titled: Lamentations of a Worried Citizen. For a few minutes, let’s watch these scenarios as they unfold:
Listen to that loud bang. Another bomb has just exploded. A mosque has been bombed. A church is in flames. Watch the thick solemn smoke rising like a funeral procession towards the peaceful sky.
A ball of fire shows its teeth, devouring anything within reach. Peace has been murdered. Hell is let loose.
Bones lie cracked. Brains spill from broken skulls. A chilling cry is followed by a chorus of wails.
A pool of blood is formed. Stampede! While the living runs; the dead lies in silence; the wounded cries for attention.
The sleepy countryside wakes in wonder as the young school boy asks the mother: “Is it yet Christmas? I can hear the loud crackers. Mummy, please buy me some crackers.”
No, this is a Christmas of a different kind; the birth of terror, not of a saviour. What you hear are deadly crackers. Is this a new Nigeria? What we heard from afar has reached our backyard.
What shall we tell our children? What will historians write about today? Bombs have become street-side pebbles. Dynamites are a dozen for a dime. Killing is now sport. They believe paradise beckons as you slash a throat.
How did we get here? Mothers are crying because their children are no more. Some went to school; others went to playgrounds, never to return.
Widows are everywhere. Husbands are no more. Some went to their offices; others went to have a drink; and got roasted like dry meat.
Children are searching for their parents; hoping they will return home soon. Most of them are lying six feet below. Others had no luxury of being buried. Their bones and flesh lie in shreds.
When the bomb goes off, both Moslems and Christians are brought down. They hardly heard the bang. Suddenly, they found themselves on the other side; beyond reach and comprehension.
A youth is sent on national assignment, adorned in national colours. Instead of marching back with a discharge certificate, he is brought back in a coffin.
Instead of a thanksgiving for a job well-done, it is a funeral for a life cut short. What an irony! This is reality; not drama. Where do we go from here?
When a parcelled bomb killed Dele Giwa several years back, the nation was startled. It was the first of its kind in peace-time. Wrapped in a big envelop, it exploded as fresh air touched the interior.
The nation mourned. Colleagues wept. Questions were asked. And they are still being asked: who killed Dele Giwa? What did he do wrong? How far can his killers go? Answers are in short supply.
Many years later, the Niger Delta boiled. Bombs replaced placards. Violence replaced protest. Oil pipelines were broken. Human blood mixed with spilled crude oil as the delta mourned its ruins.
Houses were burnt. People were kidnapped. Some were killed. Others attracted ransom. The fight was taken to ridiculous extremities. Still it was based on principle; and attracted sympathy from across the world.
Violence was not the solution. Killing should not have been part of it. People started shouting secession. It was war. The rich relocated. Then came amnesty. It was the first of its kind.
A ceasefire was initiated. Government took a position. What troops could not achieve, a presidential pronouncement did. Both the attackers and the defenders agreed at last. Peace of the graveyard returned.
People had doubts though violence was reduced as guns left the creeks. The so-called militants started returning to normal life. Oil production resumed. Business boomed again. Those who ran away returned gradually.
Back to reality: here we are again. Shortly after the oil war, another kind of war is here. When will this nation have rest? When will this bloodshed stop?
It’s difficult to tell what this war is about. Some say it’s religious; others believe it’s political. Is it true that some political big boys are the sponsors, and that sharing of political power is the cause? But why kill the harmless?
A little of history will do here: It started shortly after the death of President Umaru Yar’Adua; when Nigerians gathered to celebrate 50 years of nationhood, a bomb shattered the festivity. People ran in all directions.
Doctors and nurses experienced a national emergency. Grave-diggers were called back to work. The dead were many.
Our joy was cut short. Innocent people were murdered. School children, hawkers, street cleaners and motorcycle riders, who constitute the neglected battalion of the hungry army, were torn to pieces.
From the periphery of the Eagle Square, to the mammy market near the army barracks, these exploiters of our vulnerability went on rampage. They stormed the police headquarters, then the United Nations office, and almost brought the nation to its knees.
What started as a local scare has become a national nightmare. The North East has been sacked. Caliphates are being created: a nation within a nation. Kano is burning. Abuja has been attacked. Chibok girls have become history.
Arise O! Nigerians! There is enemy at the gate. Insurgents cannot be better armed, better trained and more intelligent than our army. It’s time to fire from all cylinders. It’s time to stop the blame game. This is a national emergency!
