So many troubling issues have already emerged to shatter my New Year reverie, but I am determined to continue savouring the newness of the New Year for a little while longer. Mixed in with the joy of having crossed over to the New Year despite battling cancer is sadness about all those who did indeed cross over to the New Year but their lives were suddenly cut short by terrorist attacks.
As I reflected on the deaths of the 2000 Nigerians recently killed by Boko Haram tears flowed down my cheeks as I sat in church the other Sunday. How can that be happening in Nigeria? How does the world ignore those killings as if mass murder is the new normal? Ordinary Nigerians don’t seem too troubled by the killings either. The church is silent, many church-goers more preoccupied with calling fire upon their personal enemies than in uniting against the enemies of Nigeria.
It was the juxtaposition of the sadness evoked by the 2000 deaths and the joy of the memory of the love and unity we experienced in my federal government college that broke my heart. The unity that pervaded the school did not emerge by accident. It was the goal of the federal government when they established federal government colleges in Nigeria. Three years ago when we held a reunion of our old students in New York city it was heart-warming to note the joy and unity we still derive from being together — about 30 years since graduation. When I said fostering unity through the creation of federal government colleges is one of the things the federal government did right somebody else piped up with: It’s the only thing they did right.
I made a Happy New year call to Senior Joyce to thank her for her love and support for me as I battle cancer. She drove over six hours crossing state lines to visit me last year. We marveled at the depth of the love that still binds the FGC Warri Old students.
She told me about the love and support she gets from the Ovie-Whiskey family. I told her about the love and support I still get from the Iyamabos and the Umukoros. I told Senior Joyce that I appreciate their taking me into their homes and into their hearts even more now when I think about their goodness against the backdrop of the Nigerian civil war that had ended only about three years prior to my going off to Warri.
During the civil war, those of us on the Biafran side regarded those across the Niger bridge as the enemies out to get us. Did you not have Yoruba friends (at FGCW), asked Snr Joyce. Of course I did —- Yejide, Lola, Shola. What war? That is the kind of response I would have got from my younger Yoruba school daughters if I had mentioned the civil war. The same kind of response older relatives get from younger relatives marrying Yoruba men.
Who would have thought in the heat of the war that anyone of us would be welcome in the schools and homes of those on the other side of the war. The tears continued to flow as I sat in church thinking about all this. I could still hear Ekero’s mother saying to me from across the miles: You are a wonderful daughter.
I continue to revel in the depth of her love for me and the fervor in her voice as she called upon God to heal me. I could also hear the voice of my other FGC Warri mother, the mother in the Iyamabo family, speaking life into me or asking me what colour I want for another hat she is knitting for me.
When these my much-beloved mothers took me into their hearts and homes they did not know what role they were playing in healing the wounds of the civil war and advancing the cause of unity in Nigeria. I doubt that they gave much thought to the civil war. But now when I look back and consider what they did for me, the former “Biafran kid,” and then I think of the Boko Haram’s killings, that makes me weep for Nigeria. Has Nigeria come this far only to be torn apart again?
I’m still savouring the newness of the New Year and want to tell you about how we rang in the New Year despite the heaviness in my heart. I just love good old testimony sessions and was delighted when my pastor announced we would be having just that during our New Year’s eve service. My mother’s testimony revolving around my illness added a Nigerian flavor to the testimony night — she danced to the front of the church singing an Igbo song which she later translated.
In my own testimony I said: I thought I had been left behind by my friends who are more successful than I am and have husbands and children, but they came back for me when they heard I had been struck down by cancer.
We counted down to the New Year together in church and afterward the Bishop took us all out to have breakfast at Denny’s restaurant.
During Bible class last night I told them about the recent killings in Nigeria and asked for prayers for Nigeria, noting that the world leaders don’t seem to know what to do.
