On Saturday, June 28, I went to a popular shopping mall along Aminu Kano Crescent. It is one of the busiest spots in the area because of its vantage location. Going there on a working day could be a nightmare in terms of getting parking space. And if you must go there on a Saturday afternoon, you would be considered crazy or insensitive to your environment, if you hoped to find a convenient parking space.
On this Saturday, the opposite was the case. At the entrance to the mall, two young men sat, chatting and giggling. As I pulled up, one of them beckoned at another young man who was by the corner oblivious of my presence, to come over. That one appeared with a large mirror attached to a rod which he placed by the sides of the car. He was trying to spot any bomb I must have been carrying. Then he casually opened the boot, looked inside and closed it carelessly.
Having satisfied himself that I was harmless, he waved at the other people to allow me in. I shuddered at the level we have subjected the serious business of security to in this country. Here was a young man of about 20 years, who probably does not even know what he is looking for, being asked to check vehicles for bombs. All he had were his untrained eyes and a mirror attached to a rod which he simply placed under the car while chatting with his friends without paying much attention to what the mirror could possibly reflect.
As the barricade was lifted to allow me in, I noticed a strange atmosphere. The car park, which on a Saturday is usually a beehive of activities, with the several attendants shouting at drivers and car owners, was almost empty. For the first time, I did not need to struggle or beg the attendants for a place to park. The last time I visited the mall, I stayed in the car for a long time praying for someone to pull away. But on that Saturday, I looked for the best place close to the shop I was going to and parked without anybody shouting at me.
In the shop, I asked the attendant whether it was not a shopping day. She looked at me, shook her tiny head and replied: “Oga, na so we see am oo! Boko Haram don pursue people away oo!” Then I noticed that most of the shops had been locked up. She said both the shop owners and customers were afraid of showing up after the incident at Emab Plaza. Within a few minutes, I was almost forced out of the place as she was equally in a hurry to close.
You must have been told several times that fear has torment. Fear frightens. Fear weakens. Fear, according to Bertrand Rusell, brings fatigue. Fear is a product of uncertainty. Abuja is a city wrapped in fear – the fear of mindless killers called Boko Haram. No one knows when and where they would strike again. In the words of Margaret Atwood, fear has a smell… You can smell it in Abuja.
Fear is the cruelest of all insanities. Fear is what George Bernanes calls savage frenzy. Fear has reduced the once bubbling city of Abuja to a mere graveyard. People live in doubt of seeing tomorrow.
Do we, as a people, really need to be this afraid of the killers? I used to think that those who do evil should be afraid of those who obey the law. Now it is the opposite. Where lies our collective might to overcome evil?
On Sunday, June 29, shortly after church service, I drove past the elitist Farmers Market in Maitama. This is where you have our brothers from the North sell fruits of all types. Any fruit you cannot find here on a good day may as well not exist in Nigeria. It is not a place some of us visit regularly, except to merely walk past. It is meant for the high class patrons.
However, I noticed that none of the shops was open. Puzzled, I kept driving on. Apart from the police vans parked at a distance, there were casually-dressed, unarmed security operatives pretending to be reading newspapers.
A few metres away, I noticed people selling fruits from their vans. I pulled up as though I needed to buy some. What I actually needed was information. I asked one of the friendly attendants what happened to the Farmers Market. “Dem say make we no dey there again oo! I sure say dem go open am soon; but since Thursday, dem come close the place.” I don’t need to go into the details of why the place was shut down.
In Abuja, fear has made everybody a suspect, put courage in bondage. Fear, in the words of John Wilson, has reduced all of us to trembling shadows. Sad indeed!
On that Sunday, I recalled the words of John Newton in that song: How sweet the name of Jesus sounds in a believer’s ears; it soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds and drives away his fears. That is what we need. Fear does not drive away fear. It generates more fears. But that name does. Boko Haram has come to remind us of 2 Chronicles 7:14. Let us pray.
