I live in a country haunted by demons that were set loose when the Lugards Christened and amalgamated a body that would never be one.
I live in a country where dreams remain dreams and any hope of its transcendence into reality is frequently crushed by the maniacal grips of our overlords.
I live in a country where we celebrate electricity, where good roads is an extravagant request and quality education only but a luxury.
I live in a country whose very name inspires suspicion, a country governed by kleptomaniacs who somewhere in their childhoods had their consciences die.
I am not angry because they loot our lands, embezzle our resources and starve our children. No! Not for any of that.
I am angry because they lie to us, I am angry because they have lost the ability to feel and am even much angrier because I have lost hope on them and the ones that would come after they have gone.
Yesterday I stood at the park, and watched a pregnant woman sell peanuts with a child strapped to her back. I saw her dart around chasing to be the first to approach the customers.
I was transfixed at the spot examining the acerbity of her condition. IT WAS AN ABJECT STATE. A plight that could move a strong hearted one to tears.
But there I stood, sad I offered her nothing but pity, whilst nursing that anger-that same anger we all share.
And whenever you turn on the night news they would appear, in their ever majestic robes. Great raconteurs, all they do is craft out Cock and Bull stories. Perfect settings and grandiose plans of how the next four years would evolve.
Do not believe what they say, avoid their appropriate talks and soothing television discussions. It will drench your senses with the liquor of deception.
Venture deep yourself, experience those stories they rarely paint vivid enough. Live it and inhale the desperation, walk the streets and share a moment with them. Put a face to those lives you have read about and save your imagination the stress.
You might never see it all but you would see enough. Enough to purge the lies you were fed. Africa must be sick and dying if I live in its heart.
In the end, I hope the kids of times to come, would find a place in their hearts, to forgive late Harold Smith and many more on that list, for the seeds they sowed with their teams.
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I am sorry officer for having to tell you all this, I live in a country that isn’t trully mine. Mine was strangled just after its birth.
That is why I felt blackmailed when you called me a Nigerian. I am an honest African who means no harm. All I want is to board this flight, Cos a better life is all I seek.