It’s exactly one year since the day I wrote this piece, I never understood the motivation behind it, or the emotions that led to it but one fact remains never had it been so relevant…Change is what we have chosen, may it be the right choice.
Today they will give speeches, reiterating once more the importance of our belief in the grandiose yarn of deception they weave and call our millennium development goals. They will play the anthem that our fathers believed in and their offspring barely remember like a snake charmers flute hoping that by staring into sheets of paper typed by faceless aides, and flashing us furtive looks from the TV screen they can hypnotize us into complacency but alas even the hypnotists knows that for the spell to hold you must look into the eyes-and lie
Their bag of tricks must be running out or maybe like the old coin trick or loaded die we now know their secrets but unfortunately the truth lies in the shameful realization that even they, can no longer believe in their own magic, the audience is not captivated anymore as the power of all magic lies in belief.
Today they would stand on the dais decked in faux dignity and solemnity before our the green white green, the shield, the white horses, the eagle, before Unity and Faith, Peace and Progress and talk down at us, their faces filling the TV screen, their voices echoing from our tiny battery powered radios, invading our living rooms. Alas, it remains more than symbolic that they are all we see, all we hear, they are the symbols of our nation, subconsciously we do not see the the representation of our nation in the flag whose meaning escapes us, in the coat of arms we barely recognize…Coctus Spectabilis “what does that mean?” My 11year old nephew asks me but he can tell the name of all key members of government because they have become our symbols…they have filled our minds so we do not realize that the black shield is stained with crude oil, the silver bands are empty, shrinking and turning black, the horses are missing, our eagle- no longer proud- is weak and emaciated and the wreath on which it stands is badly stained, the white turning grey while the green fades to a malignant brown, and there are no flowering buds where Coctus Spectabilis should have thrived.
They have dared so much, self appointed Pied Pipers, secure in the knowledge that their tunes are what we will dance to, but every verse has it’s ending and this is the screaming pause before the next verse…our eyes open and we see:
How they dare us, how their monsters reign terror drowning in the blood of innocents, mothers, children, men- young and old labeled with one damning tag- The Unbelievers, the best have refused to speak, not for lack of knowledge but rather the abundance of so much to loose.
How they dare us, turning our lives into key points for political moves and counter moves, how our futures, education, security becomes mere pawns to be played with and taken away at their whims and caprices.
How they dare us, bargaining with what is ours making a caricature of all we are on the international theatre, a parody of weakness and vulnerability, screaming: “Free for all! We are ripe for the taking!”
How they dare us, highlighting for all the world, that we are nothing but undereducated religious fanatics whose circumscribed verbal literacy barely scratches the surface- Chai! There is God oh! Taking the woman and throwing her back to the age of the Neanderthal, Father speaks best! Cry and beat your breasts, Husband knows best! Do not try to be meaningful.
They have dared us.
We have accepted.
Now they should be afraid.
They should be afraid, their falcons have rebelled, like Frankenstein their own monsters sound their funeral calls, the prophesy of Yeats is once again recalled…the centre WILL not hold! Things WILL fall apart…there is no turning back, we have nothing left to loose, we see nothing to gain by hoping so we wait not for D-Day but by the prophesy of Fela, Dem All Crazy day…when finally we WILL shed the last vestiges of our sanity and take back what is ours…they have driven us mad with pain, stolen out minds with PTSD in the absence of war but now someone should tell them that in the heartbeat of the nation a war drums are beating, in the triangle a storm is brewing, that will not succumb to calm. The desert storm simulating strength in the north must be called to order by it’s creators else it will be drowned by southern tsunami…
War paint. War drums. War dances. Strategy. Prayer. Sacrifice. This is how we celebrate today because we are reminded that the broken idea of this democracy still enslaves…Give me liberty or give me death, for the labour of our heroes past shall never be in vain, be shall resound the war cry and beat the drums… Beat them and beat them loud.
…Beat them, Beat them hard…The blood boils, the mouth foams. We leave our food untasted, our farms untended, our new wives unattended when we wield the drumsticks… (Isiburu -Elechi Amadi)
Aluta Continua. Victoria Acerta