Whenever Boko Haram cooks human beings, you will see flame. Nyanya went up in flame. Jonathan wore sad face at the scene. Jonathan went to Kano the following day for a political gig. While mourners garnered their tears in baskets, Jonathan was in Kano throwing jives at his manufactured enemy, “even the little money my campaign office provided for refreshment and transportation for Kano delegates, Kwankwaso refused to give them that money. He did that so that the Kano delegates will be angry and would not vote for me.”
We are now back at the mercy of Jonathan’s Fizzle Logic – that we will have to live with the burden of Boko Haram until it fizzles out. Welcome to our arid malady, to the land of corruptive emergencies, waste ridden interiors, of stick-thin, half-dead children staring fixedly in different postures of hopelessness at an impending fatality, singing flame, flame go away, come again another day, little children want to play. The fatality is here, they have been consumed. Next set is on the line, singing the same song. We are doomed!
Watching a survivor on television giving account of the bomb fireworks, I saw how his perspiration resisted the cold ambience of the morning harmattan. Goose bumps took over his skin and tears continued to cascade down his bloody cheeks. The early morning harmattan failed to douse his temperature for beads of sweat began to form under his armpits, on his chest, under his temple and under his feet. The creases on his forehead moved in tempo with his palpitating heart. He was dead alive!
We keep chasing shadows. We are helpless. We don’t have a clue. We now hope on nothing except for Boko Haram to temper their stupidity with mercy. It is sheer arrogance for a snail to call an imbecile to a battle of salivation, the same way it is a suicide mission for a snail to call a horse to a battle of race, just like inviting Boko Haram to a contest of human wastes – it is a cruel absurdity!
We are also fond of wasting precious time, such as aggregating some sickening heads to design a road map to our Eldorado. We waste our God-given resources. We waste our talents and prodigious human endowments. We waste our tomorrow at the altar of our wasted yesterday. We waste the future of our children at the shrine of our today’s purposelessness. We waste ourselves with savage resolve. We waste a gifted nation even as we waste the destiny of the Black race. So the nation has overtime, turned to a collection of bloody waste. Any child born into this and fed on its gory rites must certainly turn out a blood-sucking Dracula.
The land is desolated, soaked with human blood and dead bodies piled high, tears everywhere in town. Graveyard is full. Dead bodies are on the queue, waiting for a new graveyard to be commissioned by His Excellency once he is back from the Kano bash. The spirit of the nation has decayed. Lugard’s contraption is gradually expiring before our very eyes. We are in trouble!
It is raining thunder and sulphuric acid. There is a golden rainbow in the horizon – we have metamorphosed into a set of people, aggressively confronted by the wicked side of life. If you do not bury a dead man because of his family, you will have to bury him for the health hazards his corpse constitute. Some nations are becoming a menace to global health. I hate to think that Nigeria is one of them.
Nyanya, you will have to live with your pains and losses until they fizzle out (referencing Fizzle Logic by Jonathan). I am with you here, wiping my tears on your behalf. Nyanya, get well soon…
It is me, @Obajeun
Jonah Ayodele Obajeun is a professional with a multinational. He blogs @www.obajeun.com. Catch him on twitter via @Obajeun
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