Sorrow. Tears. Blood

It’s business as usual. It’s a brand new day. Each to his own tent. Tweeting ain’t that difficult, it’s the easy way out. That’s how we now show solidarity after a massacre. It’s never our business until it’s our business. Some even seek out the retweet so badly, they make jokes of disasters and try to rhyme, then run with it. They try so hard to blend in one trending topic into the other. Their posts must contain the popping hashtags. All that social media nonsense we do? Little effect!

Our leaders holding conventions. What’s their business if there’s a seeming homicide in Jos? That’s not where they reside. White on the flag should be replaced by red. Thick red blood which fertilizes our soil everyday with more curses. Our flag should look more like Gucci; Green-Red-Green.

But we are alright. When the news breaks, we call family members and loved ones. Once we confirm they are safe, we quickly move on. Living here is a lottery. Going to work is a risk, returning from work is a bigger risk. Staying jobless is not even an option. Crime seems more attractive, you can even get police protection for that.

Trailers and trucks are parked on a bridge that has never been reinforced since it was built but that’s okay. The trucks are not parked near government house or the Governor’s office. A container fell off the bridge and crushed people to death? That’s just minor. If those who lost their lives do not bear surnames like Ambode, Otedola or Adenuga, do their lives really matter? The next day we go about our businesses as if nothing happened. Of course, nothing happened. The Special Adviser to the Governor’s special adviser will eventually tweet, though reluctantly. They will send out their condolences to the families of those affected by the sad event. If they have a sentence to spare, they promise to bring those responsible to book.

Afterwards, live goes on as usual until another truck explodes, burns over 50 vehicles containing the dreams and hopes of a generation. People become orphans, widows and widowers. Within a few minutes, families are wiped off the face of the earth in the most painful of ways. Hearts bleed and families mourn but the lives lost remain unaccounted for. Those who have confirmed that their families are safe rush to Twitter to show concern. Some curate the best tweets which be liked and retweeted multiple times, they smile when they see the notifications on their phone. Some make distasteful jokes without even knowing it. Some pray as they have always done; “May it not be my portion and that of my family,” they pray. We don’t care if it happens again and again, we don’t just want to be directly affected. It’s the same approach those in Government houses adopt. When their sons have a motorbike accident, you know the approach is different.

Our leaders pop champagne and can afford the most expensive cognac but they prefer the taste of blood, thick blood! Once they are running out of supply, another tragedy happens.

You ask me to get my PVC? I just watched my neighbour get his; P-assport, V-isa, C-anada. He laughs at me as I join the queue at the local primary school and waves at me while he is being driven to the airport. Things will never get better and he knows it. I can’t afford to leave so I try to get the other PVC and maybe vote rightly next time but the viable options are scary too.

I see that man who wants to be the next President sponsoring a post about the multiple killings of people so as to discredit the current government. I think he is happy about the recent disasters so as to prove a point. I wonder if he loves well-brewed cognac or he also loves the taste of blood.

But the madness goes on…

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