“Oh! You miscreants and drug dealers, go back to your country”.
“Oh! You fools, you steal all our women, go back to your country”.
“Oh! You terrible people, stop taking all our jobs”.
They cast aspersions on us, stone us, put tires over us and burn us.
We can’t fight back. We are strangers in a place which should be home.
We cry out for the government to assist us, but no response.
Their kids are not being burnt or killed after all. Why should they be bothered?
It takes almost a day before the spokesperson to the official spokesperson sends out a tweet.
The Minister Of Foreign Affairs takes action next. What action? A tweet!
The President is probably playing with a toothpick and it’s zero reaction from him.
Gory videos are circulating and apprehension fills the air.
Now, fellow countrymen are on social media begging their leader to make a comment, any comment at all.
He remains mute. His media assistants announce he is about to send a special envoy to the venue of the ongoing disaster.
People are still being killed as he is constituting his special envoy.
Oh! Big man likes big grammar especially when they are not directly affected.
Our dying brothers await the special envoy.
The top legislator is flying back to the country so he and his colleagues can reconvene and talk, talk, and talk.
Meanwhile, nyansh still dey pepper fowl wey dey lay egg.
The suffering pilgrims resort to self-defense. Their comrades back home stage counter-protests.
A few protesters are shot dead.
Some celebs stick to being politically correct so as not to soil their deals.
Other celebs attack those being P.C.
The smell of fresh blood fills the air.
At the rock, it’s just another day as usual.
“Last last, the peasants will be fine,” they say as they clink their filled glasses.