The night was intolerably cold as they were led towards the prickly paths by the mysterious men. It was a dance: a dance with the fiend on the stage of vagueness, unlike the dusk she complained to her mother about her aching feet on the way to the gently sinuous river, she dare not make her silent pains known to the beasts adjoining her. It was an endurance trek, one to unveil a tentative upshot, one that did not give a weary partaker the autonomy to opt out, unlike the liberty to seek respite under the motherly mahogany tree by the school rattan fence after a good-humored chase by friends. It was a rough push and pull by the burlesques of men leading the march, distinct from the familiar touch of her father and the hands that once held so gentle and close. It was an escapade of duress cocooned in a revelation of mysteries. The night they were led out of Chibok was a swing from an already ailing nation to an uncertain destination.

Every night, she is made to sleep amidst the unsympathetic treatment meted to her by the irrepressible ecological status she could neither decline nor endure. She sits helplessly on the sand in expectancy of a reason to see going home as a possible ambition, she goes to her bed made of shrubs and wild leaves with just a tiny ripple of hope. The hope that the daily tears shed by her loving mother could do a liberating magic, she silently hopes that the consistent distressing heaves of her father could appeal to the heart of the heartless brutes; she doggedly hopes that the collective concern of the evenhanded civilian could do wonders. She thought a nation owes her citizens a duty of care but now, she seems to hold a wrong view. She was taught that the priority of a good government is the welfare of its people but she came to a nation where things work the other way. She knows that a coherent and capable leader do not get browbeaten to act when his followers are threatened but in her country, that is a one-time tale. Again, she woke today to be led further and farther into the horrifying jungle. Last night, she hoped the leaders of her fatherland could regain credibility through buying her freedom, she thought taking her back home would debunk the rumour that the master of the ship is clueless but there she is. The poor Chibok girl woke again to suffer from the dividend of a meager government led by a pitiful opportunist without an iota of human feelings or empathy.

Back home, under a big tree very close to a hut, a dejected woman sat helplessly. She was facing the direction the van took while conveying her only daughter to an unknown land. From her countenance, one could easily deduce her unspoken words which was something near “take me and let my girl go, I am no relation of the government”. Then, few metres away from her was another old woman sobbing uncontrollably, the last time she changed her dress was the day her only daughter left for school. Many questions were written on her face which no one could answer. Where exactly is my only daughter? What is happening to her right now? Was she given breakfast this morning? Is there any hope of her return? Then she concluded in a rhetorical manner “why did I live this long to witness the odd?” Every rational man at the scene would be moved to cry except a typical Nigerian politician. Just as people were about to leave the compound, there was a sudden wail from the neighbourhood. Immediately, the catastrophic news followed it. She died, one of the poor Nigerian mothers whose daughter was kidnapped died of heart attack. Could it have been because the President did not even visit the affected families? Or because the President said no one should cry to him for the abducted girls? I still don’t know.

In their bedrooms and comfort zones, they equate themselves with the common man who could only lend his voice to the call. To one’s utmost dismay, the regal scallywag with the command tone as to when, where and how the security facilities should be diverted cowardly and in an utterly insensate manner jumped out of the ring of reality to disappear amidst ring side audience. In his not well thought out and reasoning bereaved analysis, he knows the perpetrator and it is a plot to frustrate his government. Sir, where is your type of administration called governance? It is called a drama. Not even a drama; dramas are well thought out, arranged in a logical sequence, worth sticking to and agreeing with. Your government is a joke; you are the chief of clowns. For the other side, it is an opportunity to score cheap political points and identify flaws in the ways of the boss but for the sake of that innocent girl suffering as a result of your impunity, please drop that board with the “#bring back our girls”. You stole enough from the people; invest some of it in the search for our girls. You have the influence to push your relatives in any office they desire; use the influence to rescue the Chibok girls. In the absence of that, stubborn Nigerians like me do not see the mere placards you carry as a sign of seriousness or readiness to do better. So, act right or drop the placards for the people who could only contribute with carrying placards. You have more to give than ranting on the media that you deserve an opportunity to do better than the failed master. If you can do better, show us now.

Hidentity is an African