MY RESENTMENT WITH NIGERIA
By Okenyi Sunday Chinweike

A stranger will one day look at his home though very far with bridges torn down, and a little hope to arrive to that place where it all started and decide to either die on the way or make it home. This is my story. I will tell it without subjecting any word to folly. I have come very far, but not far to suffer and die on a strange land. If fool is bliss I am done a fool.

One day I slept waking up I heard my name Obi! Obi! Obi! it came three times maybe more than for I have been into deep sleep. It was 1 oct 2015 6 am. “Don’t you want to go to independence celebration?” my mother asked. I groined with heavy clutch in my heart putting a very sad look and staggered out of my room. I first heard that word “Independence” when I was in Primary one our then headmaster Mr Okoro a staunch man with a very funny accent who whenever he speaks attract some kind of resentful laugh from the pupils, but no one dare laugh for according to him “fear of cane is the beginning of all wisdom”. That very day I heard our headmaster hitherto say many times while he addressed the pupils during assembly “tomorrow is the day we gained our independence, the day our founding father liberated us from the clutching hands of colonial masters, we are free people” he repeated these words for more than I can remember before he added with ecstasy “tomorrow is the day of celebration” and shouts enjoined among the pupils and I joined the chorus.

That was the first time I heard the word “Independence” as days and years goes bye I would one day ask myself what is “Independence” and the reason we celebrate every 1st October. But as the answer come so does it prove as fine linen in smokescreen, but getting closer a tattered cloak. That very day I developed a cold heart. I paced around the shrewish history that birthed everything that was forced down my throat and my faced glowed with outrageous hatred for everything including my very existence. Maybe calling me a Nigerian is a crime. Call me “onye” Igbo, Call me Omo Igbo, yes call me iyamiri. Maybe to think that Nigeria exists is a mirage. It may exist in papers. In all those treaties, but actually in real sense it exists in no man’s heart. Just years ago a nation endowed with natural beauty and hope got drowned by ravenous bigotry and greed like a thatched house before the mouth of bulldozer. A dweeb before the dream of a common man and a nightmare to all who occupy it.

As I walked down the sitting room I freed myself and a fast hit on the couch rose a great cessation, holding up pillow for an hour I thought of the suffering of those innocent souls in the North, Fathers, mothers, youths, and children. I thought of my own people millions of them that were killed by the government they were meant to serve, I thought of many incidental political uprising or game of politics as they call it that has taken countless lives others unmentioned and undermined. Maybe they were right and I am wrong. Maybe all those millions of people were not sacrificed on the altar of the unwelcoming unity that we have, but for the principal lot that seems the only reason why endless hacking of breath stands encouraged. In the voice of common man I Looked at North, East and west and asked, do you love me more than oil, more than the sit of president. Is that why we have to consume ourselves, die in the hands of terrorist, rioters, bandits, and even those that are required by law to protect us? Maybe I did think about the burning charcoal forced on my hand without thinking about the greedy leaders that Nigeria is so blessed with, but it stands a surety.

Disgusted I flipped cursed myself for thinking that all is free, that freedom has been gained on platter of gold. Why would I celebrate my doom? Why would I think that Nigeria is independent? Why would I even think that I should be happy? I want to go home so do you. The reason I hate you and you hate me is because I am a Nigerian from the East and a Christian and you are a Nigerian from either North or West and Muslim. Can we go home?

Hmmmm

Wow.
Sounded like a poem.
Has passion tho. A lot.

Dami12345:
Wow.
Sounded like a poem.
Has passion tho. A lot.

The writer is a poet.