There's got to to be more, this can't be Us


A country mourns, once again, but for one time too many. 

When will it stop?  

When will the circle break, and will we ever see through this cloud that envelops our polity and leaves a sour odour in the air? 

The odour is everywhere. From Jos, to Surulere; from Bauchi to Benue; it is roving over our roads, harassing our youth on the streets and cutting lives short. 

It is death.

It is everywhere and its stench is palpable with a peculiar odour. Yet, we go on like everything is just grand - like the roar in our ears is the inviting pull of the ocean's waves, and not the deathly stillness of dreams cut short. 

When people died in Surulere, we moved on. 
Scores were murdered in Jos in cold execution style, we sighed and faced our businesses. 
Now dozens burn on a road that is, to put it mildly, a shrine of our collective shame as a country, and what will we do - gasp for breath and thank God our friends and family were not involved. 

It used to be that our realities were bad. 

Now, they are just hopelessly sad and dangerously moribund.  

What sort of people build a nation on the corpse of the innocent, while the degraded are allowed  to  mock us all with shining eyes? 

As I write this, some will never return home. Some children will never hear their parents' voice again, except the hollow sting of what could have been. Lovers who parted, hoping to conquer the world together will have to find new reasons to live. Dreams have been set ablaze, ignited by lives that is now as cheap as matches. 

At what point do we say this can't be us, forget our politics and restructure our way to a better place. 

It is either that, or something would give, and guess what, it is probably you and I. Not them.