Her call woke me up in
the early hours of Monday morning. It’s been a hot and a dark night so
mosquitoes and heat hadn't let me sleep. The network was faint but I managed to
grab her voice. It was Shade’s. She had called with another number. In her
voice was a despairing stream-of-consciousness. We've been trying Deji’s number; the tired and desperate voice
went. He had told me yesterday night, it
continued, that he would be leaving Abuja
for Keffi this morning. But his number hasn't been reachable since the blast.
Are you in Abuja? I replied the negative; she thanked me and hung up in a
hurry, obviously trying to reach someone else.
The fog of sleep in my
eyes disappeared. I was confused and at the same time scared. Her call had
woken me into an eerie state. Bewildered, I dragged myself out of the room to
the usual early morning discussants. Opposite my room were a couple of
neighbours talking about the bomb blast. It had happened around 6:30 am at
Nyanya Motor Park, one of Abuja’s busiest. Over 70 people dead and about 120
injured. I rushed back to the room and dialled Shade’s number but it was
switched off; the other line she had called me with wasn't picking and
returning the calls.
Deji is Shade’s only
brother; the last child in the family of 3. A student at Keffi, Nassarawa State,
he engages in some trading to help fend for himself at school. We grew up
together in Jos as neighbours before his family relocated to Lagos. The news
later went like this. On the Sunday evening that preceded the Monday blast, he
had arrived Abuja late to deliver some vegetables to some customers. He sleeps
over on any day he arrives late. First thing the following morning, however, he
went to the park to board a taxi back to school. He had barely settled into the
taxi when the bomb exploded. It took the family about 12 hours to locate him at
a general hospital. He had lost a leg and is still drifting in and out of
consciousness.
The north-east seemed
so detached from us each time there was news of an attack or raid or murder. We
cross ourselves or simply pray for Allah’s guidance upon hearing any of such incidences.
Almost immediately it happens, we take to twitter or Facebook to discuss the
gore site and the insensitivity of government. We pray for the dead and hope
their families have the fortitude to bear the losses. Soon, we are against the
government who must have strongly condemned
the act, and blame them for everything. Even for our poor communication
networks. It then becomes a blame game. This political party blames the other;
this religious body criticizes the other. We pray earnestly and hope it doesn't happen again. Until then, we are a happy people who just had a re-based economy.
Period!
A friend of mine once
said it would happen again, the bomb blast. This is not because we pray for it,
but because we haven’t gotten it right: the people and the government. These
perpetrators, it seemed, derive some untold satisfaction and joy each time it
happens. They derive it from caricaturing a government that doesn't only
condemn, but also goes ahead to hold an already planned party regardless of the
number of dismembered bodies at sites of any attacks. They derive it from
mocking a people who seem so displaced by their differences that they end up
trading blames at each other. They derive it from the blame games that ensue
between desperate political parties.
How did we let it get
this far? When an insensitive government aims to cling to power at all cost or
an opposition that is desirous for power places these desperate ambitions
beyond the citizens’ welfare, such country may have crime, violence, hatred and
the silliest of it, mockery, to contend with. The bombers are normal citizens.
They may have been recruited; they may be sponsored. But they are Nigerians who
take solace in seeing Nigerians dissolve into turmoil after a strike. Just like
our leaders are often in a state of drama; and our people are often slinging
mud at each other, they have adopted their own strategy of not missing out in
the race.
I marvel at how quick we
forget that we are inextricably tied to one another. Deji’s family didn't have
to live in the north to fall victim of bomb blast, neither is the family of
other dead and injured. Terrorism consumes like tornado; it doesn't provide a
hiding place. If we have failed to remember how we got here, we shouldn't fail
to remember how it started.
Until then, let’s keep
doing what we are good at: pray for the recovery of the injured; pray for
repose of the dead.
