Let them rot away in the forest. Marry them off to strangers. Give them no education. No good food. Don’t bring them back. Hadiza is supposed to be in the university studying medicine to help her village back home but she’s carrying the third child of a thug. Keep her there till she dies in a latter birth. We sit back and dwell in our quixotic dreams of a better country, but never pray. We do all but speak good of our country, Nigeria. But what good is there? When we are all myopic-minded and chickenhearted. We shout ‘Up Chelsea’, ‘Up NEPA’, together with gladness…why don’t we jump up and raise the national flag. Raise the name together, as one.
The radicals parade with their placards. Who are they really speaking to? The ones on the couch, eyes glued to TV screen, making sounds of empathy but really waiting for the entertainment news. Or is it just a publicity stunt for a supposed propaganda? Is it political? Goodluck Jonathan is out, the placards are down. Why are we advocating to have them back? Is it better on this side? Are they even still alive? All these questions and more bug my sixteen year old mind.
Which way next Nigeria? What do we really want? When are we going to regain the lost years and claim our motherland? Until we stop staggering in a blinding haze of chronic myopia and choose to see the light, the right way…don’t bring back our girls, our future.
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