#23 – Deaths and Resurrections of a Nigeria (2/2)

I am now on my way to school for a class at 10 am. Even though my school is only 6 minutes away, I have to leave an hour earlier for several totally valid reasons. First, mornings are the “rush hour”, so there’ll definitely be traffic. Second, I need to get to class early so that I can find a seat, else I’ll stand for two whole hours. How inconvenient. The maruwa guy is driving like he is considering applying as a stunt double for Fast and Furious. I hold on to the life I already lost. Each turning we pass, I pray that we did not collide with another vehicle.  A trailer is heading towards us at full speed. My maruwa driver, a smart Nigerian, decides to battle his right to drive on the road right beside a trailer. Somehow, the trailer loses control and falls on us. For the third time in about 12 hours, I die again.

What kind of stress is this? I have other things to do, and death is just bothering me here and there. I’ll be more careful. Leave me alone, death. I pick up my crushed body, board another vehicle – a bus this time, to be safe – and head to school. Thankfully, no one notices that my left hand is twisted funny, my skull is shattered, and my intestines dangled from where my stomach burst open from the impact of the trailer. It would have been hard to explain, anyway.

I see the tweet. Chinelo, a dentist, was killed on a train. Her last words were a cry for help on the Internet.

She said, “I’m in the train . I have been shot please pray for me”.

My heart broke, and I died along with her.

A moving train was hijacked by bandits terrorists. I am horrified like a Nigerian. Being horrified for us means to be shocked by a situation, acknowledge that it is bad, sympathise with the victims… resign to the realities of Nigeria, and pray it does not happen again while knowing fully well that it will. I am severely fatigued and that’s why I am used to the Nigerian horrification that moves on, not too quickly, but fast enough to continue with my survival journey. Nigeria finds its way to happen to everyone.

I am tired… blank… frustrated. I hate that I am living to avoid death. Why is the death of a Nigerian due to avoidable circumstances acceptable? Why should I be killed by terrorists and keep quiet about it? What is normal about being killed by generator fumes or armed robbers looting a bank? Why should security forces kill me because I refused to show them my phone or give them ₦100? Is it normal for a trailer to fall on me while I try to cross an expressway with no pedestrian bridge? Let me know if it is the standard for me to drive into a manhole and die there while on a bike home in the rain? Perhaps I should not complain when I am kidnapped and my head is cut off and pounded for some sort of ritual.  Most importantly, I would like to ask why it is alright for me to be shot at point-blank range when I protest against injustice.

I am tired of resurrecting.

These are 500 tough words. I must talk to you tomorrow.

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