My elder brother slept and died on his bed on March 27. My three lovely cousins (Angela 13 years old, Praise 10 years old, and Chidinma 9 years old) were killed under their beds after they ran from a serial killer who has still not been brought to justice in April/May of 2013. Ever since this happened, I’ve been able to relate to people going through all kinds of pain — most of which — they can’t change. It’s sad to know that men are being oppressed by fellow men, and if you look at Nigeria from independence to now, one will see the case of the oppressor and the oppressed being played out: People have been displaced from their homes and are living with their families under bridges, child labor is increasing daily, Nigerians are living in fear — as with the explosion that happened in Abuja Monday morning — because no one seems to be safe anymore, students are being oppressed by lecturers , the military oppress civilians, and the government oppresses the masses.
If these walls could speak
Every night you wake to find yourself on your own…
Bound by four walls feeling so alone…
If only these old walls could speak…
The things they see from years, days to weeks…
They will tell you all they’ve seen…
The struggles, tears and pains within…
From the celebrated to the mild hearts of the poor…
What lies inside as they walk through that door…
The shadows of fear and uncertainty…
Of the future and where they’ll spend eternity…
I guess they would have seen it all…
The ups the downs, the rise and falls…
From the glamour of the Urban to the Horror of the Rural…
From the cry of the Orphans to the oppression of the Royals…
From the conspiracy of democracy…
To the autocracy of theocracy…
I’m sure the walls would have a tale to tell…
The killing of kids and molestation of that little girl…
If only they had an audience…
They’ll uncover all these pretenses…
Heart-hardened men walking around with sheep’s clothes…
Coming home drunk, treating their wives like goats…
The walls would explain all they have seen and know…
The tears of a Mother who lost a child they once watched grow…
The oppressed crying out to the oppressor…
The female students begging the professor…
People murdered while the sleep…
Taking away all they struggled to keep…
They’ll tell the truth of what they know…
How you’ll always reap what you sow…
But furthermore, they’ll tell you that you owe more than you can ever pay…
But there’s someone who truly loves you but you ignore and walk away…
He is the solution, the life, the truth and the way…
He’s been standing by your door every night and day…
If these old walls could speak…
Let go of your stubborn streak…
Listen to your heart…
Take the narrow part…
He’ll erase your past…
And you’ll find Peace at Last…
That’s what these walls would say.
— Dedicated to Angela, Praise and Chidinma, R.I.P.
