20.10.20

Lord Lugard, most surely, was the first in Nigeria’s long list of punishments — Punishments for which we know not the reason. The gleaming headstone as well as the first and most notable in a long line of bad decisions which the country will come to be known for.

Not unlike the unruly kid in a classroom, all of her counterparts not only know her for the bad behavior she has always shown, rather, they even expect it.

However, as we have come to see not once, twice or even several times, when enough time has passed, human memory fails. Nigeria and Nigerians forgot the things which old and wrinkled leaders from a hard-to-kill past did, and made the terrible mistake of letting them into the seats of power again.

Blood flowed, bodies tumbled. Dirt and blood mixed together, crystallized into a beautiful hue of gold and red, trickling onto the asphalt atop the bridge.

“Niggas too die mehnn. E no worth am”, Khalif from down the road where the beautiful scent of puff puff and akara mixed together in front of Iya Shola’s shop said when asked by a journalist if he would ever join any protests against the government for money after what happened on the 20th of October, 2020. The fear present in his eyes, relatable, and the disgust in his voice, audible. Any human with a soul that saw the videos from that night would understand, and any who participated in the protests would immediately grimace from the rush of feelings those words brought.

A patriot who came to be known as “Flag Boy” raising the Nigerian flag and protest chant while standing on a symbol of what was being protested. (Also one of the hardest pictures to ever exist.)

Almost two years on, the cries of the dead still echo in the waters when we cross the bridge. The country has inevitably come to a precipice; One which will either spell its complete doom or begin the process of rebuilding what has long been buried, destroyed, and burnt beyond recognition.

The survivors of that brutal night watch on with tight lips and clenched fists. Tempers run high and a palpable tension fills the streets — tension so rigid that one might physically touch it if they tried hard enough. The vultures circle while the birth or death of a giant looms in the distance.

We watch, we wait, and as we have done for years on end with seemingly no answers, we pray.