You forcefully open the double doors to your room to see your reflection in the large spotless mirror staring at you, as you try to avoid the Master. Your image kills the mustard seed of hope you have been trying to nurture – your eyes exhausted from too many tears. Your lips are chapped, and the glory of your skin is in the past - your beautiful skin as your mother would remark. You wonder if it’s because of its fairness or the hairless sight of it, or the chubby feeling when touched. And then you reckon the eyes of your mother are not yours. Your beauty lies in your freedom, you think to yourself. You affirm that you don’t belong here, not in this castle with grey walls, lofty ceilings, and heavy brown curtains. Not viewing ancient paintings of wars. Not on a bed for a crowd and certainly not wearing these expensive clothes too pure to smear. You recall the first day of your arrival at your new home. You were greeted by a servant who avoided your eyes as he bowed his head and sai...
WE ALL CAN’T BREATHE Your world is not safe when many around you cannot breathe freely. It is even worse when you try to find air but die in the process. If you ask why you can’t breathe perhaps you will blame yourself for voting in thugs to see to your interests. You will be angry at your father for not fighting against bad governance when it was still a 101 course. You will scorn your ancestors for allowing a stranger into their land and telling them that Sango and Amadioha were the bad guys. But the pressing issue is finding air. So, you do not want the blames to keep tormenting your sanity and chance at life. Thus, you protest, peacefully. Without guns, swords, machetes, you match to various centres in the country, seeking everything that would make you find peace; seeking a good life because you know how blessed your land is. You are proud of what you are doing, you see the future in front of you, the revival of the green land and the peace that would reign. You see your c...