2012 has gone with all things good
and bad. One of the worst episodes of 2012 had to be Aluu 4. This is not
because 4 young men were cut down in their prime: we had Boko Haram kill
hundreds of innocent Nigerians and Dana airline cut short the dreams of 163
very promising folks and their surviving families. Aluu 4 was the tolling bell
that signaled our diminishing humanity, because of the folks who watched and
did nothing. Dozens of people were complicit in a gruesome lynching just by their
presence and inaction.
In 1955, Albert Einstein said –“The world is
a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who
look on and do nothing”. I never could bring myself to watch that YouTube
video. But I sometimes think of the guy who filmed it. What was his motive? Did
he do it to expose the murders or was he just collecting a trophy? What of
those who were too afraid to either prevent it or to go call the police?
In the same vein, for fifty odd years we have
watched a plundering mob of greedy politicians, military rulers and thieving
government officials turn this country from a fledgling promised land into a
failed state despite her many human and natural endowments. That is the real Aluu
case for me. I see that gory incident as a metaphor for the siddon look citizens.
The ones too afraid to, even “whistle blow”, not to talk of speaking out or
taking action.
At this point I would like to introduce our guest
writer for today. I present Dr. Bawo Okonedo. “Patriots Needed” is an excerpt
from a yet to be released literary offering from this young doctor’s creative
chest.
When you read this story, think of Albert
Einstein’s quote and relate it to our dear country, with you in the middle. It
is time to act!
SAN
PATRIOTS NEEDED
Ulli turned the bend along a dusty
bush track that spilled into the plain that lay beside the road leading to that
temperate city of statuesque rocks, Jos. But here was Kabin Nauda. He would
find rest for the night. However, as he lifted his eyes from the path and
emerged into the plains, they were greeted by a disturbing sight. A uniformed
man lifted his gun and crashed its butt on the head of another man who appeared
to half kneel, half crouch helplessly on the ground. He could see, it seemed, the man's head had
immediately following that blow, colored red. He could hear the gruff voices of
the assailant's colleagues and the helpless wails of the victim even from the
distance. The disparity between both set of voices was clear. One reeked of
unbridled power; the other, untrammeled fear and pain. Ulli quickened his steps
to a half-run, almost as involuntarily as his heartbeat which was now galloping
and his mouth which was dry. As he drew close, the obvious, disturbing as it
were, jumped at him: people were gathered and watching this spectacle almost
calmly, almost with the decorum of a theatre audience. As he reached the scene,
he noticed two vehicles: one army green van apparently belonging to the
soldiers, the other a mini truck. The van had sustained a nasty gash in its
fender. It told half the story. Ulli was soon to learn the full version: the
driver of the mini truck was not quick enough to give way to the military van
which then inadvertently rammed into the tougher mini truck, lacerating its own
fender in the process.
'You go die today!'
'Abeg na, officer. Na my fault, abeg forgive
me, nor vex!'
Thud, thud, thud!! The blows rained
in quick succession efficiently ripping flesh apart and divesting skin off bone
with faucets of blood turning to rivulets, to be followed by plaintive wails
and calls for help and mercy. None came. The sands on which the victim crouched, reminiscent of
a medieval blood sports or torture arena, were bespattered with his own blood.
A few faces grimaced at the horror and shifted uneasily, but not a single voice
rose in protest.
Ulli was not going to let this
continue. His heart was charging like a mad horse, his breath was raspy and
labored from the effort it took to silence reason. That Reason that preaches
the tact of the coward, that likes to use the word 'discretion,' and discredits
unhesitant action as 'rash'. That Reason that placates naked conscience with
the small speech of self preservation and assuages the remnant of guilt with
the line: 'there was nothing you could do' or better still: ' you didn't have a
choice.' That delusory clot of Reason that clogs the arteries of honor and
chokes the veins of truth paralyzing our power to aspire to bold decision in
the face of adversity. He who fears for his life will lose it! Maybe not
today...but something dies within. When injustice and oppression is witnessed
unrebuked, unchastised, within something dies. When no tongue is lifted in
dissent, no saliva is spat out in outrage and repudiation, when no fingers are
poked in accusation of evil; something dies in our collective psyche as a
society and what is left of our individual innocence...almost like a dieback of
our 'peripheral' values. It slowly invades the core though, like a fungating
mass...
So pushing through immobilized
bodies rooted to the spot by cowardice and the unsound reason of fear, Ulli
worked his way to the front, facing the soldiers and the persecuted. “Stop! He
is a human being; you have no right to do this!” The hot February air froze!
Silence! Now comes that moment when uncertainty hangs in the air and everyone
holds his/her breath in deference to the significance of the moment awaiting
what it would birth; hoping for the best, expecting the catastrophic. Silence!
The lead persecutor gave Ulli a bloodcurdling glare which metamorphosed into sheer
disdain. He eyed Ulli from crown to slippers (the crowd too), the way Goliath
would eye David. Obviously dressed in typical nomadic Fulani fashion, Ulli cut
the appearance of an 'aboki' and a personality which was discordant with his
appearance, especially for the fact that he worded his rebuke in perfect
English.
'You say what?!'
'Yes leave the man...'
The rest
of the sentence was snatched off Ulli's lips with a fearsome blow that nearly
seemed to divorce his head from his shoulders. His mouth and cheeks were ripped
raw. The pain that followed dithered a moment as if its intensity was beyond
Ulli’s sensory threshold, before it rushed at him like an overwhelming
hurricane. He could feel warm wetness all over his face and that he was lying
in the sun baked dust. He knew it was blood and he knew more blows would
follow. But the hitherto stupefied crowd sprang to life like a captive animal
which had ruptured its bonds. A single unified organism. They charged the
soldiers who jumped in their van and fled. From the haze of blood, dust and the
fuzziness of a concussed brain, Ulli glimpsed the first victim, his own wounds gaping
in half a dozen places, spring to his side, crying and calling for aid.
Disoriented, he wondered what the bother was about. Clutching his calico
rucksack, he saw bright lights dancing in the periphery of his vision until
slowly...like falling stage curtains, in the background of cursing and shouting
of a hitherto docile, now irate crowd bent on retribution, they faded away.
Dr. Bawo Okonedo works as a medical doctor in Delta
State, Nigeria
