The first I heard of the bombings read like a badly scripted
movie. The sophisticated weapon wielding militants that were using the social
media to make threats can’t really mean their propaganda that western education
is evil. That has to be the greatest irony of all time. The killings became
more deliberate and bold, thousands died and thousands more were displaced. One
thing was obvious, the terrorists weren’t joking and their messages were
written in blood, sweat and tears.
Lots of allegations flew around, nobody took responsibility,
and even the ones that were to protect us were scared for their own lives. Nobody
seem to know how to stop them, the decayed system we created kept haunting us. Lives were lost, dreams were kept on hold,
many people walked around with the consciousness of unguaranteed tomorrows
while many more dared to live despite the realities. They dreamed in the midst
of the hopelessness. They sought knowledge and hoped for the end of the unrest.
They found an escape from the unrest in
their quest for knowledge.
People were learning to avoid crowded places, worship centers
and every other precaution they could take to reduce the casualties in the bombings.
For a shock effect, the militants changed their MO. They entered into houses
and razed villages. They entered into schools and committed more atrocious
acts. They killed 59 boys who were studying in the Federal Government College,
Buni Yadi. Were we shocked?
We were still trying
to understand and get over the new rave when they struck again, this time over
two hundred female students were kidnapped from their exam halls. These kids
might be unrelated by blood but they committed a common sin-the grave sin of
seeking knowledge. The light in the Chibok community, were they were from, went
dim and many hearts left broken. Cries of distraught parents could be heard
from every radio. Every one around the world was interested, perhaps the girls
would be released after a few weeks but how wrong were we? Weeks quickly rolled
onto months and it is a year now. It has been a year since that day. Yorubas
say it is better for one to know one’s child is dead than to deal with the
mental torture of a missing child. My friend’s sister has been missing
for years now and he told me how he hopelessly stares in the faces of random
strangers hoping a familiar smile greets his stares. He sleeps everyday with
loads of unanswered questions. Can you now imagine the mental torture the
immediate families of these girls go through everyday.
Today marks the anniversary of the hashtag that has brought
people from all walks of life together and we dare to hope in the midst of all
uncertainties that one day, our girls will return home. We stand as a nation to
keep their memories fresh because every life matters. We keep hope alive for
that mother that stares at her daughter’s picture every night before going to
bed. We pray that these families will be united once again in love and happiness.
Your religion is not better than my religion, my life is not
more important than yours. We are all part of the human family. Let’s work
together and stop the violence, every life matters. #BringBackOurGirls.
Photo Credit: sunnewsonline.com
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