Nigeria my country...
While growing up, I was made to read stories about my country Nigeria, our heroes, our legacy, our achievements, our purpose and why we always stood out. Nigeria was the pride of Africa with the best natural resources, most populated, most diversified in ethnic groups and religions, I was proud of my country as was I for my continent. Its green and white colours spoke volumes, its green representing agriculture, natural resources and fertility, and its white representing peace, purity and unity. I am a Nigerian , and I wanted to remain so, I always thought.
What can I say about my country now? Nothing of wonderful heroics, nothing of heroes, nothing about legacy, but enough on corruption, deaths, bloodshed, pain and trauma. Our once green pastures are now turned red from the blood of the innocent, our white is now black, as the hearts of my fellow citizens are being clouded with hate and anger. It was on one such day that I had this encounter, at the heart of Lagos mainland.
This is my story...
It was almost noon and I was just heading for the supermarket to get some groceries, when I started hearing shouts and people were all hauling towards a certain direction, to be honest I was curious as I was afraid also, but instinct and curiosity won me over, and I soon noticed I was moving in same direction as others. I started thinking it was already happening(rapture) then I discovered people were gathered and surrounding something. I had to take a deeper look to finally satisfy my curiosity, but what I saw would leave its mark on me forever. I have watched people gotten beat to death on the television set, and heard about it through the radio, but I have never had the luxury to witness one and here I was about to witness one, and I couldn't take my eyes off it. I couldn't stop it, I couldn't do anything about it.
My heart began to race faster, as people started hauling insults at the culprit. I mustered the last courage I had in me to ask someone what the problem was. "ole ni ( He is a thief)" the man I asked replied me. I was still not satisfied, and then I moved closely and inquired about the whole ordeal. he started "this man na thief and he suppose to die, na him don dey thief yams inside this market since last week, and today God don catch am, and we go kill am for here, so others go know sey e no good to dey steal people things. ( This man is a thief and he deserves to die, he is the man who stole yams from this market and today, God has delivered him to us,and we are going to kill him right here, so others will know that it is bad to steal from others.)" he said in pidgin English.
I almost lost my cool and shouted at the guy, but I would be drawing extra attention towards myself, and so I kept mute, but I couldn't hold it any longer. I held the guy who I talked to by the collar of his shirt and asked him if taking another persons life was the right thing to do. He was shocked at my immediate reaction, because he thought I was actually enjoying the show, but it became clear to him that I wasn't, and before I could say something else, a man shouted from afar "make we burn this idiot to death ( Let us set this idiot ablaze)" referring to the culprit.
What I saw next shook me to my bones. There he was Mr Bolade, who just that morning, his daughter came to collect a match stick from me, and I gladly gave it to her. He was at the heart of everything, he was readily and gladly contributing fuel from his heaven forsaken motorcycle and he was holding a matches, ready to set a human being ablaze. I was petrified. This was the same man who always beat his wife to stupor, who always fought with everyone, and here he was feeling most righteous as to pass judgment by ending someone else's life. It took me some seconds to grasp my current surrounding. What was I even doing here I contemplated within myself, but I still wanted to watch more, and I was gradually advancing and at this stage tyres were been gathered and arranged around the culprits neck.
I started a mini protest where I stood, and started telling those who cared to listen why what we were about to witness was wrong and why we should stop it right there. Most took my words and began showing sympathy, and even more were unrepentant. One even suggested that I should be burnt because I was supporting theft. Without thinking through, I pounced on him filled with rage, and landed some punches on him, which was somehow a nice outlet for my rage. I had to transfer my aggression, and he was the victim. we were soon separated, and I was glad I hit him. This time the young man stood conscious and was even supporting my motion much to my approval. I smiled within me.
As I became more aware of my current surrounding, fuels was already all over the culprit, and I tried to fight my way to the front, but I was too late. I started wailing and shouting that he should be given a second chance, or better still handed to the cops, but I soon kept quiet, as i saw even cops standing and enjoying the scene. I soon found out that the cops had him initially, but gave him up to the mobs. I was furious.
There he was on the floor, wailing and moving involuntarily to pain. He has been set ablaze, and he was on the floor. Tears filled my eyes, but some were shouting and leaping in joy, as if they just won a war. I was disappointed in Humans, I lost faith in my fellow country men. I was patted on the shoulder by the guy I just engaged in a fist fight with not long ago, and I could feel the remorse within him.
I slowly asked him "was it worth it? Do you have to take a life because he stole yams? The people who killed him, were they all saints?" But I was asking the wrong person the right questions.
After about thirty minutes the guy who was ablaze stopped moving, and it was then I discovered that he was dead. He has been killed by his fellow country men, who claim not to be murderers, who claim to be holy Christians and Muslims. A tear dropped from my eye, then two, then I was crying uncontrollably, and I was regretting why I stood to behold such treacherous scene, but I learnt something.
Those who beat him up and finally killed him were no saints themselves. They will boast to their children that they have not committed murder, but there they were, ending someones life physically. As I studied them, I discovered they were hooligans, motorcycle riders, market women, and irresponsible parents, who stood and did nothing while they could have stopped it. I also feel regret that I couldn't have done more, but I was glad I had convinced some minds that jungle justice was no way of stopping crime and vices.
In light of this story... This is a call to a greater purpose, a call to end street violence, to end RAPE, JUNGLE JUSTICE, CRIME. We don't have to take laws into our own hands, we should always remember onething, like my mom always tell me. "We are all Humans, We are all Nigerians, If we keep complaining that our fellow country men are killed outside our country, we should not do same withing our country, we should learn to live in peace with each other we are all sinners, we don't have the right to take laws into our hands".
THIS POST IS MADE AS AN AWARENESS AGAINST JUNGLE JUSTICE ALL OVER THE WORLD, CRIME, VICES, AND CORRUPTION
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