The Nigerian Story | Mulero Abibat

THE NIGERIAN STORY

“The story of how I’ve come this far is not defined by what my country has done to help me improve in any way, and this isn’t just my story, it's every Nigerian’s story. . When I look at my story and my country, I figure it would be nice if I called it a failure."

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It was the Adebayo's routine to watch the news after dinner every night. Since Adeoye and Fatima got married, they always watched the news together every night before bed. It was their way of resting after a long day's work and an avenue to talk to their three children. Their twins, Sean and Sharon were both eight years old and were in primary 4 while Jessica, the firstborn was sixteen and in SSS 3.

Fatima was in the dining room going through her children's homework and also keeping an eye on the TV so as not to miss the news at 8pm. Finally, it was time for the news. Not only did she keep quiet to watch, she also paid more attention to the broadcast rather than the book she was perusing.

"... in other news, a terrorist attack in the local government area of Donga, Taraba State has left no fewer than four persons dead  and fifteen injured. Among the injured are ten children and five adults. Report says that twenty five other persons have also been kidnapped.”

Fatima could no longer focus on the book, her gaze shifted from the TV to her twins sitting beside their dad on the couch. She did not like them listening to any news that involved death.

“Sean, Sharon, you guys should go to bed...", she said.

The broadcaster's voice cut in between her thoughts and she stopped.

“...here in Lagos, five people have been killed in the course of the #ENDSARS protest at Lekki”. She wasn’t expecting to hear more deaths but lately, almost everything they had been watching on the news included the death of Nigerians. She thought that in the next couple of days the news might get better but it only seemed to be getting worse. She didn’t want her twins to feel like they couldn’t grow up to forty before someone showed up to kidnap them. Jessica was old enough to know the kind of world she lived in but, what scared Fatima was that she never asked questions.

“Sean, Sharon, I said go to your room!” She snapped, rubbing her head in frustration.

“The news is not done yet” Adeoye answered from his sit, he understood his wife’s agitation.

“I'm sure they can skip the rest” Fatima pressed.

“Dad, why are the police shooting at them? Is it a protest?” Sean asked innocently.

“I don’t know son. They are devil incarnates who rob you of your rights and also claim to protect you!”, Adeoye answered, his voice, unusually high.

He glanced back at Fatima who frowned and moved towards them.

“No Sean. Not all police are devil incarnates, some are just wicked and not true to their cause”. She hoped Sean would believe that, but she also knew that her husband would go against every good thing she had to say about Nigeria. Though, she wasn’t sure if she believed what she said either.

“Then why are they shooting at the protesters? Why are children being kidnapped and the government paying terrorist ransoms?” Adeoye stood up to Fatima. It began to sound like a debate.

“Come on, I don’t want the kids to feel they aren’t safe in their own country.” Fatima begged, she could go on to debate but then, she knew her husband had a list of all the bad things that the government was doing. It'll scare the kids more than she was expecting.

“But that’s the truth! No one is safe” Fatima tipped him over. At this point, it came pouring out. She put her hand over her head and walked back to the dining room.

Adeoye faced his kids, “you know what guys? Let me tell you a short story about your country." He then sat on the couch beside them.

 “The story of how I’ve come this far is not defined by what my country has done to help me improve in any way, and this isn’t just my story, it's every Nigerian’s story. . When I look at my story and my country, I figure it would be nice if I called it a failure."

He continued, “we live in a country where corruption has eaten deep into the root of the system, you can hardly see things for what they truly are. It doesn’t matter who you vote for, It’s who they want that wins. They say we’re in a democratic system but, take a look at the system yourself and tell me if it’s real. No! It's not. It’s blind slavery. We do what they want, they don’t do what they’ve promised and when we raise our voices? They shoot us down and buy our silence with money.  You sit here and watch the news every time, and you hear how they say the government paid huge amounts of money to ransom the kidnapped children, not once,  twice, or even thrice. This means, some bad people may show up at your school with guns and trucks and pack you guys away. But don’t worry, the government will pay for your freedom after you must have suffered a great deal in the hands of your captors” Sean and Sharon gasped with their hands on their chest. 

“Daddy that’s scary”, Sean said with his mouth ajar.

“Oh no, that’s not all darling”, Adeoye waved his hand. 

“You know the police?” Adeoye asked with enthusiasm.

 The kid nodded spontaneously, “They are terrorists in disguise. They are people with guns so you have to listen to them, even when most times all they do is collect bribe. When we raise our banners peacefully, they shoot us down.  Funny story! You see them by the road side, taking bribes from motorists."

“But why? Don’t they get paid?” Sharon asked innocently.

“That’s what I’m saying, They're greedy.” Adeoye said, a smirk growing on the side of his mouth. 

Fatima objected. “Children, not all of them are greedy”

“Don’t mind your mother, you’ll get killed if you continue to think some police are nice” He warned them and continued, “You see that the farmers can’t practice their primary trade. It’s funny right? Farmers can’t go to the farm. It’s either they watch the herdsmen trample on their crops and say nothing, or they say something and get shot. And that's why the people are hungry. It’s because those who feed us are getting killed everyday by the herdsmen who come all the way from the north to the south.”

“Can’t the police or army do something about that?” Sean asked.

“Don’t ask me, I’m not the police”, Adeoye shrugged. "When people tell you, Nigeria’s going to get better, just remember that we still import fuel when we’re the second largest oil producing country in Africa”.

“Yeah I’ve heard that one” Jessica muttered from her sit across the living room. She appeared to be uninterested in the story. 

Adeoye felt it was time to stop scaring his kids. “You see, your Mum’s trying to protect you from the world you live in, but she has also forgotten that she’s not going to be here forever. This is your story. Kids your age are dying out of hunger, they’re getting kidnapped and abused and, the perpetrators get away with it. Until this story changes, don’t let your guard down.  You might not live up to fifty if this story doesn't change. If the government still pays ransoms to criminals, have in mind that there’s a probability that these kidnappers would visit your school. The government would eventually get you back but, that's if you’re not already dead. You guys need to know that living in our Nigeria is a struggle and if you don’t fasten your belts you’ll either die in the struggle or be left behind. Only the wealthiest get to the top, not the strongest. Why? Because they are always at the top. Our voices remain unheard. Even if it's heard, it remains ignored and as a result, people will continue to die of hunger, insecurity, police brutality and various kinds of diseases. This is the Nigerian Story. Don’t you ever forget”.

SHORT BIO

I go by the name Mulero Abibat and I am 18 years old. I graduated from Elepe community senior high school in 2019. I’m an aspirant of Obafemi Awolowo university. To avoid the long stay at home, I enrolled for the 2019/2020 pre-degree session at Obafemi Awolowo university. Since then, I’ve been paying attention to other parts of me, which is writing and drawing. I decided to take on writing because I found out I express myself better in this form. I found out, it captures every expression the human mind had to make.  And, I don’t intend on falling back on writing, I intend to carry it along as I move forward.