Dear Hassana ,
Its been a long while I wrote to you or heard from you , but
it is my firm belief that despite the mutual silence, in the last 2 yrs somewhere in your heart you kept memories of
me safe; like I did yours
The events of the last couple of months though have made it
necessary that I write to you to clear a few misconceptions , misconceptions I
fear haven’t been caused by myself but by those who have taken it upon
themselves to speak on my behalf, these persons have gagged me and beaten my already
frail body to submission, a loud silence now exist at home, everyday I am
compelled to sit at table with these ‘brothers” of mine who I have come to see
as they really are –empty, uncultured, tribalistic, narrow-minded and self
seeking, and listen to them twist stories
about a relationship our parents shared, they speak like our parents never
shared a laugh, a meal or never had a common vision, they speak as men consumed
by distrust and hate, their words are tainted with bias, and with their words
they grovel at the meal at the table,
dipping both hands into the pot, and
trying to put same into a mouth and belly that can only take so much, once in a
while I hear them pat each other on the back in jest saying “eat your fill, Hassana
,her kith and kin may soon be back’ and tears fill my eyes, once in
a while , when am bold enough I ask “what has Hassana done” oh , but they
bellow “ we don’t care , let her pay for her mothers sins ‘ and I am moved to more tears , for I recall our last
journeys across the lands of your mother, the vast rich and beautiful savannas
, the dry winds of potiskum and damaturu,the chill of the plateau, the water
fall in zonkwa, the dongoyaro trees in sokoto, onions in kebbi,the highlands of
jalingo and yola, how we traverse all these lands and saw many children calling
out for help, in scantily clad clothing, torn and dirty ,limps like toothpicks
imported from china, faces charred by the mid day sun, carrying bowls-empty; a
figurative representation of what their necks carried, robbed of any vision or zeal to live save for the
longing for the next moments meal, I do recall how we walked these lands hoping
that the prayers of our forbearers would
be answered, that someday whether from the south ,east, west or north, the
heavens might raise for us men capable of seeing beyond their stomachs to the
travails of these young ones, I recall how watching the sun set , we came to
agree that all our fathers’ wives who wore the starched khaki uniforms of the
white man,, carrying whips and batons , calling us “ fellow countrymen” from
the lands of the rising and setting of
the sun, the savannas and the creeks only came to impoverish our home further,
feeding fat and serving their concubines across the seas.
Hassanna, recall how you wept when you saw the vision of the
creeks and our children there in, having oil for breakfast and blood for
dinner, how education for them meant the ‘rat ta tat’ songs of AK47s and
paradise was the white man passing through, how pipes not only sucked from the
lands but from the minds too, how values were pilfered away with our material treasures with the aid of
whip; guns and marshal music; recall how we both with our graze towards our
individual Gods prayed that from the
ashes of poverty, neglect and corruption, a man of education ,grace, empathy
will arise.
Hassana, now I look at our home and how my brothers , our cousins have carried on, I regret for have
written to you 2 year ago when our uncle
was asked to sit at head of table to say “our prayers have been answered” I,
like every other ,was indeed carried away by the words and sounds of the time ;
if only we had listened to the voice of reason, that he who does not have cannot
give , but we were carried away by his talk of being
without or in our shoes , his
talk of a shared past, the other day
from the stool where I sat In the darkened
room, I watched as some other uncles spoke In low tones about how deplorable things have become
, the uncouth nature we ate at table, the total disregard for value and respect
and the need to call an elders meeting and I but wondered, what has words got
to do with this, action is what is needed, after all we have talked for so long
, each shouting at the top of his voice , trying hard to shout down the other ,
with no one apparently listening , irony is while we talked some fed fat at the
table; and those eating always seemed to know what to do or say to keep these uncles
of ours at their long idealistic
discuss, discussions which has now
proved dangerous as some now insinuate that you and yours brought this drought
upon us, short of saying you are no longer welcomed at home , a home bequeathed
to us all by our forbearers, it is this misconception I need to clear , they
speak ,but not our words, they act , but not on
our behalf, for now we can see, it is not love for the home of our forbearers
that drives them , but the love of their voices, they speak while those with
the urge to exclusively enjoy our collective meal and heritage , smack and lick
their lips, they who should propel us to action continue to “hold talks”, even our bearded uncle who
loves red hats, says until a elders meeting is conveyed , we the weaker ones in
this home must carry our burdens ,
however let me not fool you , all I want , weak and cripple as I am , is to be
able to sit at table , eat what is my due, without fear of intimidation,
without the need to remind my “brothers “ that we are scion of the same stock,
it is my wish that regardless of your creed, belief , size or njhab or my own limitations and disability , we all
will have equal opportunity in this
house of our forbearers, we had no choice about
how this house came to be, neither do I think we have a choice but to
make it work, for I know that the bonds of poverty , insecurity, corrupt
leaders, value decay that has bond us together all these years is far greater than what they claim separates
us , over time they have ensured that we do not act with one vision , so as to
safe guard their positions, they have peddled all kinds of stories about our
past, a past we know not, while they mortgaged our future, our silence has been
misconstrued for cowardice and weakness, but I know inside of us lies enough
strength to make the sun set for those who have held us in captivity .
I finish this note with borrowed words : “Let’s
say there are prospects for a new Nigeria Nigeria
Lets get to work.
Your dearest aburo
Aiye gbeje
