PARODY OF PEACE II

by Adedoyin Shobo

‘We are all in one deep shit. A good shit depending on how you see it.’ I thought to myself.

I’m Yoruba. I’m in deeply love with an Igbo girl. My favourite buddy Rika is a Northerner. I recall in the early eighties, growing up in my neighborhood had been an awesome experience.

Me and my friends from all manner of ethnicity played in the suburb of Lagos in reckless abandon like daisies in their assorted colours . I learnt the ‘normal’ way of life, how to eat, to talk…dress.

I learnt to the art of acrobatics, played hard and worked harder under the watchful eyes of all my fathers and mothers. They loved us and showed in no small way.

I ate Ofe nsala/Akpu; drank Zobo and Kunu from my next door neighbours while my friends participated in the popular Lagos owambe parties. We attended each other’s birthday parties like closely-knit family members, quarreled sometimes but made up pretty soon.

There and then, I had made myself an oath to cherish all of these childhood memories 'til my dying breath even in the face of the present day threats perpetuated by political and religious demagogues.

I can swear I didn’t even know the difference between the disparate religions in Nigeria because fundamentally it didn’t really matter. Life was a balance sort.

And so like a ram backing up and charging on for a fight, I felt stirred like a volcanic mountain suddenly awoken from extinction. I didn’t intend to be polemicist, or any other those stuff but in the heat of the moment I started off like reading from an epistolary piece:

‘As they say – there are indeed many sides to the truth: your way and surely, the version of truth you now hold on to chauvinistically was probably handed down to you by your parents, society or some crazy cabal from your village that feels bigotry is an eternal principle. Believing that kind of cow dung!’

"But let me ask you Tope, do you really think we are better off going our separate ways?” I intoned.

Heads quickly turned in my direction. I thought the throng of people now gathered with quizzical looks on their faces felt a mixture of surprise and shock (Of course, I wasn’t given to confrontation much less a debate of this magnitude).

‘We all are students of history. You remember Rwanda, Congo, Sudan, Germany, and Korea?’

‘Frankly and arguably, I don’t think we would fare much better in a divided Nigeria.

In short, our destinies are intertwined even beyond the formal establishment of colonies. We were born to have something to do with each other – The erudite nature of the West; the business acumen of the Easterners or the sincerity of the North. We are indeed an industrious, progressive people.

Without sounding overbearing and over–simplistic, I think instead of this cop–out mentality of secession: the ugly cacophonous tune of breaking away; we need to look inwards. Our predicaments are like the hydra – headed monster snarling and growling at us.’

‘Let’s face it, do we not know our problem?’ I asked rhetorically in momentarily oration.

‘We know it is not that Yoruba, Igbo or Hausa are innately evil or that as a matter-of-fact, we are even good in ourselves. In our imperfections, we all have that proclivity to err and to love. It is indeed what makes us human.’

‘We are aware there are some of us are hell-bent on wielding their ‘powers’, so they form cabals, leading all manner of religious bigotry.

We know there are amongst us – sowing seeds of discordance and hatred. They target our innermost fears, our frustrations at life, our nascent de-sensitivity to the appalling acts of evil and easily giving up attitude.’

‘They are the ones that needs to be weeded out and held accountable for their acts of madness. The rest of what we face is just what I call the vicissitudes of being 'the thinking man' in twenty-first century planet earth. We should know that we are indeed not alone.’

I stopped now, breathing hard as cold sweat lines streaked my dark skin. For the first time I felt victorious for this morning as my flat mates stood there motionless giving me exclamatory ‘wows’ amidst their animated eye gestures.

***

At 9:03 am, the panoramic view of my room on block F couldn’t have been more alluring and picturesque. The gloominess I’d felt earlier gave way to a warmer mood. I was ready for the day. It was a bright sunny Saturday morning, under the crystal clear Ile–Ife sky, in the Shagari Hall.

The huge mountain overlooking the entire landscape of the school took a life of its own. Birds chirping, trees dancing and swaying left – right. Even the softly blowing wind seems in agreement with the course of the day.

Across the field (east side of the hall), Lekan enjoying a vigorous soccer march with Akwudike and George. I thought vaguely “I’d love a chance at the game of chess with Mustapha” the hall chess champ.

I thought of my friend, Femi and what he said about his plans for Nneka, his girlfriend getting married someday soon and have kids with this beautiful, drop – dead Igbo chic. Though I’m tempted to think currently he likes her currently for her South Eastern delectable dishes.

I’ve seen people go the extra mile to help people in this hall not withstanding their ethnicity.

Translated to a parallel universe of space and time, if I was a preacher man, I would have let my gospel ring out more, saying:

We are the future: the last hope of resurrection and restoration to the ideal Nigeria we’d love to see…so let’s stand up…stand up for your right – your inalienable right to life, to happiness and the pursuit of everything good and lovely.

Let us tear off the sable and dirge – like vibes that we are barraged by in the dailies.

Embrace the ode of our National prosperity -the true music we long to hear and the drum beat of the National pride.

To God be the Glory...