JUUC "The Social talk series"; A PLACE I CALL HOME; An open letter to a failed government. Is there still a ray of hope?

By Emem Alex

Like rotting leaves from a dieing tree branch we flutter, hopeless in sight and unsure of what lies in the future. We've no home, for this home of ours lie divided, broken and dead. It is one filled with treachery and corruption. As we plough it's reddening path, Our fingers are crossed, our heads bowed. In shame we thread on hot dust as the sting from the sun's heat scourges our heads. 
For some, we walk in hope, for others, we speak, unwilling to go quietly into the night. Let our voices be heard, so our truths may be known. Our Home is where one treads with caution, we must warn; be careful you fall not from these thin cliffs of passionate lies into an abyss of bitter truths, because that is what we're counting on. 

My home is where one treads with caution, I am cautious of the person beside me, in front of me and even behind me, calculating their every move like I am some detective on a mission. I am worried that I may no longer have a phone, a bag or even my money at the end of a journey. 

I fear for my life while walking alone and even in the midst of people because I don't know what or who the next gunshot may take. I fear that my own brothers may one day rob me of my pride and take advantage of my body all in a place I call home. 

If I make it safe to my roof, it is a miracle. I shut my eyes and go to bed at ease without having to keep watch for who may not be at peace.                                                       

 

Criminal activities

But I was told my motherland is endowed with resources, her soil holds abundance and has what it takes to oil the mouth of her children. Then I asked why? why then do I hunger and thirst with no bread or water to drink? When nations come to feed from our land and enrich themselves with our soil. Their sons are obsessed from eating our delicacy while we feed on the crumbs from their tables for our daily bread. Our mothers are slaves to their servants because our fathers are enslaved in greed. 

 This is my home, where everyone wants to be the high and mighty, with people worshipping at their feet and them, being without defeat. Our fathers are all competing when there is no competition. 

Hunger ravishing the land

I used to be called the future generation and I am still called the future generation. But the question is, will there ever be a future for my generation in my motherland when generations past do not want to give way for the generation present? We are being used by our very own just to satisfy selfish interests of their own. They lied to us, education is not the way, it is just a lamb that brightens up our path. This generation, my generation is yet to know what exactly is "The Way" to greatness. I walk on roads now covered with tare and I worry no more of my feet getting muddy or having to wash my shoes at the end of my journey. 

But I wish my home meant more than roads being tarred, bulbs lightening and bore holes gushing out waters. But with all its flaws, this is still my home and this will still be your home. 

My motherland, a place I call home.