It was 9:15pm in a posh part of town in a state in the western parts of present day Nigeria. It was raining cats and dogs outside. Hannah was sitting on a green leather couch beside her cousin, with an empty cup in her hand, in a lavishly furnished and fully air-conditioned living room, staring at the news on a 60″ HD plasma television. Though she was staring at the screen, she wasn’t listening anymore. She was in her head. How can these men and women call themselves leaders? Were the people blindfolded to the polls? How could people who can’t manage the affairs of their own house be able to manage a country that is made up of several ethnic groups? This is a shame to the seat of government? Ignominious acts of this manner should not be aired on television. The children of today may take it as the norm. She thought.
The fuel that had caused the train of thoughts to move was the sight of representatives of the people in the legislative arm viciously throwing chairs at one another during plenary session. This had been aired by one of the local television stations. She was baffled.
“Hannah ki lo se e?” asked Bimbo, her cousin.
Jolting into consciousness and in a slightly accentuated American English she said “Nothing my Bimbo”.
“She has gone and there is nothing we can do about it. God gives and He decides the time we shall go.” Bimbo said trying to sympathize with her cousin.
“We should all stop saying that. Yes God gives and I tell you man decides when we go.” Hannah countered.
“I understand what you mean Hannah but I believe she is resting in peace though.” Bimbo tried to calm the atmosphere sensing a bit of anger in Hannah’s posh voice.
“Bimbo, Rachel is not resting. She is angry. She would want the truth to be known. She would want justice. I have known her for 6 years and I tell you one thing… Rachel would want some real justice gal.” Hannah reaffirmed.
“Take is easy. You don’t want to get upset. I don’t get you… You used to be calm and all girlish. What happened?” Bimbo asked.
“Hannah ki lo se e?” asked Bimbo, her cousin.
Jolting into consciousness and in a slightly accentuated American English she said “Nothing my Bimbo”.
“She has gone and there is nothing we can do about it. God gives and He decides the time we shall go.” Bimbo said trying to sympathize with her cousin.
“We should all stop saying that. Yes God gives and I tell you man decides when we go.” Hannah countered.
“I understand what you mean Hannah but I believe she is resting in peace though.” Bimbo tried to calm the atmosphere sensing a bit of anger in Hannah’s posh voice.
“Bimbo, Rachel is not resting. She is angry. She would want the truth to be known. She would want justice. I have known her for 6 years and I tell you one thing… Rachel would want some real justice gal.” Hannah reaffirmed.
“Take is easy. You don’t want to get upset. I don’t get you… You used to be calm and all girlish. What happened?” Bimbo asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s life. Maybe I shouldn’t have seen that young black American undergraduate who was constantly raped and tortured by her own father. Maybe I shouldn’t have talked to her and in the process found out that she was raped from the age of 3. Maybe life itself is a place were some folks assume they are the predators and others are preys. Bimbo I don’t know but this is one thing I know….” she paused. Stood up and refilled her cup of Coke from the mini-kitchen beside the living room. She checked the time from the wall clock. It read 9:27pm. She wasn’t tired. She was strong and weak at the same time. If she continued she would shed tears. And tears would make her look weak before Bimbo. She walked into the living room, stared at the news, smiled and looked at Bimbo.
“Mo fe lo sun” She said.
“Mo fe lo sun” She said.
“Hannah but…” Bimbo said as she turned towards Hannah but halted after looking at her eyes.
Looking into Bimbo’s eyes, with a smile plastered on her face, Hannah said “Dream of God”
Seated beside a king-sized bed, wearing only a towel, listening to the soft music of Enya playing at the background and holding the picture of her and Rachel, Hannah could not stop crying. She had tried several times to hold back the tears but all her effort seemed to be futile. She recalled the times when this promising former student of hers had told her of her dreams and aspirations. Why does the world kill it’s finest? Why does the world fail to see the truth? Man is blessed with all the resources, both human and natural, to make the best out of the world. Instead man chooses to run the path of least resistance and in the process put their own kind in early graves. She was appalled when the image of Rachel in an open casket came to her mind. She was at the wake-keep of Rachel as well as the internment. She didn’t cry on both occasions even though most there seemed to had allowed their tear glands to burst open. She had stopped crying, so she thought, because she knew crying couldn’t change the world. What the world needed was action, determination, believe, dreams and not realities, doing more-than-paid-for jobs, unity and a sense of dignity. You could add a sense of purpose to the list. The worst part of it was that Africa has been stripped of even its self-esteem.
Looking into Bimbo’s eyes, with a smile plastered on her face, Hannah said “Dream of God”
Seated beside a king-sized bed, wearing only a towel, listening to the soft music of Enya playing at the background and holding the picture of her and Rachel, Hannah could not stop crying. She had tried several times to hold back the tears but all her effort seemed to be futile. She recalled the times when this promising former student of hers had told her of her dreams and aspirations. Why does the world kill it’s finest? Why does the world fail to see the truth? Man is blessed with all the resources, both human and natural, to make the best out of the world. Instead man chooses to run the path of least resistance and in the process put their own kind in early graves. She was appalled when the image of Rachel in an open casket came to her mind. She was at the wake-keep of Rachel as well as the internment. She didn’t cry on both occasions even though most there seemed to had allowed their tear glands to burst open. She had stopped crying, so she thought, because she knew crying couldn’t change the world. What the world needed was action, determination, believe, dreams and not realities, doing more-than-paid-for jobs, unity and a sense of dignity. You could add a sense of purpose to the list. The worst part of it was that Africa has been stripped of even its self-esteem.
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