I need re-branding....
I
am Nigeria... I have millions of acres of arable land and billions of
cubic litres of water, but I cannot feed myself. So I spend $1 billion
to import rice and another $2 billion to import milk. I produce rice,
but don't eat it. I have 60 million cattle but no milk. I am hungry,
Please re-brand me.
I drive the latest cars in the world but have no roads. I lose family
and friends everyday on roads for which funds have been looted. I lose
my young, my old, and my most brainy and productive people to the
potholes, craters and crevasses they travel on every day. I am in
permanent mourning, please re-brand me.
My school has no
teacher and my classroom has no roof. I take lecture notes through the
window and live with 15 others in a single room. All my professors have
gone abroad, and the rest are awaiting visas. I am a university
graduate, but I am illiterate. I want a future, please re-brand me.
Malaria, typhoid and many other preventable diseases send me to
hospitals which have no doctors, no medicines and no power. So my wife
gives birth with candlelight and surgery is performed by quacks. All the
nurses have gone abroad and the rest are waiting to go also. I have the
highest maternal and infant mortality rates in the world and future
generations are dying before me. I am hopeless, hapless and helpless,
please re-brand me.
I wanted change so I stood all day long
to cast my vote. But even before I could vote, the results had been
announced. When I dared to speak out, silence was enthroned by bullets.
My rulers are my oppressors, and my policemen are my terrors. I am ruled
by men in mufti, but I am not a democracy. I have no verve, no vote,
and no voice, please re-brand me.
I have 50 million youths
with no jobs, no present and no future. So my sons in the North have
become street urchins and his brothers in the South have become
militants. My nephews die of thirst in the Sahara and his cousins drown
in the waters of the Mediterranean. My daughters walk the streets of
Lagos, Abuja and Port Harcourt, while her sisters parade the streets of
Rome and Amsterdam. I am inconsolable, please re-brand me...
My people cannot sleep at night and cannot relax by day. They cannot use
ATM machines, nor use cheques. My children sleep through staccato of AK
47's, see through the mist of tear gas. The leaders have looted
everything on the ground and below. They walk the land with haughty
strides and fly the skies with private jets. They have stolen the future
of generations yet unborn and have money they cannot spend in several
lifetimes, but their brothers die of hunger. I want justice, please
re-brand me.
I can produce anything, but import everything.
So my toothpick is made in China; my toothpaste is made in South Africa;
my salt is made in Ghana; my butter is made in Ireland; my milk is made
in Holland; my shoe is made in Italy; my vegetable oil is made in
Malaysia; my biscuit is made in Indonesia; my chocolate is made in
Turkey and my table water made in France. My taste is far-flung and
foreign, please re-brand me.
My people are cancerous from the
greed of their friends who bleach palm oil with chemicals; my children
died because they drank ‘My Pikin’ with NAFDAC numbers; my poor die
because kerosene explodes in their faces; my land is dead because all
the trees have been cut down; flood kills my people yearly because the
drainages are clogged; my fishes are dead because the oil companies dump
waste in my rivers; my communities are vanishing into the huge yawns of
gully erosion, and nothing is being done. My livelihood is in jeopardy,
and I am in the uttermost depths of despondence, please re-brand me.
I have genuine leather but choose to eat it. So I spend a billion
dollars to import fake leather. I have four refineries, but prefer to
import fuel, so I waste more billions to import petrol. I have no
security in my country, but would rather send troops to keep the peace
in another man’s land. I have 160 dams, but cannot get water to drink,
so I buy pure’ water that roils my innards. I have a million children
waiting to enter universities, but my ivory dungeons can only take a
tenth. I have no power, but choose to flare gas, so my people have
learnt to see in the dark and stare at the glare of naked flares. I have
no direction, please re-brand me.
My people pray to God
every morning and every night, but commit every crime known to man
because re-branded identities will never alter the tunes of inbred
rhythms. Just as the drums of heritage heralds the frenzied jingles,
remember - the Nigerian soul can only be Nigerian - fighting free from
the cold embrace of a government that has no spring, no sense, and no
shame. So we watch the possessed, frenzied dance, drenched in silent
tears as freedom is locked up in democracy’s empty cellars. I need
guidance, please re-brand me.
But then, why can I not simply be me, without being re-branded?
Or does my complexion cloud the color of my character?
Does my location limit the lengths of my liberty?
Does the spirit of my conviction shackle my soul?
Does my mien maim the mine of my mind?
And is this life worth re-branding?
I am not yet born, please re-brand me.
"There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." Edith Wharton
"Live wisely and live long" God is faithful" (Prov3:13-23)
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