My soul has travelled and swam deep into the ”dark brothers”, and at times, I’m left with almost no hope seeing the black race in misery. As invalid as some African myths may sound, the consequences of a strapped child falling off his mother’s back has ultimately left me with no steady psyche.
Are Africans truly fulfilled and happy? Were we cursed since inception? These questions and many more can’t stop reverting in my head, almost everyday. Since the dark ages, when slavery seemed to be like the only source of income for the English men, Africans were major tools used, ranging from the Trans-Atlantics that brought the Atlantic world into limelight, down to the inhumane treatment given to our women; irrespective of age or gender. Unfortunately, we Africans were our own problems too; we were sole initiators of slavetrade, assisted the Europeans in mindless and the most intensive anguish on our fellow Africans. Such a cruel beginning.
Enslaved or not, we owe ourselves the truth through forceful, but harmless resillence and declaring confidence that both the ‘black panthers’ and the ‘white kiwis’ are equal. Mum Bett said and I quote: ‘if one minute’s freedom had been offered to me, and I had been told must die at the end of that minute, would have taken it.’ That is exactly what it was like being in chains, and it almost became evident that death was way better than being enslaved; it was the best option.
As embittered and broken as anyone might feel about this, the connectivity that seem to exist between the black race and torment is what baffles me. Approximately 70 percent of the the poorest countries are Africans. The continental dialogue existing in Africa is fast becoming an eye-sore, if it has not already been. Even after independence, we are not exempted from interference in any sector. We rely on the higher powers for virtually everything. As offensive and rugged we may think we are, we are still being controlled. Is there not a cause to all of these superiority complex and all? Have we failed in one way? Are we paying for some sins we know nothing about, or that’s just how it’s meant to be? Maybe we ate the forbidden fruit.
Multiple forms of ruthless indoctrination from advanced countries has eaten deep into our standards and instead, we accept this strange policies without careful analysies. Nigeria’s independence of 1960 has made no huge difference. It’s no hyperbole if she’s likened to a dog who keeps going back to its own vomit. History is being repeated, and consciously or otherwise, it’s been written everyday; boldly in our heart and it would never be forgotten.
We rise today, fall tomorrow with nothing to show to the world, but a confused region whose quandary would produce no transparent result. What can we say to the generations coming; that we made it, or that we absolutely failed? Are we really proud of where we are now? Do we call this freedom? Our limit is limitless, and until we realise we are the architects of our fortunes, we can’t do any better.
Regrettably, everyone’s fighting for recognition outside their Home country without necessarily putting effort to transform it. However, no one is to be blamed for this; everyone deserves a better life and once you find the place, it’s definitely going to be a haven of rest. That’s the best feeling, and if not permanently, the temporal felicity is almost overwhelming.
Notwithstanding, can anything good thing come out of Africa? Do we deserve a better standard of living? Can we fashion our long felt torture to eventual rapture? I bet we can if we do the needful, fix the weighter matters of the law and create for ourselves opportunities that would make our continent beautiful, and for Nigeria, our being the Giant of Africa would once again be revealed in its truest and undeniable form. It’s up to us to decide what life we truly deserve.