Scorched in the Sun
This is true story that happened in Lagos State around the Surulere stadium axis. It is told through my eyes…..
I remember something I once saw in the year 2005.
An eleven year old child was burned to death by an angry mob. He was crying out to his mother, but she denied him just as Peter denied Jesus three times.
His offence?
He stole a baby, so he could make some money.
SACRILEGE! ABOMINATION!
Now, let us look at this scenario:
A CHILD living on the street with no education, no family structure, no home system, no clothing, no food, no guardian.
A child who is forced to fend for himself, because he's been glaringly thrown headfirst into the shocking world of adulthood.
A stranger offers an opportunity of a lifetime.
A couple of thousand of naira which in everyday speak is a coupla billions in naira.
All he has to do is steal a baby for them. In his logic, this is viable because what he does not know would not hurt in regards to whatever his new found benefactors have in store for the infant.
So, he goes ahead, his growling belly propelling each feet forward. Conscience and non-existent principles forfeited in the quest for a modicum of respite in an extremely hostile world.
Then, something goes wrong (or right{for baby's sake}?).
A crowd begins to form, growing angrier by the minute, becoming a mob.
The Child is terrified. Petrified. Alarm bells are going off all at once. His eyes are darting every which way possible in their sockets. All instincts on full alert as would a single minded rodent that finds itself trapped. He keeps sniffing at exits that are shutting down faster than he can scurry towards.
The hair on his nape is fully erect now.
Raw naked spine chilling fear.
Then he sees his mother. Hope at last!
He catches her eye.
She turns her back in denial of their bond and disappears into the crowd.
Her instinct for self preservation being stronger than the maternal in this case. He tries to run after her, but two heavily built Ikenga(esque) men had picked up several two by four planks that were lying close by and started hit the eleven year old boy with the all strength their gargantuan bench pressing forms could muster. They had to bend to hit him because he barely stood above their individual waist lines.
The first blow tears his forearm from his shoulder.
He screams and collapses on the dusty ground, and then, they descend on him like vultures at an abandoned abattoir.
He looked around for his mother through swollen lids, but, she has since slunk away.
He lay there, looking up at the lusting hostile faces surrounding his last moments, thinking of how un-fair life was.
They stood what was left of him up.
They poured petrol all over his body and on his face. As he inhaled the pungent fumes, he began to panic; he started asking God to help him.
He knew this was the end.
Hope had failed him once again.
Perhaps, this is for the best.
Perhaps, he would find peace at last.
He saw a spark sailing towards him through the slits of his swollen eyelids and petrol stung eyes. And THEN, he felt excruciating pain which awoke instincts in him that he had no pre-existing knowledge of.
He jumped, all previous pain forgotten in the white searing supernova HEAT.
He feels his flesh melt. He does not know how to explain it, but he knows it is melting.
He finally falls to the ground, writhing sporadically.
Then he sees a shiny man in good health beyond description walking towards him with a wide smile on his face, his right hand stretched forward beckoning him. The boy is surprised to discover that he can get up, no pain, no fuss, no dusty ground, no hostile faces.
The shiny man in good health beyond description then takes his little hand in his and they walk away to a place full of food, smiles, warmth. . . . Love
He has become a Superhero, complete with the costume and cape.
The hostile crowd still continues to scream and spit on his jerking burning body, but, he is longer aware of his external environment as he has transited into a better world.
Meanwhile, the muscle mutants continue to beat his roasting form till he holds the last frozen pose of primal agony in regards to his last human experience.
The perpetrators now have a satisfied look on their face at a job well done. Their 44DD chests puff out with pride as they walk swaying from side to side with their chin in the air. The crowd cheers them in awe at a job well done.
Lying in their midst is one of the most horrifying sights known to man - the tortured burnt out corpse of an eleven year old child.
What does this symbolize?
Beneath the veneer of civility- we are all BEASTLY creatures capable of primal acts that will make the most hardened carnivore in the animal kingdom cower in worry.
Man is the only animal that kills for pleasure.
Africa is truly a Dark Continent over-run by beasts, animals and wild predators.
The West has their own even more ridiculous versions of BEASTS a la serial killers, paedophiles, stalkers a la carte, to name a few - they only do it behind closed doors.
Nigeria is Africa.
Africa is Nigeria.
If we are like this after the infusion of enlightenment via the western civilization, it would be un-imaginable as to what would it have been like before.
After a century of western enlightenment in Nigeria, beastly acts are still being committed in the full glare of day-light with the approval of the public. With total disregard for Law, Life, God.
Still beasts with urges that bubble underneath the surface of education, class, breeding, morals.
Still ANIMALS.
I remember something I once saw in the year 2005.
An eleven year old child was burned to death by an angry mob. He was crying out to his mother, but she denied him just as Peter denied Jesus three times.
His offence?
He stole a baby, so he could make some money.
SACRILEGE! ABOMINATION!
Now, let us look at this scenario:
A CHILD living on the street with no education, no family structure, no home system, no clothing, no food, no guardian.
A child who is forced to fend for himself, because he's been glaringly thrown headfirst into the shocking world of adulthood.
A stranger offers an opportunity of a lifetime.
A couple of thousand of naira which in everyday speak is a coupla billions in naira.
All he has to do is steal a baby for them. In his logic, this is viable because what he does not know would not hurt in regards to whatever his new found benefactors have in store for the infant.
So, he goes ahead, his growling belly propelling each feet forward. Conscience and non-existent principles forfeited in the quest for a modicum of respite in an extremely hostile world.
Then, something goes wrong (or right{for baby's sake}?).
A crowd begins to form, growing angrier by the minute, becoming a mob.
The Child is terrified. Petrified. Alarm bells are going off all at once. His eyes are darting every which way possible in their sockets. All instincts on full alert as would a single minded rodent that finds itself trapped. He keeps sniffing at exits that are shutting down faster than he can scurry towards.
The hair on his nape is fully erect now.
Raw naked spine chilling fear.
Then he sees his mother. Hope at last!
He catches her eye.
She turns her back in denial of their bond and disappears into the crowd.
Her instinct for self preservation being stronger than the maternal in this case. He tries to run after her, but two heavily built Ikenga(esque) men had picked up several two by four planks that were lying close by and started hit the eleven year old boy with the all strength their gargantuan bench pressing forms could muster. They had to bend to hit him because he barely stood above their individual waist lines.
The first blow tears his forearm from his shoulder.
He screams and collapses on the dusty ground, and then, they descend on him like vultures at an abandoned abattoir.
He looked around for his mother through swollen lids, but, she has since slunk away.
He lay there, looking up at the lusting hostile faces surrounding his last moments, thinking of how un-fair life was.
They stood what was left of him up.
They poured petrol all over his body and on his face. As he inhaled the pungent fumes, he began to panic; he started asking God to help him.
He knew this was the end.
Hope had failed him once again.
Perhaps, this is for the best.
Perhaps, he would find peace at last.
He saw a spark sailing towards him through the slits of his swollen eyelids and petrol stung eyes. And THEN, he felt excruciating pain which awoke instincts in him that he had no pre-existing knowledge of.
He jumped, all previous pain forgotten in the white searing supernova HEAT.
He feels his flesh melt. He does not know how to explain it, but he knows it is melting.
He finally falls to the ground, writhing sporadically.
Then he sees a shiny man in good health beyond description walking towards him with a wide smile on his face, his right hand stretched forward beckoning him. The boy is surprised to discover that he can get up, no pain, no fuss, no dusty ground, no hostile faces.
The shiny man in good health beyond description then takes his little hand in his and they walk away to a place full of food, smiles, warmth. . . . Love
He has become a Superhero, complete with the costume and cape.
The hostile crowd still continues to scream and spit on his jerking burning body, but, he is longer aware of his external environment as he has transited into a better world.
Meanwhile, the muscle mutants continue to beat his roasting form till he holds the last frozen pose of primal agony in regards to his last human experience.
The perpetrators now have a satisfied look on their face at a job well done. Their 44DD chests puff out with pride as they walk swaying from side to side with their chin in the air. The crowd cheers them in awe at a job well done.
Lying in their midst is one of the most horrifying sights known to man - the tortured burnt out corpse of an eleven year old child.
What does this symbolize?
Beneath the veneer of civility- we are all BEASTLY creatures capable of primal acts that will make the most hardened carnivore in the animal kingdom cower in worry.
Man is the only animal that kills for pleasure.
Africa is truly a Dark Continent over-run by beasts, animals and wild predators.
The West has their own even more ridiculous versions of BEASTS a la serial killers, paedophiles, stalkers a la carte, to name a few - they only do it behind closed doors.
Nigeria is Africa.
Africa is Nigeria.
If we are like this after the infusion of enlightenment via the western civilization, it would be un-imaginable as to what would it have been like before.
After a century of western enlightenment in Nigeria, beastly acts are still being committed in the full glare of day-light with the approval of the public. With total disregard for Law, Life, God.
Still beasts with urges that bubble underneath the surface of education, class, breeding, morals.
Still ANIMALS.
Comments
Post a Comment