Lord God, Dont Send Me To Nigeria Please

September 10, 2014.


By: Uya, Sunday John

Lord God, this country you are about sending me to is so unique. He has the might of a lion but behaves lower than an ant. He is a man with many struggling brides. They would have loved each other except for where they were married from and what they worship. Lord, firstly, it gives me headache thinking of where to be born to and what I will worship, especially when these are the only classifications down there.
Heavenly satellite images of it show so much for me to ask you why you would want me there. The streets are littered with too many bloods of their own people and those not killed are kidnapped, young and old alike. In fact, the loud cry that has captured the earth’s ears and heaven’s attention recently is that of the safe return of their daughters. The other big streets not littered with blood are rather full of young people either begging or running after moving vehicles to sell peanuts.
Lord, the villages are filled with the aged whose farms have crops that are dried up and the land can no longer grow anything. To make matters worse for them, their children are no longer available because they all have to struggle for themselves in the cities. From the various reports, the hustles have not been easy, so old folks in the village can’t depend on the outputs. If they die, it won’t be because of old age but because life as Nigerian has failed and neglect has embrace them.
The Towns o Lord is made of people. People of politics. Politics of betrayal and betrayal for money. The towns used to hold high hopes for the young but it dashes it like free wind now. Reports have it that it’s now the centers for sharing crested election rice, oils and even “odorless Fufu”. At first I’d thought it was for one town, then it started to replicate in others. The towns have moved from existence election commandos giving all meals for loyalty to everybody sharing anything with their picture on it. Souvenirs giving and taking must have enshrined in these people’s culture so much that they can’t do without it again.
Lord God, all is not well o, it’s either these people are too hungry or they just found a way of getting a stipend of their stolen wealth or they are cowards or maybe all.
Lord God, the cities are a long list of troubles. Everybody complains of what is and isn’t there but nothing is ever done to change it. They say the taxes are regressive and the burdens are heavy. In fact, I heard the barber, the ‘aboki’ nail cutter and the market women complain that everything that goes foot trading these days attracts a daily ticket in their most populated city. In fact, their complaint is that it used to be everything that causes them to raise an umbrella as shed, trade or no trade. They are not happy, but they take the better of two evils, they can survive.
Lord, even as a baby, I would think these people were supposed to be taxed less to help them grow? But the city thinks otherwise.
They are not happy but so is their ruler too. Many say he’s a good man. They even point to the bigger ruler who wouldn’t send daily breads and wines for the city upkeep.
The city’s problems witch-hunt everybody, then everybody witch-hunt everybody and it is modern jungle born all over again.
Lord, other situations are there too o. Those people from big English speaking schools can’t find work o, and I even hear their big colored printed paper from school are so many now and they do not mean anything for getting a job. It cannot be sold sef, not even to a street corner groundnut seller because the paper won’t fold well for groundnut packaging.
Lord, I talk less for those of them who ran from the villages to think the cities welcome all that is ready to struggle. Their hopes are near gone now.
In fact, I hear their military men’s main work these days is being good in mal-handling them, if not burning their things too. And the other security men are either shooting people for a little of their currency or are running mental with big chariot escorts, saluting and carrying oga-madam’s handbag (or market bags as the case may be) ‘Baba God, let me called you according to their common language so you will know the situation is critical. The cities are filled with nice and tall houses and people with nice dresses.

This stupendous wealth is only for a few and most of them stole from the people. They eat well and their new chariots are in good shapes and long sizes. They eat well.
Baba, I even heard their overall father allocated nine zeros to his meal ticket and “does not give a damn” about hunger in the land. Baba, you see they may be having another king Solomon, the palace eats and the people go hungry. I am not to judge him because I also heard he too is a good man with plenty problems inherited. The lineage from which the problems were inherited is what is not clear. Their debates and infighting will continue and baba I will not want to be part of such debate, so please Lord exempt from their midst.
I’m not disobeying you, but please baba reconsider. Send me somewhere else or even a better neighbor. And if it must be that place, please let me go back on the queue and come when things are a little better. Amen
Ah! What am I feeling? Something is pulling me. Baba you allowed me to be born here? There is no light o and the torch light shows the nurse’s face and it doesn’t seem nice too.
Lord help me please.

Uya, Sunday John, a student of University of Lagos, coordinator, Tentacle youth development initiative and member RightQuestionNigeria writes for In ordinary man’s business.
@uyasj[email protected]