A eulogy for the Nigerian child:
Many are the hours a mother bears down to birth her young, the pain of labor searing through her vein as she attempts to bring forth that which she has concealed for months. It is no small task, nothing short of a miracle. And yet with every choice you maim her, that which was born through labor destroyed with a smile and a twinkle.
But she is still here you shout, do not accuse us of such grave injustice. For where have you seen us tear the child from the womb or steal milk from a suckling babe? They demand frothing at the mouth, hoping to erase my understanding with giant bubbles of spittle.
Aye, you haven’t ripped the child from succor, but you have stripped her naked of a dignified life, abandoned to survive by the skin of her teeth. How have we done this, you beseech me, not because you’re penitent, rather your soul desires to have its self-righteous ego pacified.
For each seed you’ve eaten satisfying your selfish desires you swallowed the harvest of children born and yet unborn. You and your cronies of merchants and devious contractors build a wooden bridge; a replica of the golden gate announces your town criers, a passage way to El Dorado for all. Alas! Many fall away into the clouds bearing burdens of gifts undiscovered. Those who survive carry their vehicles rather than drive them. They report to fleabag structures by the way side seeking refreshing only to depart worse than they came; the hospital has more unwell people leaving than entering. And you say we haven’t killed them.
Each throne you ascend obliterates the hope of suckling babes for a new dawn, your gluttons belly hides burying the sun. Your time is far spent, yet you sit like the moons at eclipse except it turns away in due time but you do not. Thus, you obstruct the course of nature turning it against itself. Where from shall the dawn arise if the sun is kept captive by the moon? True the sun will triumph in the end, but many would have gone mad by the confusion.
For each time you trumpet personal your horns to welcome a stranger, but send the servants to receive the wee babe, you teach her by deeds to esteem another highly. You unwittingly set the zenith of her aspiration; she shall aim to be the best copy of an unknown stranger. You devalue her and yet you ask why? You deceived herd of authority, your understanding fails you, for you esteem yourself superior by means of your ill-gotten gain shame as the stranger knows that only knowledge divides the ranks and you know not much except your greed which holds us all to ransom.
I fear to carry on lest the spirit of the child be vexed to hades. Do not despair my beloved, sleep in peace soon we shall unseat the godfathers who know no form of godliness or the responsibility of the father. Stay true to yourself my child, do not let them steal away the beauty of your inner soul.