From half of a yellow sun to a complete sphere, an oval shape of a luminous body, the rays hit the land, transmitting cold in lieu of heat. "No way!" I exclaimed. "The sun is always hot in the oppressive enclave. This must be the promised land, my home sweet home".
The colour of the sun is incredibly distinct from what geography says. Wow! Everyone seemed to be happy and most of the adults were sun-bathing. Where is this? Whatever happened to the unkempt beaches and abandoned harbours/ports in the hinterland and coastal parts of Biafra! Ships, vessels, boats kept the various ports busy. The hinterland business tycoons were full of life and excitement, since it costs less money and time to freight their wares.
Oh, the kids look happy and gleeful indeed! Why has my heart stopped beating? Where am I? I have walked for long without descrying a khaki either SMILING or DANCING. The policemen all have batons and communication gadgets, not a single gun. Where are the guns that go rat-a-tat in the stead of the the pit-a-tat of rainfall? Where are the bullies, land invaders, and savages ravaging women at will?
Where are the bunkers, militants, and terrorists? What has happened to the world? I see the flags flying in consonance with the wind hither tither. And, yes, it is not the Green and White; it is the one with an inscribed and embossed half of a yellow sun. I see everywhere is spick-and-span, serene, and saintly. God is here, indeed! This is an egalitarian society. This is a haven of inestimable repute on earth. I see people of diverse tribes interrelated and correlate without tribal difference consciousness. Yes, there is unity here. This is lovely...
"Big Bros, good morning. I think it is time for morning devotion," Handel said. As I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the dirty compound and tribal marks on the security man's face at my window . Oh, not again! That was another dream, another vision. My prayer that morning was "O Lord let this dream become my reality. Amen." I miss Biafra. I miss the golden city that I envision regularly. My trances, premonitions, and visions are all about Biafra. I keep a flustered face because of the exasperation I feel being entrapped in this stuffy and choking fortress called Nigeria. I must be free. You must be free. We must be free. True freedom comes from the restoration of Biafra.
Whatever you used to do, please do it better now. This prison has borne us for too long. Let us work hard and break the chains and pull down the walls. Freedom awaits us outside the four walls of this oppressive citadel. I am choking and so are you. We all need a breath of fresh air. We need the golden rays from the yellow sun. We need Biafra now, not later. Shalom.
Nigeria, I hate
Biafra, I love
Russell Idatoru Sunju Bluejack is a radical thinker, revolutionary writer, university tutor, and socio-economic and political analyst that writes from the creeks in the coastal part of Biafra
The colour of the sun is incredibly distinct from what geography says. Wow! Everyone seemed to be happy and most of the adults were sun-bathing. Where is this? Whatever happened to the unkempt beaches and abandoned harbours/ports in the hinterland and coastal parts of Biafra! Ships, vessels, boats kept the various ports busy. The hinterland business tycoons were full of life and excitement, since it costs less money and time to freight their wares.
Oh, the kids look happy and gleeful indeed! Why has my heart stopped beating? Where am I? I have walked for long without descrying a khaki either SMILING or DANCING. The policemen all have batons and communication gadgets, not a single gun. Where are the guns that go rat-a-tat in the stead of the the pit-a-tat of rainfall? Where are the bullies, land invaders, and savages ravaging women at will?
Where are the bunkers, militants, and terrorists? What has happened to the world? I see the flags flying in consonance with the wind hither tither. And, yes, it is not the Green and White; it is the one with an inscribed and embossed half of a yellow sun. I see everywhere is spick-and-span, serene, and saintly. God is here, indeed! This is an egalitarian society. This is a haven of inestimable repute on earth. I see people of diverse tribes interrelated and correlate without tribal difference consciousness. Yes, there is unity here. This is lovely...
"Big Bros, good morning. I think it is time for morning devotion," Handel said. As I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the dirty compound and tribal marks on the security man's face at my window . Oh, not again! That was another dream, another vision. My prayer that morning was "O Lord let this dream become my reality. Amen." I miss Biafra. I miss the golden city that I envision regularly. My trances, premonitions, and visions are all about Biafra. I keep a flustered face because of the exasperation I feel being entrapped in this stuffy and choking fortress called Nigeria. I must be free. You must be free. We must be free. True freedom comes from the restoration of Biafra.
Whatever you used to do, please do it better now. This prison has borne us for too long. Let us work hard and break the chains and pull down the walls. Freedom awaits us outside the four walls of this oppressive citadel. I am choking and so are you. We all need a breath of fresh air. We need the golden rays from the yellow sun. We need Biafra now, not later. Shalom.
Nigeria, I hate
Biafra, I love
Russell Idatoru Sunju Bluejack is a radical thinker, revolutionary writer, university tutor, and socio-economic and political analyst that writes from the creeks in the coastal part of Biafra
SUNRISE IN BIAFRA: IN PURSUIT OF FREEDOM -- Russell Idatoru Sunju Bluejack
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Reviewed by Unknown
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9:36:00 am
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