Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi
The man wrote
About all the years we were deliberately plunged into the political wilderness
The times when mothers mourned and fathers gnashed their teeth
The many times when innocence was crudely stripped away
The man wrote
About how an election was stolen with a speech
Without the need for stammering, squinty eyed officials reading out dodgy results
About how truth and justice were slaughtered before our very eyes
A decision that plagues this rickety contraption of a country to this day
The man wrote
He said ‘It wasn’t me’
Who was it then?
‘It was them’
Where are the ‘them’, let us hear their side
The ‘thems’ are in two categories
The first ‘thems’ dare not speak, for reasons only they can tell
The other set of ‘thems’ simply cannot tell
Why?
Those ‘thems’ are no longer with us.
It doesn’t matter if you speak ill of the dead
The dead ‘thems’ cannot defend themselves
You can’t bear witness if you are in permanent silence
The man wrote
And Naira rained
From the grateful
From the powerful
From the mighty
From the ones courageous enough to show up and own up
Much more will come from the many others who hid away
But will surreptitiously pour their own libation
The man wrote
People gathered
For all sorts of reasons and all kinds of agendas
Let us not be fooled at this gathering of the mighty and powerful
All to witness the re-telling, re-writing, re-shaping of our collective memory
If only you could read their thoughts or at least hazard a guess
‘You think you have the last word. I do. I survived you’
‘Liar, liar, pants on fire! Anyway, history is written by the winners. I have written my own version’
‘Chai!!!! You no fear God? Wetin be my own. Abeg, let me adjust my Agbada. Na who die na him own spoil’
‘Thank you, God, that I am alive to witness the final telling of a truth many were martyred for’
‘No wonder they changed the national anthem. The labours of our heroes past are certainly in vain’.
The man wrote
It does not really matter what we think or feel about what he has written
He has written
He has told his story
His version is his right to tell
He has enlightened us
Now we know, the juniors are to be feared more than their seniors
Know this and have peace
He has written
He is entitled to his opinion
Not necessarily his own facts
We too have a right to feel anger, disbelief, dismay, betrayal
‘It wasn’t me’
‘It was them’
Here are some facts
There was an election that was free and fair
The votes went beyond tribe and tongue
Said election was ‘annulled’
People protested
People were incarcerated
People were tortured
People were murdered
People went underground to scurry like rats in the bowels of their own country
People were cast adrift, many without lifelines, in foreign lands
There was separation of families
Children were rendered orphans
There was humiliation and gaslighting
There was hounding and intimidation
Voices of protest came in broadcasts from far away
Tears and blood became normal
How long does it take to heal?
When will we ‘forgive and forget’?
I don’t have the answers to that
What I do know is for as long as truth is held hostage
As long as justice is in the eye of the purchaser
For as long as the guilty or innocent dead have no say in the matter
Our wounds will never heal
And it will be hard to forget
Till then,
Let those who can write do so
Truth, lies, fabrications, distortions
Don’t worry about those small matters
History will always judge, regardless of who writes what
Let me re-echo the imaginary thoughts of one of the ‘survivors’
‘You think you have the last word. I do. I survived you’
*Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi is a Feminist Activist, Gender Specialist, Leadership Coach, Policy Advocate and Writer. She is the Founder of Abovewhispers.com, an online community for women. She can be reached at BAF@abovewhispers.com