#Zabarmari: A war with no name

“The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis” – Dante Alighieri This article wrote itself. In my turbulent slumber, the words came together haphazardly from my subconscious, a cocktail of emotions, an expression of my overwhelming sadness. I had just lost a member of my […]

“The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis” – Dante Alighieri

This article wrote itself. In my turbulent slumber, the words came together haphazardly from my subconscious, a cocktail of emotions, an expression of my overwhelming sadness. I had just lost a member of my household and was reeling over with grief when the news of the mass slaughter of farmers in Zabarmari, Borno State broke. I usually shy away from political matters and focus mainly on medicine, but there comes a time when we can no more bury our heads in the sand.

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In the past three months, Nigeria has witnessed a surge in kidnappings, protests, looting, carnage and chaos like we have never seen before. From the #EndSARS protests, which metamorphosed into something barbaric to the uncertainty of the Lekki massacre, from the incessant kidnappings across the country to the permanent rise of the dollar; 2020, it seems, is not done with Nigeria yet. The saying is therefore true: When it rains, it pours.

When President Buhari was campaigning in 2014, one of his key campaign promises was insecurity. His campaign team rode on the blunders and discrepancies of the Jonathan administration in handling the abduction of the Chibok Girls. We were all angry at the way the abduction was handled, first, they denied it even happened in the first place, then after international pressure was applied, succumbed days later and ‘condemned it’ while promising to bring them back. We all know how that story went.

But this is not about the Chibok girls- it is about that one important promise that the APC administration kept shoving down our necks: Insecurity. They promised a safer Nigeria. Period. Remember that picture of Mr President wearing a tuxedo while doing a high-five with a young boy? Where are those PR people now? Have they deserted him? What does it cost to take a flight to Maiduguri, to be seen standing shoulder to shoulder with Governor Zulum in praying for the deceased? What does it take to mount the podium and address the nation, ‘condemning’ (I have since come to detest the word) the massacre and instilling confidence and hope in Nigerians? Why must we shout ourselves hoarse, every bloody time, before our cries are heard? Why must the international community have to threaten our leaders with revoking their visas before they do the right thing? Why are heads not rolling over the latest killings?

Last week, in a desperate cry for help, the Sultan of Sokoto lamented the high rate of insecurity in the north, saying it is the worst place to live in Nigeria right now. The Sultan stated- what is now an open secret- that bandits now roam free in villages, stealing, kidnapping and wreaking havoc in the land. Rural farmers are required to pay a ‘levy’ that will guarantee their safety while they work on their farms. Young women and girls are kidnapped in village raids, never to be heard of again. In towns, these hoodlums have become bolder, attacking and killing people in broad daylight. Just this week, a middle-aged forex trader was killed during working hours after he had purchased his dollars at CBN. The wards in hospitals are filled with patients who are stabbed in the chest or abdomen following a robbery attack. In the past month, I have seen two patients who were brought in a state of confusion by relatives after someone (usually a tricycle rider) had blown some suspicious powder in their faces. The situation is pitiable, to say the least.

When the #EndSARS protest began in Lagos, a part of me was happy, that at last, Nigerians were waking up from our collective slumber. A part of me wished, vehemently, for a similar uprising in the north. And while our southern counterparts weathered the heat, canes and bullets, my Arewa brothers decided that SARS was not our concern. In fact, one ‘Arewa Youth Forum’ even went as far as holding a press conference to dissociate themselves from the protests. Agreed, police brutality is not as rampant as it is in Southern Nigeria, but could we not have stood in solidarity for them? Could we not have used the opportunity to protest about the worsening state of insecurity in our land? When are we ever going to stand up for ourselves?

I digress.

It is no more news that Nigeria ranks third among the 10 countries most impacted by terrorism in the world. The news, disheartening as it seems, is even more shocking when I realised that we are now ahead of Syria, Somalia and Yemen. These are countries that we grew up associating with war and poverty. Many fair-skinned individuals, especially in Northern Nigeria are products of marriages between Nigerian men and the Yemeni women who used to beg on the streets of Lagos as far back as the 1980s. And the war in Yemen has gone on for as long as I can remember.

What this simply means is that we should brace ourselves for trying times. If countries like Syria are still reeling from the aftermath of the effect of ISIS then what hope do we have? We should not kid ourselves, Boko Haram is far from being defeated. If it were, farmers would not need ‘clearance’ to go to their farms and people would be able to move about freely in rural Borno and Yobe.

I fear for the aftermath of this war we are in. A war that has no face and no name. A war in which we do not know who is the victim and who is the villain. Because how do you prosecute a 14-year-old boy kidnapper? Or a 15-year-old terrorist? Is he not the product of a broken system?  All these are learned behaviours and consequences of the situation we are currently in. A vicious cycle where terrorists breed deadlier terrorists and kidnappers breed even more brazen kidnappers. These are truly trying times!

Like I said earlier, this article wrote itself. It comes from a place of darkness and empathy. Sympathy for those poor farmers who were slaughtered like rams as they went out to do an honest day’s job. Overwhelming grief for their wives and children, who will grow up to resent a government that failed to protect them. Sorrow for the widows who will now turn to beggars in villages or migrate to the streets of urban towns pleading for sustenance. And distress, that their children will now increase the numbers of out-of-school children in Nigeria. This is not a time for wailing or hailing. It is not a time for making excuses for your party member. It is a time for sober reflection and the realisation that we are all in this together.

We cannot afford to keep quiet in the midst of this terror. The coming generation will not forgive us. Our voices must be heard. And our voices will be heard.