Soliloquy On The Strength In Patience

They are so complacent over the faith that belongs to mankind in wholeness. Deadly complacency has been the bane to sustenance of greatness of the faith. They may have to recall the fall of Spain and others where the light of truth manifested in development in all ramifications. They can talk of the greatness in the leaders who suffered for the faith, whether at its final advent or even today. But they are not ready to reflect on why a great man would not agree, despite all his abundance, to seek the palmer’s journey. Yet, they call me names and forget to realize that hypocrisy is an aged trend. People fall apart in goodness and in devilishness.

They will come to my home, in my name and for my sake, to meet the people who lord over me. They will say they want to reconcile us. They will gather us in that manner as always to talk and show pretence that they love us. They will end it with no eventful aftermath because they have in our own midst theirs who have come to destabilize us. They will smile back to their homes after receiving the blessings from those who lord over us but abhor us on that margin that we have accepted a foreign creed. And the trend that we remain nobody continues.

And a worthy man – the son of Kano – spoke of my likes when he proclaimed that this nation will know no peace until the son of a nobody can become somebody without knowing anybody. Aminu Kano spoke seemingly with the lore that I will be born, though I was born by a nobody. And these were men who knew and had the keys to the nurture of this land I have nowhere to belong than it. How I wish the table can be turned so that every existence in this land can be recognized by worth, allowed to display equal wit and sweat and granted the same page in entrance and exit.

I am pained when my counterparts in fewness in the same country are spoken for and uplifted, whereas I am uncertain who is there for me? Yes, I am a minority. But does that imply that I should not exist and struggle for life opportunities as other minorities? Who do perceive this message of truth, not prophetic; it is a message from an exploited entity whose eyes do dare sleep in the dearth of night when most creatures, save man, seek immortality.

I do not need to cry again because I have cried too long and no one in my country where I was born by my parents – not where I have traveled to – cares to listen or act. I do not need to fear suppression and denial anymore because both are meted against me even in my own birthplace – the spot that I first bowed. I do not need to coexist with the same stream of humus blood because I have been isolated to belong to nobody.

I have been made the drowning man who clinches a fly in search of rescue. I have been made a lackey lured to the middle of the road to toil without clue whither the next destination. I am made a child whose parents died of frustration, yet groping for a care that is insecure. But how long can this child bear this when of a man the memoirs of this unjust death in silence hunts him, appearing in the mirror of his heart like a colossus stretching its arms to consume him alike.

Yes, let me carry my burden alone for saying no gods but God in the midst of people whose tongue, food and attire are the same. Yes, let me swallow the hard pills of total alienation in the being of my people. Nay, maybe it is that I will be annihilated and no one will care because I have chosen to belong in faith to a people who, not unlike the self of mankind, look at their own feet alone.

Where do I stand in this land where injustice is commonly staged in my direction and the yells of the demoralized are not heard? Where do I get the means to place a full page notice on the assaults on my psyche, on my niche and from the government house of the states we are supposed to belong? How much do I have to keep talking in the expensive press? Which powers have I to withstand the pressure of such multitude with dry hearts and steady rattle-mania?

Still, even if I cry out of sorrow, even if I wallow in pain, even if I look onto the sky, seeing it too far and stretching my palms in vain to receive a drop of recognition, even if my nights be longer to seek heavenly restoration, I have been made a fidget. O! I toil between the hungry men who have never satiated themselves to know of my being. O! I have been dropped, not by my own choice, into this parcel where I am disused. O! I have been slapped with filthy nomenclatures that mar the very necessity to my existence.

So who is there to speak for me, to care for me, to belong to me and to give me the sense of belonging? Who is there to uplift me and not despise me, to give me equal opportunity to try and succeed, not to deny me and ensure my perpetual failure and stagnation? Who is there to stand by me, to recognize my efforts and to reward me like other existences in this place? Is it enough to weep silently in the heart for a cause that no end is in view? Is it enough to cry aloud to a people whose ears, eyes, hearts and all that make existence are motionless? I have cried out so loudly that only my own organ perceived me. I have done what I can do, though nothing in relation to the human is enough.

Where then do I belong? A question that is uncalled but called for. Is it to my overt enemy who has steadily wedged war against me? Or to my covert enemy who displays the teeth of a smiling lion yet dines with me with a long spoon?

Addicts are salvaged, rehabilitated and reintegrated into the society. They are often given a sense of belonging. Looters are begged to repent through plea bargaining. They are accepted to their societies without stigmatization. They feel freer. How much have been spent on Western propagandas! But mine is a case no one in this land wants to consider. Hunted from all sides, I have none of human to further recline than swallow the hard pills of forsakenness.

It pains and I writhe in fury. In this 21^stcentury, knowledge being exposed of every bit of human existence, my existence is still being queried and mocked. The notion why an Igbo should accept Islam - a Hausa religion – is still static. Quite an unfortunate and unwholesome misconception! What is the truth in the media proclamations by the leaders of our homes where peace, unity and tolerance are propagated? That we gather twice or so for homage to these leaders who claim our none-existence, who snub us and delegate a sub to handle us? And in the whole region, such has yielded no effect on our lives but only increased our want, frustration and disunity.

Even as I pray us to allow peace and understanding reign, to resist the temptation of regarding a religion to be forbidden to the Igbo, to control the hatred concealed for other Igbo of diverse faith, I do call to the understanding of our constitution which secures freedom to religion and association. Even as my overt foes have devised other means to defame and harm me, the covert are adamant, only watching like the hypocrite and feeling indifferent like the infidel.

Upon all that befall an innocent, I stand strong on the foundation of truth and look onto He who had written on the leaves of fate that what will be sure will be. Patience is an answer to greater things unphantomable and that beyond the comprehension of mortal minds. And knowing this, I do maintain in humility seeking it becomes my breath and food, nay my blood.

Muhammad Ajah is an advocate of humanity, peace and good governance in Abuja. E-mail [email protected].