By Kinsomebody Egbuchu (Abia writers) In these nightmarish experiences, sometimes, these "Chains" (Infiltrators) will crowd aroun...
By Kinsomebody Egbuchu (Abia writers)
In these nightmarish experiences, sometimes, these "Chains" (Infiltrators) will crowd around me and whack my face, trying to pluck off my eyeballs right there in my one-room apartment. In the process, their thick fingers would poke into my wrapper, and their rough palms would try to tie iron chains on my mouth so I would not fulfil God's ordained project. When I yelled, The Nigerian government would squash my mouth, and I would groan inside.
On some occasions, pains and torture would send hot urine down my legs. Faintly, I would hear rancorous laughter from the Infiltrators who pretended to champion my release and the Biafra restoration. In shame, I would remain dumb with those with the same ideology.
More so, when their squeezing intensified, I would lose consciousness, and the deadly agents against my dream would lose themselves in joy. Other deadly agents that are also in operation are my kinsmen, whom we chose to represent and protect our interests outside our homeland. We seek their welfare, and they seek our warfare and farewell to death. These my kinsmen parade and discredit their brethren everywhere they go.
So, when I returned to that unconscious (dream) world again, I found myself somewhere with buckets of excrement surrounding me, and a choking odour greeted my return. Fearfully, before I could look around, heavy "Chains" held me hostage. Then, the 'traitors' agents (my kinsmen) disappeared into thin air, acting on the "orders from above. "These actions from my kinsmen confined me to lay waste for many decades, and with them, the memories of our (those in the same ideology as me) contributions to the Igbohood floated before me.
The actions of these Igbo traitors reminded me that they were even toddlers when men were men. I also remembered that this group of people were cowards when we fought great battles for the growth of Igboland. In their parents' yam barns, they hid while we fought the foreign traitors of our land to a standstill.
Ignominiously, eminent contributors of our Igbohood have been lying waste and some dehumanized by the oppressors in collaboration with my kinsmen too young to be sons of those they humiliate. And to this writer, the most annoying part is that these my shameless kinsmen insultingly breathe into our faces the meaningless cliché "Orders from Above" as if we have no equal right to be in the "Above" and dish out the same order.
In fact, these my kinsmen derive pleasure in terrorizing their own because of mere pittance for their immediate pleasure. The main reason IBB said in 1992: "For Yorubas, we know their problems, and for the Igbos, we know their price".
During those my presidential dreams, my kinsmen and their cohorts would, after their disgrace and torture, drag me up and shove me out violently. One after the other, they would spit on me and warn: "Remain quiet and be warned not to stop us from getting our daily bread" from above (Aso Rock).
But despite all the dehumanizing treatment they gave me in my dream-presidential ambition, when I woke up, undaunted, I vowed that inside the grave will, I retreat to fight against the subjugation and destruction of the Igbo anytime, anywhere until that status quo is restored or the oppressors crushed.
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