Broken.

#19

In this simply and yes breathtaking post, we see our Motherland, a beautiful enviable woman, whose history is full of woes and pain. But whose future is full of peace and hope.

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I am green, I am fresh and I am beautiful. I am enveloped with so much greatness and bitterness but my inner self has riches immeasurable – gold, diamonds and glittering gems with weight that would bore holes big enough for peeping rats in the sacks of Ali Baba and the 40 thieves. I am like a dark skinned woman moulded and carved by the creator himself. Nature blessed me with a head held up high to signify the pride of my people, my antelope like neck- their graceful nature, my heavy bosom filled with milk- their natural resources, the colourful beads on my waist and patterns on my body -their diverse culture and art, unique in their own way but together makes the rainbow and sunset jealous.

I am charged with a duty never to be forsaken – the protector of my land and my children who may be of different colours and tongues but are of one heart. Underneath me came forth food, water and trees that served as shade from the sun and served as home for the birds but yet I still kept hidden, the treasures which were foretold to intoxicate men and bring about tears of joy and sorrow. The four forces of nature were at peace with one another and graced us abundantly with their beauty. Beauty that became a source of curiosity to others, I took with consolation- that I was hidden and my children were tagged uncivilised but was weary of the change that was soon to come. Change that I knew was like a beautiful calabash with leaks. I was worried of the hidden evil, yet expectant of the good for like every mother, I wanted light for my children.

Gently and with the caution of a thief preying at dark, children from another mother visited mine. They came bearing shining gifts cloaked in religion, trade, education and culture. You, my beautiful ones forgot your gods, your tradition, your values and my council but sank in every word from their honey like tongues, believing without querying and soon they became superior in your mothers land. Yes, they brought good tidings but they also put you in chains, stripped you naked and sold you to strangers. You watched as they put up boundaries and allowed them to rob you of your dignity and love for your other brothers. Like skilled farmers they sowed seeds of anarchy and hatred amongst you to satisfy their own lust for domination, power and riches.

Angry and with despair I went to slumber and in my slumber, treasures hidden from your eyes were discovered together with its seductive power. Black liquid gold, a treasure that possessed the power of transformation, transformation into value and power. I was once without a name but as I slept I was christened NIGERIA. During my slumber my people and land suffered but they also prospered, and when they summoned up courage, after a wait of eternity, noble brave men helped purge my land from the milk coloured men you call your masters. I would be eternally grateful for the change and development that now is, but despise them for as they left, they left behind the greed, injustice, anarchy, corruption and all evil vices now rooted deep into your hearts and have been transferred from generation to generation, even to suckling babes. Brothers fighting against brothers under the cloak of borrowed religion. School girls abducted and taken away from the embrace and solace of their mothers arms, even I still weep for my arms are weak and weary from waiting for you.

The old refuses to let the young breathe like able bodied men, your leaders neglect you instead of shepherding you. I am in pain for the cries which woke me up have refused to abate but wail in louder notes, singing a song of despair and the fear of tomorrow. You are beautiful and bursting with so much potential so, why let others belittle you when you can defy gravity? Why do you sing songs with words you do not mean? Why give hope to your children and dash it alongside their sigh of relief? Why do you hate the man next door because of his tongue? Why clamour for change when you have refused to change? So much hatred and prejudice, so much poverty and suffering from a land with immeasurable wealth aside from the black gold which has struck you blind why? What happened to the hot black blood running through your veins? Why do you speak the truth while wearing masks?

Why? Why? Why so many questions?.

I am now wide awake, I am still like that beautiful maiden but I am broken. My beautiful ebony skin is broken with bruises, bruises from slavery, deceit, freedom fight, civil war, injustice, terrorism, hatred… oh! I am tired of the hurt for your tears make my wounds sting with pain. My feet are no longer firmly rooted on the soil I am proud to call my own, rather I am flying from corner to corner looking for where to call my own, looking for how to soothe your pains and my pains, but first you must listen to your brothers’ cry and mend his broken calabash. It is only then can you find freedom from the captivity of greed and selfishness. I can only heal as nature heals through love, love to yourself and love to your neighbour, including the ragged man you turn your nose away from as you walk down the street. Drop your arms and let love into your hearts only then can you heal and peace settle in your abode, only then can your true wealth be revealed.

Several moons have passed since your first struggle from the milk coloured men and as you are about to celebrate that struggle you must bear in mind, the new struggle to redeem yourselves, together let us rebuild this land like the walls of Jerusalem, hand in hand and arms entwined in arms singing songs of unity and breaking chains of captivity. Give me a land to rest my feet on.

I AM GREEN, I AM WHITE AND I AM GREEN. I AM NIGERIA AND NIGERIA IS YOU. 

Written by Constance Onyeji-Jarett

Follow her on twitter: 

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40 thoughts on “Broken.

  1. Lovely job.. I see the blend of and ode and elements of an epic. Pronounced lamentations but not sorrow with the glitters of hope for tomoro. Close to a dramatic monologue.. Absolutely lovely sparkzzz.

  2. It’s impossible to decipher the author’s feeling – defiance, sorrow, hope, nostalgia or good old grumble, as the author is unwilling to take us deep into any of these feelings. The language has to be violent (passionate) enough to stir any strong feelings, and it fails to do that. Because of this, the poem/prose/writeup looses the voice of its message (found in the last paragraph) and hence its effect on me.

    A bit of focus on one theme might have helped make this more beautiful.

    1. I wasn’t having a particular feeling.. Ther was definitely happiness, sorrow and then hope. I should hve made the transition clearer tho I dnt get quite wt you mean by sticking to a theme. But since you got the message finally ll take consolation in that and then go back and make amends.. Thanks

  3. Beautiful piece. Finding the right words to blend while not sounding compromising, patronising or utterly hopeless is difficult. This Author achieved that. I would like to read more of her!

  4. Consy, I didn’t know you could write like this. Well done! The use of words is also good and fluent.
    But like Josoft said, you could have drawn your audience in with more emotions. Secondly, a piece this beautiful should be adorned with verses. There were lines strong enough to stand on their own and pull deeper meaning, not left to be lost in a whole paragraph where the reader rushes off to read the next sentence.
    In conclusion, message received.
    Well done again. Write more often

    1. This kinda comment from moskeda herself mkes me want to jump into the sky. Woooooah… I have homework to do tho.. Thanks a lot for the points… And I definitely would write more

  5. …Consy has penned down another wow piece…So much love the way u played arnd with words especially from other famous tales. Though i feel if the emotion clearly depicted the transitions of d different stages of Nigeria, it would be a more fun reading experience. Thumbs Up, and can’t to read your next piece

  6. ….Consy has penned down another wow piece…So much love the way u played arnd with words especially from other famous tales. Though i feel if the emotion clearly depicted the transitions of d different stages of Nigeria, it would be a more fun reading experience. Thumbs Up, and can’t to read your next piece..

  7. nice piece, enuf to give ‘her children’ hope. but wen did her hiding her resources become a good thing or d resources denselve evil?

    1. SomT I feel smthns are hidden to be revealed at the right time and the time we discovered oil was like at the beginning of our corruption and what have you which I like to say we learnt from the milk coloured guys…

  8. Dynamic and positive one we have here Conzy; such combining of thoughts and expressions. It takes the form of an interchange between a soloist and a group, who provoke and encourage each other. Singing through the storms of history. Beautiful.

  9. the best part of it for me is “give me a land to rest my feet on”.. this is beautiful, although you tried to do more than one emotion at the same time (which is not impossible).. I think if you focused on one particular emotion; anger perhaps, it will be even more powerful…

    but I love this, I should take lessons from you…

  10. Powerful message evoking deep emotion, I would concur with Sally, this should have been in verses…

    Too poetic and deeper message inherent in it than to gloss over it.

    To say I fell in love with this piece is an understatement. Kindly approve the rebllog boss.

    1. Thank you.. As for too poetic and all poetry wasn’t in my mind when I was doing this.but note taken.. As for reblog permission granted,ll hit you up on twitter…

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