On the Path to Perdition (Part I)

Everything I see about me is sowing the seeds of a revolution that is inevitable, though I shall not have the pleasure of seeing it. The lightning is so close at hand that it will strike at the first chance, and then there will be a pretty uproar. The young are fortunate, for they will see fine things Voltaire

This piece is a timely warning to the Old Nicks – the devils – operating the Nigerian political machine; the incarnates of Satan who have ruthlessly defiled the Nigerian State and transformed her into an entity akin to the one depicted in Anthony Hope’s “Kingdom of Ruritania” series (1896; 1894; 1894) . It is dedicated to the merciless mercenaries who have ridden on the ignorance and docility of Nigerians to feed fat on their resources and trample their liberties. It became pertinent following some very frightening visions I had one faithful night about some gory events that would inevitably unfold if the pitiful state of the Nigerian State remains the way it is; scary visions of blood, tears, misery and death. So, what exactly did I see?

The opening phase of my vision revealed a large map of Nigeria sitting majestically atop a high mountain. Next, I saw a group of brightly appareled individuals dragging a multitude dressed in rags behind them in chains. The group in chains was intermittently wiped, cursed and ordered to “keep moving” by its tormentors; all pleas for mercy by the oppressed souls were bluntly rebuffed by their masters. At this juncture, a serene voice pointed out to me that “the oppressed multitudes you see are fellow Nigerians and the well-attired group maltreating them is the oppressive segment of the political class”. This revelation was quite baffling, but more was still to come.

Suddenly, I saw the well-appareled group brandishing some crude weapons – cutlasses, hoes, sledge-hammers, cudgels et al – with which they started defacing the Nigerian map. While the cannibalization of the map was going on, a tiny faction separated itself from the group and attempted pushing the map off the mountain top. At this juncture, raucous sounds of fetters breaking off, coupled with shouts of “freedom” erupted in the slave camp. Then, a new group of individuals mounted on green and white coloured Stallions broke through the steel fortifications of the slave camp, freed and armed the now liberated slaves with more sophisticated weapons — Assault Rifles, Grenades, Rocket Launchers etc — than those of their lords, and led a great Calvary charge against the slave masters and the group destroying the Nigerian map. The following scenes were more horrifying.

Next, I saw the purple-clad enemies of the state being dragged on the bare floor and burnt alive on stakes. I heard screams of agony from the wounded, hisses of self-pity and regret from the incarcerated, and heart wrenching pleas from the captured. I saw mighty men being reduced to nothing; saw the wealthy being dispossessed of their possessions; saw the once powerful thrusting about in defeat; saw rulers being chased out of their mansions by angry mobs; saw lots of dark smoke everywhere, as everything belonging to the old brigade was destroyed in a blazing inferno. The eyes of the rich and powerful darted around for help, but none was forthcoming. There was palpable fear in their eyes; that emasculating kind of fear that saps the hardest of men of their manhood: “Heard I known”, “I should have listened”, “this should not be happening to me”, “God please save us”, I heard some of them muttering under labored breadths. These were pitiable sights, indeed; sights of the miserable depths to which the once powerful had sunk; graphic images of the emptiness of power when it is lost; picturesque representations of all that is vain and inglorious.

Another shocking sight was that of the security forces – the military, police, et al – turning against their masters and mowing them down like unwanted weeds; scenes of the armed forces, allying with the people’s army as they matched on the Bastilles of power, battering them down in a blaze of patriotic fury. I saw a lot of calamity befalling Nigeria’s ruling class; saw the forceful toppling of the political establishment by the victims of its cruelties; saw a very angry mob confronting the security forces with nothing but their sheer will; saw the poor casting off their fears and rising up against their oppressors. There was pandemonium everywhere.


Finally, I saw the select group of individuals, who had earlier liberated the slaves from the concentration camp, at the head of a mighty crowd all dressed in Nigeria’s national colours, singing joyful choruses in celebration of the defeat of the old brigade. I heard shouts of “victory for the masses” and “peace in Nigeria”, from the crowd. It was a more heartwarming scenario, compared to the previous scary ones; a pleasing relief from the bloody scenes that had held me spellbound while they lasted; a welcome escape from the symphonies of death and destruction that had held the members of the ruling class in their trancelike grip. I watched these spectacles with trepidation, as I wondered what they all meant.

Written by
Jude Obuseh
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