Abuja returned to the front burner this week as I made my way back from a short trip to the UK. I had been sleeping out my jetlag when my phone was flooded with text messages and phone calls: A bomb blast in Abuja. It was all very foggy and I was still quite sleepy when all this was happening. I checked social media. Bedlam. Everywhere was awash with blood, shoes, smoke and mayhem. Buses, People waiting to go to work; early morning disaster; Babies, belongings, crowd, water, phones, everywhere. I held on to my bed and cried the painful cry of the deeply sorrowed. My heart sank, my hands trembled, my head ached and my throat ran dry. Speechless, I thought of all the dreams shattered that morning; Nigerians on their way to earn a living. Students on their way to an Easter play on the last day of school before the holiday. Nigerians, ordinary everyday Nigerians on their way to various places in their country…their nation, a place they were born, grew up, they were socialised… A place they call their own. Relations panicked, friends ran helter- skelter, ambulances, security personnel fire service. Pain, sorrow and more sorrow.
I cannot utter my heart on the page, the throbbing of blood vessels, the numbing of thoughts, the freezing of stares, as I play back that morning when my head, unclear, tried to grasp our situation, our collective tragedy.
I have read many books of the sorrowing, of the bereaved, of the broken, and I know what it’s like for a nation to wake up and find over 71 of its citizens decimated by persons who clearly have departed the familiar.
My heart goes out to the bereaved families and my prayers to the wounded, still in shock, still unable to believe their luck.
My heart goes out to our leaders; especially Mr. President who has to grapple with all of this and still be dignified in his grief for his citizens. I have wailed and sorrowed, I have worn my heart on my sleeve. It is hard to have to say to friends and family, I am safe, when I know that the death of one Nigerian diminishes us all.
I pray today that our brothers and sisters will have a change of heart and spare us these tragedies that are fast becoming a way of life.
What about the 100 helpless girls, abducted on their way to write an exam in the North East of Nigeria. I am even afraid to utter my thoughts. Kudos to the security operatives for rescuing at least 80 of them. Our prayers and hope go to the remaining eight girls still missing. Our hearts pound for them, our prayers go with them. Fingers crossed we will find them. No Nigerian child should go through what they have gone through; fear overwhelming them, their eyes seeing things forbidden.
Now to the Malaysian plane, MH 370 still missing and the ship that sank off the coast of South Korea with almost three hundred people still unaccounted for, mostly children still missing. I salute the rescue operation team for rescuing one hundred and seventy four persons. My heart is in my mouth. As a mother, my tears drop crystal clear to my chest. My face is moist will salty sadness.
As the world turns on its axis and media brings us close to each other, we contend daily with scary things and fearful thoughts. But we must resolve to rise above the things that undo us, the people that grind us to a halt and ask for the mercy of God and the ability to conquer our mountains, our Goliaths, those obstacles that keep us from rising. And as a man left his daughter who was leaving home for the first time at a train station said many years ago with love in his heart and trepidation of the unknown; I wish you fearlessness, kindness, charity, grace, courage and support. I wish you enough.
I know there are good people in Nigeria full of love and warmth and mirth. I know we will rise from the ashes of this pain and sadness. I have seen more good people in my country than bad and I know we will be whole again. I cry but I have hope. I wish us peace, I wish us love and today, I wish us enough.
Eugenia Abu
