Ozubulu By Mitterand Okorie
Ozubulu
By Mitterand Okorie
I want to write. But I feel mentally drained. Ndigbo. Our problems are
multifaceted. The fixation with external foes (real or imagined) has
taken our gaze away from the mirror. We have to take a long, hard look
at that mirror again.
I know, other Nigerians are quick to use such tragedies as an occasion to stick it up to us a la "that is who they are; money and violence". These things don't even get at me anymore. I also don't think we should get too defensive about these things either. You become evasive even about the real problems.
Of course, all Nigerian people have problems, but I live and work in Igboland, my friends live here, my parents live here, I work and earn a living here, I have to be concerned. I am, indeed, very worried.
Again, these taunts doesn't bother me much. Who doesn't know we are the ethnic group with the fewest friends? Yet, anyone discerning enough must also pause and ask, what are we doing to ourselves as opposed to what has been done to us?
Ruthless individualism has brought the chicken home to roost. We are not a bad people. But we need to ask where it all went wrong? We used to be a people who cared about collective interest? A people who asked questions about people's source of wealth? A people who maintained a critical distance towards important issues? Character used to matter to us.
If our post-war challenges led us into ruthless individualism, our complacency amplified the consequences. .
We didn't imagine kidnapping was going to be such a big problem. And
suddenly, it became a big business, a cancer, festering, cutting down
people in their prime, dislocating many, tearing families apart. Yet in
some of these places where kidnappers kept hostages, people lived among
them, people served the hostages food, people cooked for the criminals.
They were our people.
Now a senseless drug war which had no origins in Ozubulu has found its way there. Innocent folks, dead over what they have no idea about.
I saw a handful of people expressing shock yesterday. Why are we shocked? That the killers did it in a church? Would it have made any difference if they did it in a mall? Two months ago, I finished reading Roberto Savanio's book: Zero Zero Zero, a magnus opus of sort when it comes to understanding cocaine and its global and economic implications.
From Naples, to Medellin, to Guadalajara, drug wars and drug money does nothing but leave a trail of sorrow, tears and blood. It poisons everywhere and everything it comes in contact with, wiping out families, cutting down anything that moves. Cartels have no sanctity for anything whatsoever. Nothing is sacred.
Before now, our only understanding of ill wealth was that "this was something that happened in foreign countries, it did not concern us." There were no consequences, we thought. Once you can build your own skyscraper in your hometown, you had arrived. Our reactions legitimised these things.
Time to wake and smell the coffee. There is only so long ruthless individualism can take a people, before it goes horribly bad. It has long gone horribly wrong. And more danger looms.
May the souls of the Ozubulu victims find rest.
I know, other Nigerians are quick to use such tragedies as an occasion to stick it up to us a la "that is who they are; money and violence". These things don't even get at me anymore. I also don't think we should get too defensive about these things either. You become evasive even about the real problems.
Of course, all Nigerian people have problems, but I live and work in Igboland, my friends live here, my parents live here, I work and earn a living here, I have to be concerned. I am, indeed, very worried.
Again, these taunts doesn't bother me much. Who doesn't know we are the ethnic group with the fewest friends? Yet, anyone discerning enough must also pause and ask, what are we doing to ourselves as opposed to what has been done to us?
Ruthless individualism has brought the chicken home to roost. We are not a bad people. But we need to ask where it all went wrong? We used to be a people who cared about collective interest? A people who asked questions about people's source of wealth? A people who maintained a critical distance towards important issues? Character used to matter to us.
If our post-war challenges led us into ruthless individualism, our complacency amplified the consequences. .
We didn't imagine kidnapping was going to be such a big problem. And
suddenly, it became a big business, a cancer, festering, cutting down
people in their prime, dislocating many, tearing families apart. Yet in
some of these places where kidnappers kept hostages, people lived among
them, people served the hostages food, people cooked for the criminals.
They were our people. Now a senseless drug war which had no origins in Ozubulu has found its way there. Innocent folks, dead over what they have no idea about.
I saw a handful of people expressing shock yesterday. Why are we shocked? That the killers did it in a church? Would it have made any difference if they did it in a mall? Two months ago, I finished reading Roberto Savanio's book: Zero Zero Zero, a magnus opus of sort when it comes to understanding cocaine and its global and economic implications.
From Naples, to Medellin, to Guadalajara, drug wars and drug money does nothing but leave a trail of sorrow, tears and blood. It poisons everywhere and everything it comes in contact with, wiping out families, cutting down anything that moves. Cartels have no sanctity for anything whatsoever. Nothing is sacred.
Before now, our only understanding of ill wealth was that "this was something that happened in foreign countries, it did not concern us." There were no consequences, we thought. Once you can build your own skyscraper in your hometown, you had arrived. Our reactions legitimised these things.
Time to wake and smell the coffee. There is only so long ruthless individualism can take a people, before it goes horribly bad. It has long gone horribly wrong. And more danger looms.
May the souls of the Ozubulu victims find rest.
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