All life is precious

All life is precious. True. The tug between forgiveness, mercy and forgetting wrongs is a difficult one for us to manage. If you have seen the robbers operating and robbing you of physical things, invading your person privacy and depriving you of memories and replacing them with fear, screams and shivers; when they kill a robber or an insurgent, you will not batt an eye. However as you pointed out, they are human. The are created by God and they also have blood running in their veins. If you have to deal with your child whose future, body and soul had been destroyed by drugs, and you are left with a shell to manage and make something of and you watch daily his potentials remaining unfulfilled as you fight to retrieve him from pains, spasms and the vacant looks in his eyes, then when you hear of drug dealers and couriers shot you feel nothing. However, it takes God’s grace for you to forgive and see the humanity of those who are inhuman.

Growing. Changing.

Dark. Bloated. Charred. With bits of pink peeping through vast areas of burnt flesh.

I saw a corpse this morning.

Unceremoniously dumped beside an electricity pole. Partially covered with sacks and wood planks.

Clearly, the perpetrators of the act were somewhat considerate of the sensibilities of the faint hearted.

Mr K said that it has become common practice for vigilantes within the slums to kill the robbers they apprehend. “They consider it to be for the greater good,” he said.

“You can’t understand!” T said. “Wait till you are robbed of your hard earned resources. Only then will you understand.”

“The police will release him if they take him there alive. Way too much corruption in Nigeria. Way too much crime. Better to get rid of him. Solve the problem permanently,” Mr B said.

Him. He was alive. He was human.

Are we?


Human. Inhuman.


My brother, Onoolapo…

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