When Tempers Flare

Bloody riots broke out yet again in the Northern parts of Nigeria which is Muslim predominated. This time the catalyst that lit fire to this inexplicable outburst of pre-existing prejudice was the purported cartooning of Prophet Mohammed in faraway Denmark.

Southerners, majorly Christians were maimed and killed-I'll spare the gory details. This continued unabated, and on the third day a truck brought back 106 bodies to the southern city of Onitsha, most of which had their parts dismembered. Tears flowed freely from all that beheld the regrettable sight, yet no amount of wailing made the dead to stir. Those who hitherto doubted the capacity of the blood bath as being reported by the media were then overly convinced. The youths in Onitsha who felt that the government was doing little to squash the ongoing brutality against Christians, took up clubs and machetes and went hunting for northern Muslims; many of who had anticipated the reprisal attacks and had gone into hiding, but few others who defied common sense and remained on the streets were killed.

My village, Igboukwo, is not too far from Onitsha so by few hours past noon, the reprisals have seeped into it. I was entering my father's compound when I heard voices like sea tides surge towards me. I looked back and saw 6 Northerners running furiously and behind them were irate youths hot on their heels, hurling stones as they pursued. Reaching where I stood, the eldest amongst them-breathing laboriously-said to me in my dialect and with an unwavering accent. 'Please don't let us die, please I beg you my son!' Behind them I saw the mob gather pace. Just then a well hurled piece of stone crashed onto the head of one of them; it nudged him dizzily into waiting arms. The sight of warm trickling flow of blood from his bruised skull erased every reservation I had against them. I quickly opened my gate and when they had run in, I padlocked the Iron Gate and threw the key over the tall fence while I stood back braving the approaching mob.

Seeing what I had done, their voices heightened. Then did the import of what I was likely to face dawn on me; I immediately felt like I was going to urinate on my pants. When they had gotten to me, they addressed me in father's name-a respected name in my village. They commanded me to give up those I had given refuge or they'd break down the gate and spill their blood right inside my compound. I swallowed hard but still stood my ground staring into their eyes filled with pain and vengeance. I persuaded them to listen to me so I can talkto them briefly. They agreed to my request, only on the condition that the last decision was theirs to make.

"Our people have a saying that-two persons cannot go mad at the same time, there ought to be one sane enough to help the other regain his lost senses-so my people we can't allow ourselves go mad with violence also. Retaliating barbarically on these innocent Muslims that speak our dialect, eat and have lived among us peacefully for so long is utterly senseless and won't lead to a reasonable change up north. My people let us not allow our emotions rule our actions but let us listen to our conscience and think deeply before casting stones." I spoke to them at length until I started seeing contorted faces straighten, clubs and stones dropped on the floor. It was absolutely miraculous.

I ended with these words-"I have no doubt that these ones if spared will endeavor to enlighten their brothers in the north; I believe that they will also repay this gesture in kind, to our own people whenever and wherever they have the opportunity to."

This was how providence used me to kill the nascent reprisal that stretched into my village; not a single northerner was killed. Since then I have gained so much affection from northerners who still reside peacefully in Igboukwo. I'm also favored with free sticks of Sugarcane-a plant largely cultivated in the Northern Nigeria-from my northern friends each time I happen to be in our local Nkwo market. This singular event has greatly inspired me to be an advocate of peaceful co-habitation of people allover the world, irrespective of differences in creed, tribe and tongue. I may not have had the opportunity to instill this into all men but I have started with people I meet daily. There is beauty in diversity.