An Elegy for the departed Ajuwaya

During the 2003 elections, I was a Youth Corper, serving in a small town called Akwanga, in Nasarawa State. I worked as an electoral officer in one of the adjoining villages under the Akwanga district. Considering the confirmed slaying of up to fifty Youth Corpers in the skirmishes that welcomed last Saturday’s elections, I shudder at the thought of what might have happened to me on that fateful day in that village.

The village had no motorable access road, therefore only commercial motorcycles transported people to the village and back to the township. I took a bike to the village very early to man my post that fateful day. I met the other electoral officers; I informed them that I was the corper posted to that village to supervise the election process. They had been waiting for me, and we promptly started the day’s operations. It was not a very big village and so there were not much problems. As the voting started and progressed, a young man, unkempt in appearance had come to cast his ballot, but the voter’s card he held was not his own, as the picture on it showed it was someone else. There were three of us monitoring the elections. The other two spoke Hausa fluently but I didn’t. I noticed the first electoral officer engaged the youth in a discussion and passed the card over to the next officer beside me, the man looked at the card, uttered some Hausa words and passed the card to me, telling me in English to check the card and see if I would allow the young man to vote with the card. I checked the voter’s card and immediately saw it did not belong to the youth who brought it, and I promptly told the officers not to allow him to vote as the card was not his. The youth was unhappy and spoke in Hausa to the two electoral officers again, his voice getting louder and more agitated. I didn’t understand what he was saying, but his body language and tone suggested he was half-appealing, and half-demanding that he be allowed to vote with the card. The officers approached me again and pleaded with me to allow him vote and “carry his wahala away.” I was much younger than I am now, having more courage than common sense at the time. I insisted he could not vote with the card, I turned to him and told him to leave the platform as he could not vote with the card. The youth looked at me, fastened his gaze on me and walked away, muttering bitterly as he went.

I thought that was the end of the matter until about an hour later, when we got some respite from the thronging populace who were anxious to vote, I noticed that the youth had returned with a crowd of more youths like himself and they were standing less than 20 feet from where we were seated conducting the elections. Every one of them was looking at me with a mean expression. The particular youth I had refused voting rights stood in front of them all; his jaw tightened and his gaze fastened on me. At that instant, a cold chill went through my body. I do not think that I have ever been as afraid as I was that day, at that instant. In one split second I realized what had happened. If anything went wrong at that polling booth, I was a goner. All they needed was an excuse for a stampede, and they would unleash violence, with me being a primary target. I trembled on my seat. There was no policeman on sight. I lost my composure and could hardly do what I was required to do with concentration anymore. I was expecting that anytime soon, sharp metals could be buried in my skinny body and I cringed at the thought. Why would I come all the way from Ilesa in Osun state, after a lifetime of struggling with my parents to graduate from school, only to be slaughtered by these die-hard youths? I remembered my parents. I imagined the agony they would go through. My mind was in turmoil. Was this going to be my last day on earth, I thought.

Fortunately for me, everything went peacefully at that polling station that day. The young men who had gathered were leaving one by one, leaving a handful less than five still standing there. Still I was absolutely uncomfortable. I thought of beckoning to the youth to come and cast his vote after all, but some last tinge of pride in me refused. By 2pm that day, the rush had died down, no more voters were coming and the exercise was effectively over. We counted the votes; I wrote the things I had to write, for I dared not wait till the evening time when we were supposed to officially end the process. I rushed the things I had to do, and handed over to the officer next to me telling him I had to rush back to Akwanga. At that instant I couldn’t care less if they were going to tamper with the votes or not; I waited anxiously on my seat until the next bike arrived; as he dropped his passenger and turned to leave, I called out to him to wait, I hopped off the elevated balcony of the Primary School building we were on and mounted the bike in a split second. The bike man muttered something about his price, I simply asked him to move. “Move!” I yelled at him. The whole thing happened fast, the bike man sped off, I didn’t even look back as we left the village speeding down the dusty path back to Akwanga!

When I remember that story, and consider the fate of the 27 Corpers in Bauchi who lay dead today as a result of their participation in monitoring elections last Saturday, I quake within me and cannot help but thank the almighty God who spared my life that day. Although that election was not as tensely contested as this one, I still give glory to God, for I could easily have been killed that day, had there been any riot, or stampede in that village.

Yet, my joy is limited, as I imagine the agony, pain, sorrow and grief that the families of the dead corpers must be going through right now. Many of these corpers were sent to school through thick and thin. Some on the last kobo their parents could raise. Many parents in Nigeria would rather wear rags than watch their children not go to school. Many parents literally poured all their life’s earnings and even pensions and gratuities into sponsoring their children through the University or Polytechnic. I for one had to join my mother in the Atakunmosa market days in Ilesa every two weeks to get enough money to sustain through my HND program. From Ado-Ekiti I would rush down to join her in the big market on the major market days to sell her wares, biscuits, sweets and all what none. By 4 or 5 pm when the pressure of the day was winding down she would give me some money and I would be off back to Ado-Ekiti armed with the little stipend she could raise until the next two weeks came. How on earth would she have coped if after all that sacrifice and struggle, some mindless youths killed me because of NYSC and elections? I know of a certainty that my mother would never have recovered from it. And same goes for many of the parents and guardians of these corpers who lay slain in the Northern part of Nigeria.

I am extremely sad at this ugly development, for this in fact is not the first time. The Jos crises had taken its toll on corpers lately too. A corper reportedly spoke on the phone with his elder brother who was in Lagos as he was pursued in Jos by his killers, until they caught up with him and slaughtered him. The bewildered brother went into a state of shock as he listened on the phone to the shouts and cries of his kid brother being slain in far away Jos. What sort of country have we become? How can Nigeria be transformed like this? Our nation has become a vampire, sucking the blood of the innocent. Do we expect God to be happy with this nation? Will the blood of the innocent slain not call judgment on this land? And what about the parents of the victims? Those who had poured their entire lives into their wards looking forward to a future where they would be rewarded back by their successful children, if such ones place a curse on this land, will the heavens not back it up?

It is on the back of this that I believe the time has come for justice to prevail over this matter. This country has no right to send people to serve her if she is not willing and able to protect them from unnecessary death and destruction. It is high time the NYSC scheme is adjusted to suit the realities of the present day Nigeria. We call for justice for the families of the slain corpers whose blood and flesh litter the soil of Nigeria. This nation gave them nothing, but has taken everything from them. This nation invested not a dime in them but has wasted the years and sweat of investment in the lives of these young ones. A time comes when a people must say No, common sense must prevail, enough is enough!

NYSC, protect our children, or stop sending them to places where they are not welcome. Provide an insurance cover for the lives of our corpers or don’t bother trying to integrate them into cultures that end up feeding up on their flesh like vultures. Stop breaking the hearts of aged parents who are forced to bury their own sons and daughters.

This is the time to test our democracy. In the 1960s in faraway USA, Muhammad Ali refused to be drafted into the US army because he declared the Vietnamese had done nothing to offend him; he went to court, he lost and he was jailed and stripped of his title. But at least, his voice was heard, and he was not forced to go to the war against his own will. That is a democracy! Nigerian youths, the time has come to test our democracy! This is real life Nigeria that concerns you and I and our friends. We must make and press home demands that will wake the government of Nigeria up to their responsibility and save generations of our youth from untimely and gory death. I propose the following adjustments to be done to NYSC as soon as possible:

1. NYSC should henceforth be made optional for Nigerian graduates.

2. NYSC must insure the life of every corper who dies in transit in obedience to the clarion call to the tune of N1million.

3. NYSC must pay N10 million to the family of any corper who gets killed in any ethno-religious crisis or electoral violence.

These demands we lay on the federal government of Nigeria, a wealthy government that does few constructive things with the billions of dollars placed in its care. You gave us sub-standard education, our parents paid through their noses for this sub-standard education, yet you would require our service but end up snuffing the life out of our friends and mates? No! When it dawns on this government that for every 27 corpers that were killed in Bauchi, they would have to pay a whopping N270million, they will wake up to their responsibility by ensuring that the lives of Youth Corpers are adequately protected even if they have to release a whole barrack of soldiers to do so. Please join me on Facebook to sign my petition by liking this page http://www.facebook.com/pages/100000-Youths-call-for-Justice-for-the-family-of-slain-Youth-Corpers/209127655772231?sk=wall or simply search for “100,000 Youths call for Justice for the families of slain Youth Corpers”, and you will be on the page, click “like” on the page to add your voice to this petition. When we attain up to 100,000 members, concrete steps shall be taken to forward this petition to the federal government and the National Assembly and demand the passage of a bill that would concede to the above demands.

I recollect the NYSC anthem which goes thus “Youths obey the clarion call; let us lift our nation high; under the sun or in the rain; with dedication and selflessness; Nigeria is ours, Nigeria we serve!” Well, I have an elegy to render for the departed souls on whose behalf I write this article. My elegy goes thus: “They were called with a clarion call and they obeyed. They lifted Nigeria high, despite the fact that Nigeria has never taken care of them or nursed any plans for them; Nigeria was never theirs, for Nigeria gave them nothing, yet took everything from them. They were dedicated, they were selfless, they served Nigeria, but Nigeria was not dedicated, selfish and never served them back. May their humble souls rest in perfect peace”.