If you die a soldier in combat you’d be called brave, it is a privilege to go forth a hero. When you die for a cause you understand, you know without a doubt there are blessings in the grave, No man dies for something if he's certain there’s nothing to gain. But when you die as I did, in the middle of a conflict that is not your own, you die a figure; "One of ten", "one of hundreds", ONE!.Caught between the cross fire, you become another anonymous tomb stone. No medals, no mementos. You get a place in the local dailies, as another random doctored index. Your household will mourn, the nation might grumble, and life will go on.
I am one of the many who have gone. I am the nameless bodies littering the streets of Baga, I am the children massacred in the school in Yobe, I lie headless on the streets of Maidugri, I am a captive in the forest of Sambisa. I am in every place blood is shed, reported and unreported. I am one.
Those conversations you have about how the blood shed has gone on too long, where you sound passionate but know deep within talk is all it would be, I had them too. I spoke of how "somebody had to do something" I forgot I was someone. A frown creased my brow with every new story, I was livid at the killings but secretly I was pleased neither I nor anyone I treasured was a victim, till I became one.
Those conversations you have about how the blood shed has gone on too long, where you sound passionate but know deep within talk is all it would be, I had them too. I spoke of how "somebody had to do something" I forgot I was someone. A frown creased my brow with every new story, I was livid at the killings but secretly I was pleased neither I nor anyone I treasured was a victim, till I became one.
I could have spoken out louder, but I didn't. We should have protested, but we didn't. They promised to protect us, but they haven’t. I understand we have to live, and as long as we are alive we think empathy for the dead is enough. Sadly, it isn't.
I am telling you this today so you would do what I couldn't; save yourselves, save your children. To tell you there is no honor dying a victim of circumstance. You will only be a number in a well written condolence message, a shadow in the beer parlor conversations, a thought behind a broadcast message. You will only be one. A lingering memory of terror that has fallen. Fire burns as quickly as it burns far when it is left unattended. In the embrace of insecurity we are all potential victims.
Daisy Odey.
Daisy Odey.
