nco1984

Call it genocide, call it pogrom, the
epithet doesn't really matter. The
only axiomatic account is that
sometime between 1966 and
1967, the harmless and peace-
loving Easterners in d north, were
in cold blood hacked down by
their hitherto fellow compatriots.
Several calls were made by the
regional head of the easterners
for an end to d unprovoked
bloodshed of his subjects
'abroad' but to no avail. The death
toll kept rising in geomentric and
exponential proportion. Left with
no alternative, he summoned his
people home. On their way home,
the annihilation went on
unabated. In search of a solution
to halt the massacre and prevent
future occurence, he proclaimed a
separate government for his
people. Without hesitation, the
central government which did
virtually nothing while d ethnic
cleansing subsisted, opened up
the Federation's weaponry and
unleashed every sophisticated
arsenal therein on the innocent
easterners. Platoons of different
sizes, garrisons and battalions of
varied magnitudes were let loose
on my people. Blood flowed like
rivers, the best brains the country
could boast of were crushed,
foreign aids were blocked, the
little allowed were poisoned. My
people died died died!!! The few
women that survived it were
raped, the men taken hostage and
children left malnaurished and
unattended to. Quashiokor
became a common ailment. The
entire Igboland was flattened.
According to my father, the few of
them that returned met d hitherto
bubbling fatherland in rubbles.
There were mass graves
everywhere. And the few children
always sat on d graves thinking.
No single place of abode, no
economic tree, no drinking water,
no food, no clothing. U are either
looking for some members of ur
family or u might have lost them
all. When d war ended, insult was
added to injury and salt poured
into d bleeding hearts: every
single kobo owned in any bank
account by a Biafran was
compusorily seized, every single
property owned by a Biafran in
any part of d country was
compulsorily acquired. In order to
ensure that my people have little
life to experience d excruciating
pain inflicted on them, each family
was given twenty pounds so as to
prevent them from dying and
escaping d nashing of teeth. It
was a clear case of 'let's see how
they will survive it'. But being
naturally indestructible and
irrepressible, they survived it in
style. Today, they are not only
captains of many industries, or
the mitochondria of d nigerian
economy, they are once again
parading some best brains in
virtually all d spheres of d nigerian
nation-state. And this, expectedly
though, is beginning to engender
envy from our detractors. Jerry
Rawlings, Ado Bayero and other
dignitaries that graced the
prelude to Ojukwu's burial today
at Okpara Square in Enugu must
have been awed by the level of
transformative development that
Enugu; a fraction of the then
flattened Biafra represents.
Ezeigbo gburugburu, in ur
generation, u were d only one of
ur kind. Listening to ur recorded
voice quenches my thirst for
water. Reading about u can make
me go for one full week without
food. Watching u on tele makes
me forget a live el clasico going
on on supersport3. We count on
ur spiritual support as you hook
up with our ancestors. I invoke ur
enigmatic spirit to counteract this
poor network so that this little
piece of mine could be posted on
facebook!