Slaves In Our Own Land

Development, Stories 16/05/2020 by Ojotule Angela Omaji

Stay at home, wash your hands,  wear your mask (face) if you must come out. Stay at home they shouted now, remain locked down they shouted. Their voices echoed from miles away… They forgot how they opened our borders for the virus to come when we begged to close our borders. Our borders remained opened for profit, for foreigners to come in for business, for their friends, wives and children to return.

Our fathers wore chains as a sign of slavery, we wore a mask as ours barely breathing, slowly choking. What remained the same as with our forefathers, our leaders opened our borders and our masters came in…

And slowly, the virus took its time, it was not in a hurry to get in. In fact it could get in at anytime because our guards were down or rather sleeping. Like an uninvited guest it came in and refused to leave, it turned our lands to its. And became not only our landlords but told us to remain at home.

We who were once free, suddenly became prisoners in our own lands before we could even realise what was going. Like free birds suddenly realising it’s in a cage, with no escape route close insight. Our children could no longer go to school nor play on the streets. Adults fear to go out to work, the few that had the courage to go out wore a mask, barely breathing well. Our streets, churches, mosques, the market remained empty and desolate for the virus of our new landlords.

We were suddenly slaves again like our forefathers with a new master different from our father’s masters. Our fathers wore chains as a sign of slavery, we wore a mask as ours barely breathing, slowly choking. What remained the same as with our forefathers, our leaders opened our borders and our masters came in…