What Story Will They Tell?

WHAT STORY WILL THEY TELL?

What will they say?
What history will they share?
I tell of my childhood with nostalgia-
How I lived free though within the confines of discipline;
I walked to school among other children;
I boarded public transport facilities not blinking an eye;
I stayed with neighbours when family was not around, and feared no abuse;
I ate with other children in a communal sense;
I even had the opportunity to take risks on life.
My public school had a counseling unit, a sick bay and a long bus driven by ‘bros Ten the Driver’;
My school had me, son of an average Nigerian, and sons of Ambassadors, top government officials and expatriates;
I had hopes I could become whatever I wanted, at least until things took a bad turn.

But they?
What story will they tell?
Will they miss this childhood someday in the future?
Will they tell of freedom woven with the thread of discipline?
Wil they tell that the streets were safe and they could walk all alone?
Will they tell that the public facilities were secure and they feared no assaults or death?
Will they tell that everyone took responsibility for the wellbeing of everyone else?
Will they tell that they attended schools where they were top priority?
Will they tell of a society where there was equality and everyone had hopes?

What will they tell?
I tell of a childhood where I breathed good air;
I did not even know such words as kidnapping, banditry, and a phrase like ‘unknown gun men’;
Boda* Nafiu was a member of the YMCA of my church and Boda Majeed used my church hall as his library- both of them were Moslems;
I played football with others on the premises of our community mosque and I washed with the ablution tap water, and even used the sound system in the minaret- I was a Christian;
We knew very little differences between the Christian, Moslem and Traditional religious festivities;
We knew ourselves as humans and Nigerians;
The facility manager of my church in Ibadan was ‘baba Udoh’ from the then Cross River State;
The principal of my sister’s school was also from the then Cross River State;
We traveled by train and by road to Kaduna and back as we visited our Soldier father;
We had nothing to fear- indeed, our only definition of fear was reverence for God, Parents and Authorities.

What will they tell?
Will they forget that in Port Harcourt, South- South of Nigeria, they could not breathe fresh air because of illegal refining of oil?
Will they forget that some girls were kidnapped from their school in Chibok, North- East, and never returned to their loved ones?
Will they forget that they were forced to see themselves first along ethnic, religious and class lines before as Nigerians?
Will they forget that as Christian children they could not afford to identify with Christianity in some parts of the North or they would be killed?
Will they forget that as Northern children growing up in the South they were stigmatized as bigots, fanatics, Boko Haram, ‘aboki’,  and as killer herdsmen?
Will they forget that where you were from and whom you knew, not what you knew, were what determined what you became?
Will they forget that they never saw trains move because some unscrupulous citizens stole the rail lines?
Will they forget that they had everything to fear but God, Parents, and Authorities?
What story will they tell?

Happy children’s Day.

* Boda is a word added to the name of an older male as a sign of respect in the South- West Nigeria.