Okoeku, a quiet village in Igalamela/Odolu Local Government, now bears the scars of a crime that has seared itself into the conscience of Nigeria. Two siblings—symbols of innocence and promise—were raped and murdered by unidentified Fulani herdsmen whose arrival was as abrupt as a thunderclap on a clear afternoon. In response, Fulani leaders and elders from nearby Oforachi convened with the community, urging calm and pledging that the perpetrators would be produced. Yet for a grieving family and a shaken populace, such assurances feel like planting seeds in scorched earth—unlikely to take root without the immediate water of justice.
This tragedy is not an isolated aberration; it mirrors a broader national crisis in which the refrain “Don’t let us die” has become a desperate plea from Eti Aja, Dekina markets to Jos farmlands. Insecurity stalks the land like an untamed predator, striking without warning. Hunger tightens its grip on households, inflation erodes livelihoods, and the bonds of communal trust fray daily. As Desmond Tutu cautioned, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.” Inaction in such moments is not neutrality—it is complicity.
The wounds of Okoeku are the wounds of the nation. Once, brotherly love bound diverse communities in mutual trust; now suspicion prowls where harmony once dwelt. The Igala proverb warns, “When the chameleon enters the king’s palace, it walks gently, knowing the ground is not its own.” But here, strangers have not walked gently—they have trampled on the very soul of the community. Across Nigeria, similar violations hollow out the social fabric, like termites silently eroding the beams of a house that once stood firm.
The Nigerian state, envisioned as a shield for its people, too often watches from a distance as its citizens bleed. From farmlands abandoned in fear to urban wages insufficient to purchase a bag of rice, the social contract has been systematically breached. Jean-Jacques Rousseau once wrote, “The first duty of a state is to care for its citizens,” yet injustice festers and the vulnerable remain exposed. As Martin Luther King Jr. observed, “Peace is not merely the absence of tension; it is the presence of justice.”
Dialogue, though necessary, cannot substitute for decisive action. In Okoeku, it demands that the culprits be found and brought before the law before grief hardens into vengeance. Nationally, it calls for transforming security from a rhetorical promise into lived reality, ensuring food security, and dismantling corruption at its roots. Victor Hugo’s timeless truth resounds: “There is nothing more powerful than an idea whose time has come.” The time for Nigeria’s rescue is now, not tomorrow.
History will not absolve leaders who, faced with the choice between indifference and intervention, chose the former. Nigeria stands at a critical juncture: one path leads to renewal, the other to ruin. The decision lies in the hands of those entrusted with authority, but the weight will be borne by the people. In the reverberating cry— “Don’t let us die”—lies the ultimate test of leadership: to safeguard life, restore dignity, and ensure that the dirge of a dying nation never becomes our shared legacy.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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