THE AGENTS OF CASUALTIES It was on Wednesday, a madness moment when thousand of people, especially union of traders and drivers, took to the street to say no to indiscriminately killing of their members. The market women were not found wanting in the protest staged on every street across the country. Placards were endless with different inscriptions on them; the unemployed youths demanded equal opportunity for all, because the scarce space was left for politician associates and likes. The driver wanted the men in black and high heel shoes to vacate the street, though we were told that they had left the street, perhaps it would stop the killing of their members and the heavy extortion prominent among the shameless men. The protest was hijacked by hoodlums, stone and plank started flying across the street. I was in my room peeping through my window to watch the seemed unending bedlam as the men in black with high heel shoes took to the street to end the lightning noise that they claimed could send innocent people to six feet beneath the earth. They romanced the calm air, though hostile voice,with teargas till people felt its hostility of aggressive romance and its bleeding as a little boy was hit. The protesters covered their nose with the back of the hands, those who have handkerchief, wrapped their face as teargas engulfed the air. But the strongest among them went for kerosene to wash their faces. Many people flew the street, which seemed a threat to the men in black, they forcefully inserted bullets into the innocent bottoms, thought they were coming for them, ten people were silent within a minute. I was busy watching as people took to their heel. The market women who were at the scene screaming for help, they felt helpless and pain in their necks, though the pain was varied from person to person. I smiled, nodding my head in pity. The situation in the country is beyond shedding tears, smiles, though, feigning smiles, might be the best option to get out high blood pressure, I feigned smile,too. I was still in my window watching as event unfolded when I heard a gunshot, a stray bullet hit another young man, hawking on the next street. Some minutes after I heard someone screamed in pain, his voice subsided immediately he screamed. I knew that a victim had emerged out of the peaceful protest, though everyone is a victim of casualties as JP Clark once said in his poem. Casualties vary, those who had lost their relatives or parents who had lost their children were the worst casualties ever, though they had paid it all. Im also a casualty, I have neither lost parents nor brother, but I had lost a girlfriend who was the source of joy years ago in the arena of casualties where millions of the citizen found themselves. I wouldnt like to remember how she died. The last letter she sent to me read, I shall love you till flood cleared us away. She had her lips stamped on as address and subscript. If I had known she would never come back to me, I would have allowed her to sleep in my room. **my eyes were wet with tears, my heart beat till my eardrum was deaf to feel the pulsation.** She died with her dream, her passion and her virginity. The tyre of the car she boarded was shot by an inebriated man in black on the high way because of fifty naira. I felt like committing arson; setting the part of the country ugliness residents ablaze. Casualties are many, we are all casualties. A minute after the gunshot subsided, though the gunshot wasnt from armed-robbery, far from it, but a chess game wrongly played by the shameless black men on the street, peace was restored on the street, peace would definitely be absent from the victim of the gunshot. Day after, it was on news that there was a mob action and reaction that set a young man to his early grave. I asked myself many questions until my heart was blocked of thought. How many of us will be species in the hands these aliens? Before the bedlam subsided, I hid under my table, remembered the event I witnessed in Challenge when a woman in orange with high heel shoe, having a face stashed inscription and cracking voice of ignorance intercepted a driver, who claimed to have left a mechanic workshop few minutes ago before the incident, demanding two hundred naira note from him. I wondered when the men in black and orange with high heel shoes on our street started begging for alms, though they forcefully twist the hand of or kill their givers, different from the natural beggars. My mind was engaged with thoughts and possible solution to the mayhem. How many people would be victims of casualties? I kept asking questions until I went to bed. A day after, a friend who had graduated two years ago, came to my house, sharing his experience and his ordeal. He suffered much from the inimical self-acclaimed security agents, who had suddenly turned NURTW. They used the members of the union to extort from drivers. I wouldnt say the drivers are ignorance of law, theyre not, they knew law to be cobweb capable to capture small insects, which they are, though masses are. He shared his experience. The self-acclaimed agents along Challenge to Gate are not different from beggars, sieving money from drivers as if the drivers are to deliver to them. You have to pay in the morning, afternoon and in the evening. They dont care if you have enough to feed your family with, all they care for is their purse and nothing more. The union will collect theirs, though we know that is why they are there, but what of the men who are supposed to protect people, running after drivers who are not ready to pay. What for? I have an instance when a driver nearly hit a pedestrians because unlawful pursuit of these men. I have never seen such terrible events ever in my entire life; turpitude of morality, delaying drivers who are not ready to give money, putting on house wear to extort from drivers. If you are new to these places, Challenge, Molete, Idi Arere, Beere, and Oje, you might not know that the dirty men and women around you, beckoning to drivers as beggars do, are the shameless black men and women on the street. I wish something could be done to stop these masturbating situation rampaging our street He said angrily. I nearly tagged him a liar, urged him to fight for his right. Right! we can, but they will delay you and end up having no kobo for the day. He smiled. It isnt strange any more how much extortionists they are, many drivers and passengers had died who faulted their stealing mind, I thought. please share this till it gets to the right channel where a drastic measure will be taken to curb the shamelessness display of the security agents at the aforementioned location.
Posted on: Thu, 27 Nov 2014 11:45:34 +0000
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