Democracy in Nigeria is not yet buried,
but she can no longer walk.
She lies in Intensive Care Unit,
in a small hospital room,
dark glasses hiding her tired eyes,
sipping juice that someone has stolen from the hospital store.
The doctors who should heal her
now sell the hospital tools in the market
and rent out the hospital beds for money.
The judges who should call the nurses
work instead as undertakers.
They powder her face with sweet-sounding lies,
spray her with perfumes of deceit,
and smile for the cameras while she grows weaker.
Every election time
they drag her out like an old beauty queen,
paint her face bright,
wrap her in shiny clothes,
push her onto the stage
and tell her to smile and wave.
We clap in the crowd,
pretending not to see the life-support ropes following behind her.
She is a patient
in a hospital without power.
Her oxygen works only when the noisy generator is on.
Politicians tell us she is “strong and fine”
but they have already told the mortuary man to get ready.
Her wheelchair is moving closer to the cold room.
Her bed is marked to be taken away.
She used to mean
government of the people, by the people, and for the people.
Now she means government of politicians,
by their rich friends,
and for their families alone.
The road to power
is the fastest way to reach the country’s money.
They come to us acting like servants,
but once sworn in
they become landlords of the nation’s treasury.
Elections are no longer about service,
they are about business,
and the customers are only the money bag politicians .
Democracy's backbone of transparency and accountability
is broken
and thrown into the dustbin behind the big gates of Aso Rock.
And now, the e people are hungry.
Roads are ruined and full of potholes.
Hospitals are like waiting rooms for death.
Schools fall apart
one block at a time.
Yet the leaders drive past us in long, shiny cars,
windows dark,
hands waving only when they need votes.
Every four years
the vultures meet
to decide which one will eat the country’s body.
They smile from campaign posters,
share small cups of rice,
drop coins into people’s hands,
and promise heaven on earth.
But after they win,
they hold on to heaven
and forget the earth,
leaving the people in dust and pain.
This is not democracy walking;
this is democracy tied, gagged, beaten,
and shoved into the back of a black SUV
driving straight to the hospital.
The drivers are politicians
who no longer care about safety for the poor,
medicine for the sick,
or hope for the hopeless.
Her heart
has stopped beating.
Her body is dressed for burial.
They are selling tickets
to watch her funeral.
Democracy is like a goat tied to a rope,
walking only in a small circle.
The rope is held by the selfish money bag politicians.
The stake is guarded by bad judges.
The rope is dirty with corruption,
made tighter each time an election is stolen.
And Justice is sold like vegetables in the market.
And so she stays
weak, quiet,
breathing through tubes of lies,
dragged every day closer to her grave.
The day will come
when the ground at Aso Rock will open,
and Democracy will be pushed in without prayer,
without song,
without truth.
So Democracy in Nigeria is like a sick mother,
and we are her children.
If we leave her to suffer,
one day we will wake up and find her gone.
But if we rise from our chairs,
speak the truth,
and refuse the coins and bags of rice,
we can break the ropes of corruption
and chase the vultures from our sky.
The power is ours,
and if we stand together with clean hands and brave hearts,
our mother, Democracy, will live again.
EBIKABOWEI KEDIKUMO - writes from Ayakoromo, Delta State
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