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The Man, His Dog and His Tragedy -By J. Ezike

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j ezike writer e1540173822613

I am a story-teller. Therefore, I shall begin this article with a parable tale of the Man, His dog and His Tragedy. With this, I hope to discuss the resurgence of a principal image with great degree of realism.

There, in the dense growth of shrubberies and clusters of palm trees, the revelries of life fizzled out in the wake of bullet falls. A teenage black boy bestridden on a branch of a dwarfed Mango tree aging five decades, plunged to the chest by a lethal stone, falls out of the same tree and headed for a messy landing. Face dyed with trembling and chills of a grave holiday clutching the warmth from his breath, eyes heavy with long sleep, a view of the last scenes foreclosing his short being.  A stray bullet volleyed to his unblemished heart, letting lose a wild, raving flood of crying blood-river. The sun, now at its merciless age, heating down a rage of unworthy death on the dying soul-case transcending to a space far-removed from the dome of mortality.

A dog barks at the evil, loping with fear and trembling, daring to hold onto its pulse of bravery. Knowing that hell looms near, finds rapid fortitude in sounding a mournful bay at the sprawled, life-snuffed mannequin.

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In the depth of its dirge, it drowns only to resurrect to an epiphanic clarity of what danger that dripped as guest, cringing at the uniformed hounds wielding death-serving wands, appearing in their dark vices and with an entourage of motored villains. Paws itching to do canine service, a long-agonizing bay of indignation, offering itself as judge over evil, and sends its brave bones into battle. With fusillades of flesh-shattering objects piercing with violent distemper, through the walls of its breathing furs, its holy rage. O! Riddled by the hit and wild bombardment of war stones, the Dog takes heart in the ill-fated signs that seats on its paws and plays to the scripts of the Federal Butcher.

  J. Ezike

 

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The man awakened to his tragedy in the heat of blood-cuddling scenes, catches the survivor’s stroke and knowing that tomorrow is the only remedy to his loss and to tell the tale of his witnessing eyes. Out of the poison-wrapped air reeking of premium death encircling the little round hut, he escapes – with scars of his tragedy.

Into the fold of his kinsmen, he rushes to discuss his tragedy, his loss. Furious at his survival, his kinsmen prays his head for sacrifice, willing his name with the death that came out of the mouth of the Federal Butcher.

And they chorused in unison: “You should have died with your son and your dog!”

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Relate this story with Nnamdi Kanu’s forced disappearance and resurgence, and then count your teeth with your tongue. And if you still feel the itch to spill a vocal indictment on his survival then, take a prolonged view of your image in a mirror and curse the hate that blinds your conscience.

Sincerely, there is something wrong and perplexing about the typical “Nigerian mind” that hates passionately of people who ground their fury in a refusal to be mentally assaulted and are disposed to daring a Great Tyranny with a short spoon. The Courage of a fairy-god is never a cheap artifact. For some whose hearts cannot afford the guts to seize this uneasy virtue are quick to stew in a cauldron of hate, boiling in protests at the one who like every man breathes fear but hooks courage at the jugular. And so he reaches a mental height that confounds human expectations.

To anticipate the death of Kanu, is a terrible indictment and a misplaced resentment that does well in mocking our capacity of good judgment. Thus, there is an insidious pulling down of unorthodox views to the appraisal of the oppressive agencies.

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It is the fundamental expectation and hope of the modern era, of this time, that the usual, misdirected emotional discharge of venom at the “victim” rather than the “victimizer” should no longer be residential of logic. Instead of cursing the resistance behind the oppression, it would be fair and righteous to condemn the oppression behind the resistance.

We should propose to draw judgment from the factual scenes that unfolded at Kanu’s ancestral home, rather than carving grids of faulty convictions and viewpoints to bullet our emotions across.

Of course there are conflicting literatures to the events of that day, but Kanu’s testament in Israel matches the central theme of the whole account. Which is: The Nigerian Army unleashed mayhem and fostered the untimely deaths of some IPOB members present in the palace that ill-fated day.

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Therefore, it is a misdirection of judgment to nuke blames on Kanu’s methodology and fence such standpoint around the launching of operation Python Dance 1 and 2.

Excusing the Nigerian government from the damage and yoking the consequence of the murdered IPOB members with Kanu’s revolutionary exploits is an adjudication that is not only unwarranted but misrepresented.

It is easy to shout “Coward!” “Runaway!” and “Scammer!” especially if one is livid and mocked by Kanu’s “ALIVE STATUS” which offers, whether we like it or not, a scintilla of hope to any reasonable Nigerian – as aptly described by President Nana Akufo-Addo of Ghana.

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I will end my short story by saying:

Blame not the Man for the death of his son and his dog and his tragedy but rather, let your blame be arrowed on the uniformed hounds that came with their entourage of motored villains and death-serving wands under the supreme order of the Federal Butcher.

 

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