No one knew she was the type of girl to do this. The type of woman to live a life like this. As she looks over the horizon of the rust coated cliff she stands on, Jo was suddenly standing before her fear of succumbing wholly to a life that was so different, so unconventional, so unruly, she never felt more at home in. ‘10, 9, 8, 7, 6’ she breathes in, ‘5,4,3,2,1’ she breathes out. Now, like a pin drop silence, everything manages to go quiet and Jo is left alone with her mind and herself. She is able to stand still on this hill. No shaking, no hyperventilating, no tears, just stillness. Her heart beats calmly now as she looks within and with time, finally opens her eyes and proceeds determinedly back to her car.

 

Its 10pm as soon as Jo arrives home. She apathetically walks up her stairs and gets undressed and acquainted with her already made bath. Her servants briskly and softly follow behind  her footsteps, careful to remain at a 6ft distance away from her, but ever ready to do whatever she asked. 

 

“Madamme, there was a message for you”

“What now?” Jo asks, exhaling exhaustively. 

“A request to distribute 3 sets of military artillery and 200 civilian firearms each to the rural communities in Borno and Tigray”

“How much are they worth?”

“$3 million”

“Hmm. And who’s requesting this now?”

“The CIA”

  

 

I had a feeling this day would come. People talked about it in the street corners and marketplaces for weeks. 

“Are you ready?” Seun asked expectantly 

“Hmmm I don't know. The streets are expected to be sweeping with undercover police officers waiting to throw our asses in prison” I respond uneasily.

“We just have to stick together this time, pay attention to the vantage points from the different corners around Sangotedo and keep tabs on any changes that’s all” he reassures me. 

It will be my first time protesting for the EndSars movement. Armed troops firing relentlessly and beating the hell out of civilians last October was enough incentive to stay my ass inside. 

 

The streets are coming alive now. Posters are up in the air. End Sars Now! Buhari Must Go! The Revolution is here! Fear, angst, and expectancy fill the air as markets are closing up quickly. 2000 Blacks Got to be free is playing smoothly in the background as we civilly storm the streets. Women with half-braided hairstyles are too flushed with fears of clashes with police and hurry to their means of transportation. Little toddlers bathed with rustic dust and frayed garment dance near the heaps of sand and trash, engulfed in the exuberance and energy overwhelming the streets. 

 

We had to keep tabs on the different points of the marketplace to prepare for any unexpected presence of police. My whole body is soaked in sweat as I join in the determined chants of the Nigerian people. My heart brews with excitement and I cannot help but smile. Learning and studying about protests is one thing, sharing Instagram posts about it another. But to be on the streets, to feel the vibrations of united voices and communal noise through the soles of your feet and to boldly declare your needs and desires for a just society in real time? A whole different experience. 

 

The sky soon transitions from a bright light blue to a cool dusty grey. The size of us protesters gradually increases, and the protest takes the form of a makeshift revolutionary carnival. More people are joining in now with lanterns to prepare for the incoming darkness. Groups of officers periodically appear and vanish from various points of the marketplaces surrounding us. But surprisingly, no sign of strong opposition--at least nothing that has come to my attention. I’m still uneasy but I am able to let go and let out a streak of laughter as I see some children making a fool of themselves in the street. 

 

“I told you not to worry,” Seun nudges at me, his smile generating a cool warmth in my chest. “Yeah whatever,” I respond, quickly looking away nervously, and inch a little closer to him as the protest continues to roar. We get into a halt as one of us takes a stand to speak:

 

“It warms my heart to see us all here right now. This is it. We cannot continue to be complacent anymore! We are tired! Our children are tired! Our colleagues are tired! How many more years of bad governance must we endure?! The time has come! And it is here!”

 

“End Sars!”...”End Sars!... “End Sars!” “En-

A bomb goes off from a far distance. The city of Lagos is silent now. Beating hearts are all we hear. I don’t know the next weapon that I hear but it sounds like a Bazooka. A tidal wave of great force manages to disorient me completely. I can barely see my surroundings and noises soon erupt. I try to search for Seun, but my ears bleed with pain. A series of gunshots erupt and are now accompanied with the sounds of beatings and kicks. The ringing sounds of violence and scents of iron and gunpowder cripple my vision, and everything goes black. 

 

“Is she okay?! Hello?! Is anyone here?!” 

“Madam we need you to calm down, there are many people looking for their loved ones admitted here, please sit down--”

“Don’t tell me to sit down! I’ve been waiting here for hours, waiting for you people to tell me where you all are keeping my child!”

 

In-spite of the thrashing noises and throbbing pain choking my brain, I manage to hear my mom’s voice from afar. It’s really the only voice I’ve been able to recognize lately. I manage to peer through my lightly bandaged eyes, and where I am appears to be a hospital barely holding for dear life. The uniting smell of gunpowder, fresh and dried blood, and medicine fill up my nose. I’d barf but I can barely swallow my own spit at this point. 

I always pictured bombings and attacks on TV. I developed a somewhat ideal picture of what to expect when protest meets opposition. Milk for tear gas, masks as well to prevent fumes from disrupting your surroundings, etc. I knew of all the precautions. But nothing prepared me for this. Nothing prepared any of us for this.