My #TuesdayThoughts: Trails of Cultism in Rivers State
It's a lovely Tuesday morning and I'm racing against time as I always do. I wake up thankful as usual, then get a call to change over the power source and switch on the water pump as PHED had remembered us early. There's a catch to it though, I needed to hurry up because it wasn't going to stay on too long (that is how they do hia). As quick as I could, I rush out to do as asked. Coming back in, I take out some clothes, not sure of the particular ones now (after all Abba says I shouldn't worry about what to wear, so I don't bother to decide on what to wear the night before like I used to do). I plug the iron while I'm taking out some possible fits from the wardrobe and suitcase. A top, two dresses and a skirt. I jump on the bed, ready to get to it and voila! The fan stops squeaking. There's a power cut.
I get on with other early morning chores. From the sweeping to the warming of food and clearing out the kitchen; filling containers that needed filling, taking care of the trash, seeing that I don't leave the house without doing anything (since I'm a woman).
More attention is then given to more personal morning routines like my teeth and body. I knew the clothes would finally take care of themselves and I'll get out something to wear las las. In the meantime, since the battery to my smaller phone which serves as my radio is dead, I can hear all that's happening within earshot of the neighborhood. I hear women talking to themselves. There had been other conversations I hadn't paid attention to, but this time, my ears were out there.
One of the women was shouting to another woman,
"Nene don born oooooh! Chei! Wey the powder? " She was still in high spirits as the other lady responds.
"Heeeeeeey!! She don born? Ah! Thank God oooh! "
Then it hit me, as I recall that I had heard a car driving out earlier on and one of the women saying,
"Take care of my wife o."
I was wondering and trying to put two and two together when I overheard her, but couldn't understand. Now it made more sense because her friend said something about her being the in-law and all. There were still calls for powder (one tradition that never seems to die out, as the birth of a child is marked by family and friends bathing their faces and necks with powder: back then it was the popular Rose talcum powder).
The women were still jubilant and one of them goes,
"Me I wan high o!! Wey oga Ben?? I don shoot gun for you!! Kposa! Kposa!! Kposa!!!
I'm all smiles, but in my mind, I'm thinking. Did these parents prepare for this child? With all that's happening in Rivers State, are they prepared to bring up this child and provide for it such that it doesn't fall prey to the looming menace of cultisim ravaging the state? The child on whose head people are getting high, shooting imaginary guns and rubbing powder for would be left to fate in the nearest future. Then it occurred to me that the birth of a child will always be a thing of joy, no matter the obvious circumstances surrounding its birth.
Eventually, I head out of the house and hit the road. After standing by the road for a while, a taxi finally comes by. I make my way to the front seat where a young boy is already seated. The journey continues and the 8am news on 94.1 Wazobia FM is on. The story of victims of the cult clash in Mgbuodohia, a community in Rumuolumeni is on. According to the report, bullet holes and splatters of blood could still be seen at the homes of those attacked during the cult clash which killed eight people on Saturday night. The wife of one of the victims said her husband was killed before her and her children. She was crying as she narrated her ordeal:
"...dem shoot am two times... I dey beg dem. Even collect him money, still dey ask me whether e get any money wey dey. Collect my phone. Scatter our house. So I no get anything to talk but na God naim go pay dem. Na God naim go pay dem."
The insert/soundbite for her was one that could bring tears to any right thinking person, but no, the young man beside me found it funny. I was miffed! I had to talk to him in an angry tone, telling him it wasn't something to laugh about. That's a young boy who thinks she sounded funny without really understanding the degree of pain the wives and kids of the victims may be feeling.
The next vehicle I boarded wasn't bereft of its own drama. I noticed the driver was having fun. The speed and swerves made me take a good look at the driver from the back seat I was couched in. The person had a phone in the left hand. But what caught my interest was the nails of this person who had a face cap on and a white shirt, with a visible white singlet. The nails had pink polish, so I thought it was a lady taxi driver. The only thing that would have been surprising is the manner of driving, because I had boarded taxis driven by ladies on several occasions. So I keep staring at the driver, I catch the face from the side mirror and confirm it's a young man.
On reaching one of the major junctions before my stop, in what seemed like a Gestapo move, the driver swerves to the side of the road and stops the car. He jumps out without saying a word and walks to the back of the car. In the twinkle of an eye, another young man jumps into the driver's seat without saying a word too. I couldn't keep my cool anymore I begin yelling at him, telling him it isn't security wise to just switch drivers like that without talking to the passengers, 'cause the people at the junction where we boarded would not recognize him if anything happened. I hand him my fare and ask him to drop me off, since my stop wasn't up to 2 minutes away from where the swap had taken place.
As I walk down the crescent towards the complex, the following questions linger on my mind. Why do people lack basic manners and courtesy in these parts? Shouldn't passengers be regarded when such decisions are to be taken?
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