Security in Nigeria


I think of a word;
gory images beckon
my memory to bear.
Images I now have to
abandon here…
so I’ll live.

A baby….
not more than 120 minutes old,
cradled softly in a white crib
inside a hospital.

Mother, in a room;
IV piercings held
in place with plasters.
In her subconscious, she celebrates
her exertion lasting four hours.
All she sees is the image of her newborn;
her breasts transude milk at this.

She knows she wants to see her baby now…
She beckons to a wet nurse;
wet nurse smiles, and turns
to the nursery, white shoes
slapdashing against white tiles.
Wet nurse traces crib number…
She peers inside…
No baby!
She feels the furry sheets;
It’s still warm.

She dashes to the receptionist…
“Have you seen a baby?”
“Look around you, there are so many babies,”
she said.

Wet nurse’s heart vibrates…
she rushes back to the nursery yet again…
Crib still empty; gradually waxing cold.

She rushes outside the hospital…
She knew she was in charge of this baby!
She had tucked him in herself…
She looks around her…
Cars cough and sputter in the busy streets.
Their blaring horns drain out her thoughts…

She runs back inside…
Halting everyone in white in their busy steps…
“Have you seen a baby?”
Heads are disagreeing…
She slowly walks to to Female Ward…
Standing at the door,
she watches a mother smile…
In hopes of holding her baby.
She could picture the smiles cracking like
a glass laden with weight
and shattering in a thousand smithereens.
Still she walks in, to deliver the blows
to a stomach still soft from screams.

In another side of town,
baby cries from the shawls.
He just wants his mama!
Baby is sold for millions…
Buyers are happy…

You’d think either ways
baby ends up in a home
with toys…
Baby ends up in a mortar
pounded for sacrifice and
untold wealth.

If you think you’ve read it all…
then know this is just a page
torn from the encyclopedia of pain;
written by my country.

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Favour Uchechukwu (aka Whyte Queen) is a student of the Nnamdi Azikiwe University (popularly known as Unizik) where she studies Psychology. She is a prolific writer with an inborn love for poetic diction and language. Her writing was born of grief, resulting from the death of her mom. But she has since moved on and learnt to find joy in the smallest things that come with life. She is one to give life to words and make you feel them like they were Braille written out for the blind. She has taken part in several Facebook Competitions and won some for the good of African literature and its current net worth. She aspires to take African literature to a whole new level. She has for herself, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie as a role model and hopes to transcend beyond the moonlighting offered by her epic works of African art.


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