Breathe #EndSars
There is an overwhelming feeling that comes with just wanting to be part of something. Sometimes, you cannot explain it. Not even to the person closest to you, who is supposed to ‘get you.’ Sometimes, I’m not even sure I get myself. But that is beside the point.
The last time I felt this way was when I volunteered at school to educate younger girls in secondary schools, and help them understand their bodies and embrace their sexuality. I had just come out of an abusive relationship, a relationship I did not even recognize as abusive until I almost died. And I was eager to help someone else, to save a fellow woman who was on the edge. It was a defining moment for me, a moment that inspired so many of my decisions and even birthed my foundation – Go Deep Foundation.
But I digress.
Today, I want to be at the protest. With every fiber of my being, I want to be on the ground with my fellow Nigerian youths and fight for justice that we thoroughly deserve. I want to march fearlessly to government officials and tell them to kiss the soles of my worn-out sneakers. I want to stretch my vocal cords in my cry for justice, and in the same breath, flash a middle finger to systemic injustice and police brutality.
I want to sing the national anthem with a consciousness that I have never felt in my 20 years on this land. I want to recite the pledge and promise to ‘defend her unity and uphold her honor and glory’ with more conviction than I have ever felt. I want to eat the protest Jollof rice because I have heard it is even sweeter than regular burial Jollof. More than anything that I have ever wanted, I want to march.
But I can’t.
Or maybe I can.
‘Mummy, I need to step out for a minute.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Nowhere. Just need to take in some fresh air. I’ll just go for a stroll and I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
‘You know the streets are not safe for now. These jobless children will not give somebody the chance to breathe in this country.’
I winced at her remark and she almost saw the displeasure on my face. Years of living as the only child of a single mother taught me many things. One of those things is how to maintain a poker face and not have every emotion displayed on your face for your mother to notice. I’ve also learned to keep my opinions to myself because if there is one thing I inherited from my mother, it was her stubbornness. She was dead set in her complacency and social apathy.
Aside from me and her business, she didn’t care for much else and I couldn’t fault her. The system and everything she used to believe in had all failed her, more times than I could count…
But once again, I digress.
‘I will be careful. I’ll probably just walk to the estate gate and come back. Just need to stretch my legs.’
‘Carry your inhaler just in case. You can never tell when your attacks will come.’
I didn’t think she would let me go that easily, so I hadn’t dressed up. I zoomed up the stairs, put on my comfiest tracksuit, and tucked my inhaler in the pocket of my top. I made sure to pack a few other things I was sure I would need into the other pockets and by the time, I came back downstairs, I was breathless. I steadied myself, hoping my mother did not notice my excitement and get suspicious.
‘Bye.’ I waved at her as I walked towards the door.
‘Sade, wait.’
Oops. She probably noticed my bulging pockets and had grown suspicious. She started walking towards me and I thought she was going to start pulling out the whistles and snack bars I had crammed into my pockets. I was about to start confessing when she said,
‘Come back early, you know you’re not feeling fine.’
‘Yes, ma.’
As soon as I stepped outside to sweet-sweet freedom, the air became lighter and the sun seemed to shine brighter. My last asthma attack was triggered by my mother, which explains why she’s been hovering over me for the past two days. We had a serious argument about something really stupid, now that I think about it, and I ended up crying. A lot. I couldn’t control my emotions that night and I cried until I literally couldn’t breathe. My airways were blocked and I couldn’t reach for my inhaler.
My mother came in at the perfect time to continue the argument but when she found me on the floor, writhing in pains. She got me my inhaler and everything was fine in a couple of minutes. Since then, she didn’t let me out of the house, or even out of her sight. She claimed that she had never seen me in that manner since my attacks started when I was 10 and it scared her. Somehow, she thought anything could trigger it and she didn’t want to take chances. Personally, I know she is trying so hard not to take the blame and admit that our fight triggered it, so she won’t apologize.
I don’t know what it is with African parents and apologies but they would rather eat hot coal than admit they’ve been wrong.
Image Source: Pixabay
I checked my Twitter feed for the protest location closest to me and I found one happening just three streets away from mine. I was excited. I knew I shouldn’t be running but I couldn’t help it when my legs decided that the normal pace was far too slow. As I got closer, I started hearing chants and screams from the protest and it felt like a fire had been shot in my veins. I ran faster and faster, but somehow, I wasn’t getting there fast enough.
‘Soooollliiidddaaarrriityyy forrreeeeveeeerrr! Soooollliiidddaaarrriityyy forrreeeeveeeerrr! Soooollliiidddaaarrriityyy forrreeeeveeeerrr! For the union makes us strong!’
‘Soli, soli, soli!’ The leader of the march screamed through the megaphone.
‘Soooollliiidddaaarrriityyy forrreeeeveeeerrr! Soooollliiidddaaarrriityyy forrreeeeveeeerrr! Soooollliiidddaaarrriityyy forrreeeeveeeerrr! For the union makes us strong!’ The protesters screamed in unison with clenched fists raised in the air.
I was pumped. Finally marching!
As far as my eyes could see, over a thousand youths were marching to God knows where. They raised placards, banners, and different signs, all with one demand – #EndPoliceBrutality. I didn’t have the time to make a placard but I saw a young guy handing out small banners held up with a wooden stick. He had a truck filled with the banners and people like me ran to him for it. I collected one, at the same time, bringing out my whistle.
‘Where are we marching to?’ I asked the girl beside me.
‘’We are going to the State’s House of Assembly. The Governor is yet to address us.’
‘That’s what I’m talking about!’
‘I know!’ the girl smiled back with almost as much excitement. ‘Have you had anything to eat or drink?’
‘Not yet, I just got here.’
‘Okay. We have a resting point, they will be sharing the rest of the food there. Make sure you eat oh, we still have a lot of work to do!’
I was beaming from ear to ear, not because of the promise of food (although that was enough reason to dance), but because of the look of solidarity the strange girl gave to me. Even though I didn’t know her name, she looked like she actually cared for me and would take care of me if anything happened. ‘Thank you so much.’
She nodded in acknowledgment and marched forward, screaming at the top of her lungs. ‘Solidarity forever!’
After what seemed like hours in the scorching sun, the protesters raised another song;
‘Policeeee eh, go Sambisa oh. Policeeee eh, goo Sambisa oh. If Lagos don tire you, go Sambisa oh.’
It was a funny song and in the first few seconds, after the song was raised, protesters doubled over in laughter. By the time the song was raised again, the crowd raised it with one thunderous voice. For context, Sambisa Forest is rumored to be the base of the terrorist sect in Nigeria, Boko Haram. Many of the country’s armed forces have been deployed there to help fight the insurgency, and let’s just say a good number of them will never see Christmas again.
I chanted and marched like my life depended on it because it really did. That I had never been harassed by the police yet didn’t mean I didn’t know people who had. They were a menace and they had to be stopped. The march had stopped on the express road and I realized that we had reached our resting point. And where is a better place to rest than in the middle of a major highway in a traffic-congested city? There is simply no other place. I was ecstatic.
We were still chanting when we noticed some police vans pull up. There were not just police vans, they also came in a water cannon vehicle. The police officers were buff, they wore helmets and even boots. In all my life as a Nigerian citizen, I had never seen police officers look that…police-like.
I looked around and I acknowledged that everybody had noticed their entrance too, but the crowd remained unfazed. They kept chanting and some brave ones even began to move close to the police vans. Surprisingly, they continued business as usual, sharing the food and taking pictures. I spotted my protest friend over at a distance, laughing at some joke and holding a placard. I was about to move towards her when I heard a sizzling sound mixed with fearful screams.
I turned back only to realize that the police had launched the water cannon on the other side of the road.
Credit: BBC
‘Tear gas!’ I heard someone else scream.
By this time, I was standing in the middle of the chaos but I didn’t know what to do. People were running helter-skelter, abandoning their placards, and calling out to their friends. I looked towards where I had been going and I saw my protest friend sprawled on the floor. It was obvious that she had tripped when she was trying to get away from the police. She was in the thick of the smoke and I knew it would be unsafe for me to go there as it might trigger my asthma.
I don’t know whether it was the pressure of the moment or just sheer stupidity, but I went there anyway. I covered my nose and picked her up, and that’s when I realized that she had sprained her ankle. I was still trying to offer her my support, so we could get out of the danger zone when I felt myself…choking.
‘I….can’t…breathe….’
By this time, I didn’t feel strong enough to stand and I fell on the cold, wet ground writhing in pains. I could feel it getting worse and I reached for my inhaler. But I found an empty pocket. I kept patting my pockets with all the strength left in me, but I couldn’t find my inhaler.
‘Inn…haalerr.’ I tried to wheeze out to my protest friend. She had managed to get on her feet and I could see her limping, trying to get me help. I was clutching to my chest because it felt like it was going to leap out of my body. I was losing time and my mind was going through so many motions. I felt myself losing consciousness but I fought it, shaking my body aggressively.
‘He..ll…p m..e.’
Just when I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, I saw a blurred image of a man running towards me with a first aid kit. He was screaming ‘breathe, breathe’ so loud that I wanted to reach for his head and give him a hard knock.
As he shoved an inhaler into my mouth and I felt the fresh air rush into my lungs, I saw my protest friend mouthing the words, ‘It is okay. Breathe, my friend.’
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