Hello! Welcome to my blog. Today's hivelearners topic has successfully taken me down memory lane and again I am grateful for the life that I have which I almost lost.
On the 20th of October 2020, in Lagos, Nigeria an eventful day unfolded for me and my colleagues. Four of us had planned to join the protest again, unaware of the dangers that awaited us that very day. As the clock struck 4 pm, our boss informed us of a curfew and instructed us to close for the day and go home. This news filled us with joy, as it meant we could participate in the protest even earlier.
At 6 pm, we gathered on the roadside, eagerly waiting for a bus to transport us to the Lekki Toll gate, where the protest was scheduled. However, our attempts to find transportation proved futile. Undeterred, we chose to Trek down the road, hoping to come across a bus or bike along the way. Little did we know, alarming calls started pouring in, informing us that CCTV cameras had been removed from the toll gate and soldiers had surrounded the environment. Though we didn't fully grasp the significance of the information, our determination to protest remained unwavering. Many of the young men who fell victim to the SARS brutality were our loyal customers – those who visited our salon for their haircuts, pedicures, or to purchase organic skincare products. Their stories fueled our passion for seeking justice.
As we continued our journey on foot, inching closer to the toll gate, our surroundings suddenly erupted in chaos. We witnessed a multitude of panicked people running for their lives, screaming that soldiers were firing shots. The chilling reality sent shivers down my spine, as I clung to my heart pounding in my chest. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that a peaceful protest could be met with such violent retaliation from our own government, that night for me was the most terrifying night ever. There was no time to think rather than run for our dear lives. Amid the chaos, we encountered a group of hoodlums who targeted us with their gunfire. Miraculously, we managed to escape their grasp.
In the midst of our frantic retreat, one of our colleagues was struck by a bullet in the leg. With great concern, we decided to rush him to the hospital for medical assistance. However, when we arrived, the hospital refused to admit him without a police report or statement. Faced with this perplexing dilemma, as chaos and insecurity pervaded the area, we felt trapped and unsure of what to do. If the soldiers, who were meant to protect and serve, were against us, how could we trust the police? In our desperation, we reached out to our boss, who wielded influence and power. Though she quickly offered her assistance, by sending her driver to us and then taking us to her brother's hospital not too far from her house. Her anger and blame towards each of us was ever-present, she continued to make reference to how she had called to inform us about the curfew and she has asked us to shut down and go home in order to be safe but rather we decided to go and fight the government, she adding to the distress we were already experiencing.
In the end, we were fortunate enough to return safely to our neighbourhood. But I never stopped imagining the fact that Dami got hit on the leg, did not mean that It wouldn't have been me or any of the other two. What if it wasn't his leg? What if I was the one the bullet got? Too many what ifs, but I am grateful to have escaped the bullet of death at my own cost. However, the scars of that traumatic evening remained, both physically and emotionally. The memory of our colleague's injury lingered, as did the fear and uncertainty that had permeated our every step.
The events of that day forever altered our perception of our government's commitment to protect its citizens and shattered our belief in the right to peaceful protest.
Image credit is mine.