I Give A Damn That I Don’t Give A Damn

Posted: July 21, 2012 in Uncategorized

By Magaji Galadima

I have been feeling numb lately. I get phone calls, I hear the news, I am active on Facebook, I chat on Blackberry, I watch pictures,I read articles and I remain unmoved. Visitors pass by and recount to me horror stories and I just stare at them . I nod and blink my eyes but when I open my mouth to speak , the words are stuck somewhere deep in my throat. I am past being shocked anymore. I have resigned myself to this state of paralysis.

Ghost cities like Maiduguri and Damaturu with its pools of blood dont affect me . An unknown corpse lying in the street is not even an object of curiosity. Smashed heads, chopped limbs, ripped tummies, burnt human bodies are nothing but sentences for me, anonymous black and white images . I give a damn that I don’t give a damn. I have saved tons of gory pictures and videos of defenseless cripples on crutches shot at point blank range in Maiduguri. I have watch first class savagery on video footage of Rukuba eid ground, Madallah bombing, Bayero University bombing, the massacres of Dogo na Hauwa, Kuru Karama and the exploits of human butcherers of Gonin-gora
I watch it all like a horror film. So detached, so close , so far away.

The earth is scorched smoky black and the water has turned into a crimson red. The picturesque scenic fields of Kurra falls and Shere hills once a picnickers delight is now a slaughter slab. Citizen extortion centers masquerading as security check points now adorn our cities.

This desolation leaves me anesthetized . My fingers are paralyzed , my thoughts rigidified at point zero, my feelings frozen . I am a robot now . A victim of this apocalyptic nihilism. I go through the regular motions only to retreat into my autistic world and stare into the void of destruction.

Yes I am in this mode now . A Frankenstein, zombie like mode .
And during the rare moments when I feel I still belong to something remotely human again, in those instances of lucidity, I may catch a tear or two frozen on my cheek. I wipe them quickly away lest the machine that I have become rusts and no longer functions. And in those moments with my plastified smile fixed to my face like a scar, in those small moments when something alive nudges me and I dare to look at it , I see that : Hope has become an oxymoron, fear a good companion, anger deep down in a well, and torrents of grief abundant enough to wash the bloody streets of Northern Nigeria.

Magaji Galadima
Kano, Nigeria


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