17/06/2025
The Game They Play
They created the problem.
Yes the very people who promised safety, progress, and justice. They lit the fire, then stepped back and watched it burn.
And now, with two years left until elections,
they’ve abandoned even the pretense of good governance.
They’re not trying to fix anything.
They’re endorsing each other. Holding secret meetings.
Sharing stomachs and backs in smoke-filled rooms while the country bleeds quietly in the dark.
And when the cries of the people grow loud when the kpai become unbearable.
they show up with white agbadas, teary eyes, and microphones. Not to mourn. Not to act.
To campaign.
They point at the ruins they caused and say, “See? We need change.”
But they are the rot.
They manufacture the pain, then sell the cure they never intend to give.
The same security agencies that are meant to protect the people now see chaos as opportunity.
A burnt village? A chance to request more funding. More allowances. More “mobilization” to go fight a ghost they never intend to chase.
Meanwhile, families bury their children in silence. Mothers wake up screaming at night from dreams of gunshots and fire. Entire communities wiped out and no headline, no justice. Just a whisper:
Na dem do am
Who go talk?
Make we no put mouth.
And yet, as if nothing happened, the political class gears up with bold faces and big posters, plastered over the cracked walls of forgotten streets.
Hope is coming.
Rescue mission
Restoration 2027
What they really mean is:
We are coming back for another round.
Because the games must go on.
But the people... the people are not pawns.
They’re not statistics.
They’re not tools for campaign strategies.
They are human beings with flesh and blood, crying and hoping, praying that maybe, just maybe, someone will lead with heart instead of hunger.
But you’re not seeing the games.
Or maybe you are, and you’ve grown tired.
Because in this country, to see clearly is to grieve daily.
To understand the game is to lose sleep.
To speak out is to be marked.
Still, someone must speak.
Someone must scream the truth.
That the ones in power—created the problem, and they will use the ashes of our suffering to buy votes, sign deals, and shake hands.
Let us not clap for the devil because he smiled.
Let us not forget who burnt the village down.
I AM FROM BENUE and My Heart Bleed.