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How often do we ponder the weight of freedom? Do the words carry the same weight in our hearts as they do in others? Have we felt their absence, witnessed their sudden vanishing act? The history of Africa is riddled with such tales, each marked by a year and a country, where the colors of daily life are obscured by the dust of tyranny.
In 1972, Benin; 1980, Liberia; 1981, Ghana — these dates echo the silencing of freedom, often replaced by khaki green and black leather patrolling the streets. The Sahel's wind, once a whisper of nature, now carries the fury of a man and his gun, peddling promises of salvation. "I have come to save you," he declares, his finger poised on a trigger, oblivious to the irony that true salvation lies elsewhere.
We've danced this dance before, watched the euphoria of change morph into a relentless cycle of terror. Jackboots march through markets, laws are overturned, and the strong arm of justice fractures. The gavel is silenced, and the wigged warriors find themselves behind bars. Sierra Leone in 1992, Nigeria in 1993, and many more — we know the rhythm of this惨剧 all too well.
The pen, once a mighty force, is overshadowed by the sword. Words, once the keepers of wisdom, are now too weak to protect the wise. We've heard the empty promises of transitions and returns to civilian rule, each promise fading into the next, as a fragile state teeters in the crosshairs of power struggles.
Power, they say, cleanses all sin. Guinea, Sudan, Burkina Faso, Niger — the list grows, each country a testament to the erosion of freedom, the distress and disruption of institutions. We speak of state capture and sit-tight presidents, yet we forget the sit-tight imperialists who arrived with Bibles and eyes on our resources, erasing our history before their arrival.
Colonialists, coupists — can we truly distinguish between them in these turbulent seas of crime and corruption? We remember the cries of the dispossessed, the disenfranchised, the disappeared. We know the heat of tyranny, and the constant battle to snatch victory from the jaws of death.
Why then do we fight to keep this precious commodity? We fold it into our palms, hold it tight, and strive to refine its imperfections. We chant because we remember, because we never want to live a day without it ever again. The resilience of freedom is not just a battle; it's a relentless quest to preserve the essence of our humanity.
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