Oil Wails
(Port Harcourt, January 2016. For the fear of “educated militancy” in the Niger Delta)
The price I pay for peace is too great, the price I pay is a disgrace. Do I, wail my wails to the whales, or listen to your fairy tales?
I am here, carrying my file to join every file, searching for ghostly jobs. You say I am not schooled, but I stand before you a Master: Master of Papers.
Tell me why, I should not buy a gun, and swap it for monthly pay? Or should I rather, give back the guns you shared, in the creeks during your campaign? If Ebi*, good Ebi, is paid as a militant, why shouldn’t I be?
The price I pay for peace is too great, the price I pay is a disgrace. Do I, stand still and watch, like Rio’s lifeless Jesus**?
Dagogo is there, building his third mansion from a white man’s ransom. You know that this Delta is ill, Yet I stand before you, a Doctor: Doctor of Coloured Papers.
Tell me why I should not cook sweet crude so that Mama could eat food? Or should I rather close my eyes when I see you, shut the chiefs’ mouths with Naira notes? If a battalion, armed battalion guards one expatriate, why shouldn’t they me?
The price I pay for peace is too great, the price I pay is a disgrace. Because I, wail my wails to the whales, as you own all the oil wells.
My brothers are here, killing themselves with your gun; my kinsmen are on the run You think I am fooled, but I stand before you a Freeman, free from all your deceit!
Tell me why I should not torment the creeks, as our rivers no more have fish? Or should I rather sing your praise in the streets because you promised to make me rich? If a bullion van, an armoured bullion van negotiate my free speech, why shouldn’t I decline?
(*an Ijaw name meaning “Good”
**a statue of Christ The Redeemer on a mountain in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, overlooking the city
Being in Port Harcourt in 2016 was scary. Delays in renewing Oil Mining Licenses, a new brand of militancy and other factors led to losses of jobs and increasing restiveness, I listened as I walked the streets and could hear the fear of people of the possibility of militancy by the educated, and I captured the fears in a poem. A couple of months later, that fear materialised. )
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