A day before

As I stood thoughtful in a government hospital suffocated by the heat, lost in thought; a man stricken in years lamented. I figured it was the killings perpetrated in the preceding week by the infamous ombatse group that elicited such action. I listened, clutching onto every word with fervency to decipher his words of wisdom, he swayed the attention of the sickly seated patients holding them in deep thought. The old man spoke in fluent Hausa language translated as: “The people who relentlessly exhibit such grave misdoings target the most vulnerable: children, women, and the elderly. His countenance fell as he illustrated how more often than not the daredevils always escape scot free to plan another attack. I understood his feelings; I felt the same way a day before.

                       I am an indigene of Nasarawa state, although most of my pals spell it with a double‘s’; I have been worried about the implicating headlines that grace the national dailies; my dear Nasarawa when did you change? The judicial panel setup by the amiable governor Tanko Almakura is yet to conclude its findings on the May 17 brutal slaughter of scores of security personnel and yet again carnage struck. I prayed, wished more like it that our government would hear the old man as he dished out his wisely words. I still was standing beside the refraction room where dad had entered for checkup. The door was brownish alongside its hinges; it has a silver coloured knob about ten feet high. I stood dutifully like a palace guard defending his king yet unaware of anything beyond the door. The heat still stretched its tentacles, and my slim face was covered with artificial wrinkles.