CALL ME MAGODU
When they drove nail into the palm of Jesus that day, they thought they had won. They thought they had silenced a movement that was right, but it was all theatrics, and it showed one, or more actually - how scared they are of a mass awakening; of a people whose voice is loaded with venom and gall.
Today, I write, not as one who was stapled to the cross, but one whose freedom has been taken away in the guise of national interest. But the beautiful thing is, my mind is not confined to this place, it wanders, like a herder, exploring territories, and eating the good of it – that is why I have this to say:
1. They find my courage unbelievable, that a boy whose strength to stand was taken became stronger to oppose a force that is callous, dangerous and lurks within anything evil. That, even after they tried to gag me with gold, I told them I am royalty, and gold is stale.
2. I know what they did in the Delta. And, they accused me of being vile for speaking for the women whose farmlands they gored with their sophisticated machines and paltry compensation that couldn’t ease the hardship they’ve caused.
3. We know what you did to those young men at night when the world was asleep. Even when they cried for help, your conscience was cold, and you hanged them by tree and plucked out their hearts.
4. When I saw the legacy of our fathers was to snap in pressure, and allow you mine our wells to line your pockets, I was sure I do not want to be the mediocre I call you today.
5. Wealth pass through our backyards up to your depot, but we do not have roads to use our two-wheel vehicle. What I know is that, tyranny do have an end.
When I saw the double-cracked wall, scattered queue and raggedy faces, I knew I have been sent to hell. And, I know why, but it seems I have been punished for showing too much emotions, and putting myself second in a world where I was never first, anyway. I walked into the toilet, and saw inmates walled up, and flogged by neo-leaders. This is another life, this is how people lived here, this is death. Then I saw a mirror, but I couldn’t recognise myself. Two hours since I woke up from that battery, it has doubled my identity; my name Jeffrey, but I think I should be called Magodu – the bruise on my lips, the cut beneath my left eye and the patch around my temple suggests so.
Dinner was an absolute mess. Soggy. Tasteless. Paltry. For a moment, I shut my eyes and appreciated mama’s food. If I have cell-food for all the time I’ll be here, then they don’t have to kill me, because I would have shrunk into an ant, and lacked strength to even regret it. My cell mate is a psycho, he keeps shouting “Akwase, Akwase" every night, and it sent chills to my spine that I could be like this. When his renditions break my thoughts, I usually think I’m in a mental asylum, but honestly, that could have been better; madness over suffering – in both cases you’re handicapped, but in the former, you’ll be taken care of. But I don’t want to be taken care of, the power I possess is to keep the revolt on, and tell them I, and my people do not crack under pressure.
Testimony Ageh holds a Bachelor’s degree in Mass Communication, Rivers State University. He was born in Port Harcourt, but originally from Delta State. He believes in the power of literature as a leeway to a better life amid life's tribulations. Testimony prides in learning, and hopes people would see how beautifully lit art is. He tweets tex_timony.