On the 30th of May,
a half of the sun arose;
not for Ojukwu or Kanu,
not just for the Igbo speaking region,
or for the southern region of Nigeria.
It rose and shone for all.
When the flag of freedom
bearing the insignia of a slice of the sun upon its rising is raised,
even those oppressed in the sixties cry,
Even those intimidated in 2020 shout, “These Igbos have started again!”
But the rising of the sun is the rising still
of the cry of the pregnant woman raped in Borno state,
the yawns of the Almajiri child begging aimlessly
before the great gates of the Ahmadu Bello University,
the groans of the soldier buried alive
in unmarked graves in Sambisa,
the sighs of the displaced farmer in Benue,
the rumblings in the belly of the malnourished in the IDP camps,
the moans of the indigenes whose farms
have been made unproductive by the spillage
in the Niger Delta,
and the ragged voice of the teenage okpa seller at Akwata,
who has to empty her tray by all means,
in order to escape a beating by her aunty at twilight.
This flag is the emblem of a new dawn –
a symbol which unites our diversities against a common enemy.
The bullet shot in Owerri by men in uniform,
is from the same magazine
as the one released in Zamfara,
by the same finger that tickled the trigger
that took an uncle’s life in Aba,
maimed an aunt in Lagos,
spilled the blood of a priest in Kaduna,
blinded the eye of a nephew in Awka,
pierced the lungs of a cousin in Zakibiam,
and shattered the skull of a nursing mother in Abuja.
This flag doesn’t spell division.
It rather screams out our common aspirations,
for a better quality of life.
It should be flown by the homeless kids in the streets of Yobe,
by folks who weaponize religious dogmas
and demonize western education.
It should be raised by bandits in Kastina, who have been brainwashed to make men buy their freedom for money,
and render account to lords who live a protected life.
It should be raised by the common wine seller in Sokoto,
whose business is haunted by Hisbah,
who hypocritically turn a blind eye
to the drunken masters in high places.
Biafra means awareness, knowledge, political deliverance, emancipation from mental slavery, unity in diversity,
Biafra means right to life, love, heroism, learning from history.
Biafra means freedom for freedom’s sake!
May 30th is not a cry for war.
It is the commemoration of the death of 3 million people.
It is a day to ponder on why after that date,
as many as that have been killed
for the same reason the flag was first raised.