(Trigger Warning: Graphic descriptions of violence.)
Prologue
They say the world only burns when the fire reaches your doorstep. Until then, it’s just noise—distant smoke and a spectacle for others to mourn. But in Plateau State, Nigeria, the fire has been burning for decades, devouring villages while the world looks away.
This is not a statistical account of events. This is an account of Uren, a 17-year-old student from Hurti village in Bokkos. His words are not poetry but bloodstains on Nigeria’s conscience.
The Day Uren's Sky Turned to Smoke
On a regular morning, we were on the farm—my parents, siblings, and I—kneeling in the dirt, tearing weeds like we’d done for generations when they came. The land is flat here, and it doesn’t hide anyone. We heard the bikes first: a swarm of mechanized hornets. Then gunfire. Then screams.
My mother ran toward home—where my two youngest sisters waited, one sick, the other barely twelve when my father caught her. The ground beneath her turned wet with fear.
There was a hole in the earth. A shallow pit, maybe dug by miners. My siblings and I squeezed inside while my parents and eldest brother covered us with grass. Through the cracks, I watched.
Five men circled my family, chanting “Allahu Akbar” like a war cry, then took out knives. As if slaughter required intimacy. My father begged, and my brother fell. My mother’s wails split the air as she cradled his body, rocking like she could undo death.
The attackers spoke Hausa with a Fulani accent, “Shegu zamu kakashe dukan ku!” (You fools, we’ll wipe you all out!). Then they vanished, leaving only echoes of their glee, “Eeehhuuhuuuuu!”
By nightfall, my father was gone. My sisters—left at home—were butchered. My mother is now a ghost of herself.
The Silence That Fuels the Fire
We know these men. They live among us. Their faces are unhidden; their language is familiar. Yet they remain “unknown”—to the police, the media, the government.
This is not just Bokkos. It’s Riyom, Barkin Ladi, Mangu. Villages razed while Nigeria debates “farmer-herder clashes.” But what kind of clash is this that attacks the innocent and unarmed? When one side arrives with guns and jihadist chants, and the other side—my side—farms potatoes?
They call it “crisis” to make it sound like weather. Unavoidable. Natural.
But is this a crisis or genocide?
A Question to the World that Demands Answers
- How long must we obey laws that don’t protect us?
- How long before survival demands that we meet fire with fire?
The invaders have awakened something dangerous, memory.
And memory, soaked in blood, never forgets.
Uren’s story is just one of thousands.
Plateau State bleeds while the world scrolls past.
- To the Nigerian Government: Stop reducing genocide to “conflict.” Name the killers.
- To the Media: Stop sanitizing headlines. Call this what it is: ethnic cleansing.
- To the World: Break the silence. #PlateauUnderAttack #RememberHurti
Enough tea-sipping at high windows. The fire is now on everyone's doorstep.
Culled by SN
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