Driven by hunger and taste. He stole to fill his hungry stomach. Not to buy cars or build mansions, not to send his siblings abroad or to walk about with police and army escorts. He stole because times are hard. He was just a 7 years old hungry boy. It was garri (cassava flakes) he stole. He stole to eat it, not save it in the bank. Yes! They caught him.
Beat him up blue and black. He laid there wiping and wailing. He was now bearing not just the hunger pains in his stomach but also the endless beating. He cried out. He searched through the crowd for a saviour. A heaven sent. One who has felt his type of hunger. One who can say 'he was just 7 years old and hungry'. But no! There was no saviour. Just righteous judges. People who have never stolen in their life. People who have never been hungry. And while he was still searching for help. Hoping for one last miracle from heaven.
The beatings died down. He sighed, it has ended. He thought he was going to be set free. But while still lost in his thoughts, the tyre came heavily round his neck and fuel was poured on him. Fuel that was more than the garri he stole. He looked to heaven one last time and murmured a little prayer I think before he finally burst up in flames. And the Nigerian saints without sins or who have never known hunger celebrated. They have rid the society of one bad egg. And yet politicians steal billions of naira and still walk around freely and been celebrated.
He was just 7 years old. He was just hungry. He stole garri to fill his empty stomach. And the Nigerian saints killed him.
Rip little boy.
Please forgive us.
Please don't condemn us before our maker.
Rip.
Culled.
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