'Oga, wetin you bring come na'
Nothing, sorry.
'My broda, what do you have for us'
Love, only love.
'Where is my morning coffee?'
Pardon? I'm not a café.
Where did you bury it?
Your shame, your conscience?
It must be somewhere dark and deep.
Where you are haunted by dreamless sleep.
Some with a uniform, some with a gun
Some with a smile, with a glint of fun.
All with hands outstretched, seeking, begging
Asking, threatening.
So much coded, yet crystal intent.
It has spread all over, from the janitor to the judge
All that is different are the sums and the styles.
Corruption corrupts all. It condemns all.
Yet, it spreads further, fertilised by impunity.
Fed by the hopelessness of 'how things are'
They sell their integrity for pennies,
They sell us all out for what I spend on toilet paper.
Where did you bury it?
Your future and that of your children?
What price their integrity?
What cost the impunity?
I'm Nigerian, British, Caribbean and Indian.
My heart is broken by the corruption I see in Nigeria. In almost all interactions with agents of the state - from police, to civil servants, there is the specter of corruption. It is a cancer that doesn't ****, only leaves you as a living dead.
'Oga' - term for boss
'Wetin' - 'what'