Oh Arewa, I’m sorry,
I know you’re battling depression and oppression,
questioning each creature that walks upon you,
“Why are you feeding me blood and bones,
the blood of the innocent that I cherish?”
you asked.
You’re filled with history of warriors,
That of Bayajidda, and Queen Amina
You’ve accommodated the El-kanemi, Sayfawa, Sultans and the Bayero-s.
Oh Arewa, I’m sorry,
I’m sorry that we have comprised your religion, culture and morals.
I’m sorry that we as your inhabitants fail to see our mistakes.
I’m sorry that we have invited death with its agony,
I’m sorry that we can’t march upon your belly to seek justice for your children, but we can march for another one life in another place.
I’m sorry that we didn’t still notice the sacrifices made by our fathers.
Oh Arewa, I’m sorry,
I’m sorry that we have been voting vultures as our leaders,
I’m sorry that your children couldn’t be safe in their own homes,
Arewa, I’m sorry, I’m writing this piece with the blood that flows in my vein,
Arewa, I’m sorry that I have to write this upon dead bodies because I couldn’t get a paper.
Arewa, I’m sorry, for we have danced in the rain, shaking each hair strand on our skin to the rhythm of the Angel of Death’s music.