Around 9pm or so yesterday, I had posted on my Facebook wall that there should be a peaceful election “vote not fight” I had even added “God blesse Nigeria”.
I had gone to my polling unit like other humans to exercise my franchise to flex my right as a Nigerian who wants a better tomorrow for myself and my future. I had left my family hale and hearty. I was excited as I believed my vote would count.
There was an uproar just as I wanted to cast my vote. People ran here and there.
There was running and thumping. I ran too.
But then, something hot hit me. It ran deep into my body, the hotness seemed unending, I was fixated.
I felt my blood boil from my within, my head spinned, my eyes turned a hundred times in milliseconds.
I tried to shout, my voice was gone. I tried to move, my feet were numb. I was falling to the ground.
I could hear familiar and unfamiliar voices, but I couldn’t make anything out of all they said.
My eyes were closing even though I struggled hard to keep the wide open.
I was shot. The bullet’ hotness boiled my blood and I slumped to the ground.
All these happened in seconds.
My name is Daniel Usman, I was a 300level student. I was just 19.
My only wrong was going out to exercise my right as a Nigerian so as to protect my future.
I died trying to vote my choice. I died trying to make sure my future is safe. A future I’d never see.
My future is gone.
I am gone, but then, Nigeria remains.
I didn’t die a coward. I was brave enough to want to vote. A lot of my friends didn’t go out of their houses.
But here I am. Lifeless.
My mother would wail. All her prayers for me seemed to have wasted.
My father would gnash his teeth and curse.
My friends would cry.
My future has perished, there is no me no more. I am gone.
Don’t ever forget my name. I am Daniel Usman.