What is there to be celebrated?

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Image of Liberia Independence celebration

As she gears towards the celebration of her 172 birthday, I mutter, confused to confide in her curse of ceaseless disasters. What is she truly celebrating? Her long but fruitless existence leading her children to beg and bootlick as they crumble at the mercy of exploiters. She stumbled, startled at the impediment placed upon her by so-called colonialism. A complete dissolution to her sovereignty. She claimed to be independent when truly dependency is at the avenue of her already weakened appearance-leading her children skedaddling in search for solace.

And I wonder, what is there to be celebrated after centuries and unmonitored decades of her foremost progressive bloodline. I meant generations, yes, before thy generation. Hence, the like of noble Hilary Teage of Montserrado, Richard Murray of Sinoe, to record John Day of Bassa, not without the breastfeeding children as Susannah Lewis and Matilda Newport of the lonely star flag. Crafted to designate the blood and pain shared and to remain for eons of generations to enjoy. But today I ask, what is there to be enjoyed? No, no, no, not the 26th of July! Ornamented on the folio of independence, but the mindset and lifestyle are documentations of dependent followers. They follow for unnatural gains coupled with their selfish desire to leave the mass majority hopeless with never-ending frustrations. Still, I wonder, what is there to be celebrated? 

I hear them whispered, she got the golds, glowing diamonds, so rich in iron ores. Oh, beautiful timber, fecundating rubbers, sweet cocoyam, and cassava mingling with tasting wine. The fertility of her soil brings forth a mass-producing oil palm, waving to the lake of blue. Oh! See beautiful Liberia. The lavishing tides of the ocean, sensing silence from the rivers. See mountains, earthly greens forest-home to hundreds of species. There lies king lion, elephants of the wood, and the big hippopotamus-all clasping under the climate of astonishing topography. Yet, she provides nothing for boast-not for herself nor her children. The weeping of her children terrifies me as compared to the cries of noblemen. For she has been exploited by resource sucking vultures. A failed surrounding, air contaminated with the presence of evil pains and sufferances. Hitherto, She's deaf, nodding to poverty as they execute hazardous commands. I still wonder, what is truly there to be celebrated?

I rumble and wiggle from the streets of Sinkor to broad street, in search for reality, but I got the threatening truth from the cripple, blind, deaf, and dump, beseeching on an empty belly while bearing the face of poverty. Sad! Penury keeps knocking at the doorsteps of those ordinary Liberians abandoned with less than a dollar for the day. For I see the catastrophic and unwavering birth of corruption, injustices, violence, sectarianism, racism and not forgetting sexism. Rape, Oh! gender discriminations, violations, cuddled with tribalism as the cultural heritage. Battling with segregation as one is labeled Congo or Native when in truth, they both fleed in search of freedom and dance at the drums of Liberty. Together, they sat and mourn the deadly ebola outbreak preceding fourteen years of civil unrest. Not without the unjust killing of past leaders and destructions of citizens from akin. You see rivalry when her children cannot say “Yarwolor ewarlee kama” in Kpelle. Or when they refuse to utter “ Jaja lan heduma” to the Fulanis. Are they ever willing to say “Um lia ylonnon, umyuweh muen” to their Krahn brothers? I’m terror-stricken with wonders of what is truly there to be celebrated? 

Searching in vain for the doctors, engineers, architects, scientists, agriculturists, entrepreneurs, or real patriots, but I have come to realize that little to none truly exist. I perceive the rise in opportunists, political disenchantment, rate inflation, mass hunger, unsheltered poor, health and educational facilities full of chaos, alongside deaths and disasters. Lawmaking but not abiding are within the mind of nepotists and a money-sucking vampire called leaders. Thereupon I ask, where are your achievements? The mass increase in crime, illiteracy, unemployment, ritual killing, hardship, bloody tears, satanic activities, or the reality of nothing? Looking around, I see so much beauty in that natural vegetation, strongly supported by her annual dry and rainy fall, but no, not exportation hence importation is the goods sold on major markets. I weep and grieve with frustration when I hear the ignorant calls for celebrations. Awe, where did you go wrong? Again, I wonder what is there to celebrate? 

I repose by saying happy dependence day to you Mama Liberia- still pondering on what is there to be celebrated.

Poetry
Liberia