I could tell you a tale of sins.
Of how our young men, either out of frustration or greed or a mixture of these, decided the only way to succeed was to reap out of fields they planted no seeds. Of how our young women, either out of covetousness or need, trudged after those guilty of this misdeed and feasted on fruits from trees of which they sowed no seed. Of how the rest of us did no better. How some of us envied secretly. How we coveted the wealth our young men had, wanting the respect and fame they garnered, to live the lives they lived, but not having the ‘guts’ to do what they did.
How others among us were all too pleased with scavenging for the crumbs we knew would fall from our young men’s tables and therefore encouraged them, just so we could eat from what they’d reap from fields they planted no seeds. How the rest of us were content to just sit and let it all go on.
I could tell a tale of greater sins.
Of how our young men started going diabolical to reap from the abundance of the white man’s fattened fields. Fields, according to them, our forefathers planted with sweat and blood. Of how our young women became the fuel for this devilry, willingly or otherwise. How they offered body, spirit, and soul, willingly or otherwise, to fuel this growing evil. Of how the rest of us did no better. How in some of us, our envy turned to hate, but not hate for the right things. How we hated the patients, but not the sickness. How we hated the ‘looks of the disease’ – the dreadlocks, the tinted hair.
How others amongst us who were all too pleased with scavenging the crumbs would no longer settle for crumbs. How we started wanting bigger pieces, egging our young men to even greater heights of devilry, just so they could eat bigger slices from the bigger loot our young men would reap from fields they planted no seeds. How the rest of us were content to just sit and watch as things got worse.
I fear to paint a picture of even greater sins.
Of how those who were supposed to be our protectors became the monsters they were meant to protect us from. How they became even bigger thieves than those they were meant to hound. How they committed greater acts of devilry than I would ever wish to recount. These doctors started letting the disease thrive but killed the patients. How every time they came in contact with those afflicted with the G-syndrome, they collected taxes for services unrendered. How when the taxes were not paid in cash, they were cleared in blood.
I hurt to paint how when all these started, some of us who envied, and then hated, started feeling smug. How comments like “they deserved it” and “the reward of the evil” flew around. How we were pleased as our young men were slaughtered with neither trial nor proof. I grieve at the thought of painting how the rest of us did nothing because “it is not people like us they’re after”.
Instead, I’ll tell you a tale of the greatest sins of all.
Of how greater sins were committed in the name of correcting lesser ones or none at all. How my brother’s blood was shed. How that of others were shed because they had wine or gold or red in their hair. How my sister’s life came to an end because her boyfriend somehow got a Benz. How a DJ was killed because he had dreads on his head. Another was killed because he wouldn’t let his phone be searched. I’ll tell a tale of how when all these began, those unaffected turned deaf ears.
“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”
― Edmund Burke
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