Drum Claw

With the Face of Human Histroy Badly Deformed by Warfare, Why Choose War Over Peace?

 

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The face of human history bears countless scars carved by the claws of warfare, yet, we fail to learn our lessons, we contumaciously fashion more sophisticated weapons of destruction against our future so as to put more lurid tales in the mouth of our badly scared history. Not learning a thing from our past, we follow the same dark slippery path that leads to the abyss of sorrow; a path paved by the cold and unforgiving hands of violence. We are quick to chant war songs, let out streams of invectives, brandish weapons of destruction, and hesitate not to use them at the slightest opportunity.

War, he is an insatiable foe of humankind: he will never cease to eat peace; his fire of fury will never cease to burn until a whole nation is lost in the inferno of hate and revenge.

Everywhere you turn there is one form of warfare going on! Our world is darkened by the smoke of warfare—in this thick darkness of hate, we grope, stumble and fall. Our backs stripped by the blazing whip of sorrow who is relentlessly flogging countless hollow. Moreover, starvation torments our little ones terribly scrawny…in his dark eyes none finds mercy! Why war?

 

When two or more nations or other organized groups lock horns, it is often believed that they do so because the issue that resulted to this could not be settled by diplomatic means. I do not think that there is any issue that bothers man under the sun that cannot be settled by diplomatic means. It is either we are not trying hard enough, or because we have grown so greedy for money and material gains since war puts money into the pockets of many.

Warfare, which ever form it takes, be it organized military confrontations, revolutions, insurrections, guerilla warfare or terrorism, all must be discouraged, for they only feed the grave fat of the peace men. Men, women and children with potentials die with their potentials; hence the world is deprived of these great minds.

 

Why war that comes so expensive when peace offers himself for free? Peace brings about progress, replenishment and continuity of life. War on the other hand brings the opposite: environmental degradation, debilitating hopelessness, abject poverty and the destruction of life. Why war, why not peace even in the middle-east? That age long vendetta that has brought no good rather, has written countless voluminous volumes of anthologies of lurid tales.

There is no warfare without bloodshed, and hence, there is no war without chains of broken dream, broken toys and shattered joys. There is no war that comes that does not come with is his sourer soup of shame with which it feeds the whole nation bloated. War who is no respecter of age, he will put his yoke on all; even children are made to bear burdens too heavy for grownups. War, a number one abuser of children, he will put big guns in their inexperienced hands, uncontrollable anger in their heart and the language of hate in their tongue; more fluent they would be than their parents could ever be in three lifetimes.

 

History is a teacher whose instructions we must not flout. History is the compass of navigation available to humankind to help pilgrim through the wilderness of life so we will not keep going round and round like a mouse in a barrow experiencing the same occurrences, events of shame and pain repeatedly. She is a lamp for illuminating the future hence; the present and posterity will not grope, stumble and fall. History is a map to take both the present and the future to their desired haven eluding the quicksand and pitfalls of yesterday. Why do we ignore her teachings? "Where history is forgotten, there will be no future." History says: Why war?

How can we forget so soon the sad tales of World War I…our sun got frozen…shattered… he ceased to burn! How on earth can we forget World War II…death…death…death…Oh life on earth was almost through! The hands of men mete out violence; they bathe their feet in the blood of the innocent.

Estimated death toll for World War II: 55 million dead—25 million in the military and 30 million civilians…. Why war! And guess what? More than $1 trillion was spent for the destruction of lives and property! Why choose war that is terribly expensive when peace is for free?

War, he is a tsunami… he'll devour nations with a vast and chaotic sweep; and would demand from them countless lives and money as payment for his unholy services.

 

Between 1914 and 1918, nations exchanged blows and our security became indisposed for gunpowder and cannons crushed houses and trees—our security sighed then rest in peace.

 

Through divine intervention our peace experienced a resurrection but only to suffer a greater destruction because between 1939 and '45, our weary eyes saw world war two alas, Satan had a greater breakthrough—he set the whole world on fire, kindled by advanced technology, the flame grew greedier… nuclear bombs were used—destroyed were the bad and good--hearts were made bitter because many died than any could ever remember.

O those years drowned in innocent blood for countless were gassed to their early graves

and he bereaved were tormented by sorrow's rod.

Like rain bombs showered from the sky and tore deep into the very heart of home, causing her face to twist in sorrow cry as innocent bloods gush and foam.

The salvo of hatred devoured peace and sanity—he  digested indigenes and towns, he  made refugees of the small and mighty; forced into exile, we scrounged for bread dancing like clowns.

Now to God all should pray that humankind should cease to be violence's prey so that earth may never again experience peace decay, rather, peace embrace all nations each blessed day; because if given a chance for a third…Satan will ensure all is dead!

Why war…why invite that greedy serpent into our pen to devour eggs cheeks and our productive hen?

 

 

How can we forget so soon the mass-graves of Rwanda…humans were buried like refuse! How can we forget Sierra Leone and Liberia…children were made rapist of mothers and murders of fathers.

 

War is the child of hatred and greed; this classical rapacious and insatiable foe of humankind would stop at nothing to bring the human race into extinction if giving the opportunity. Why war, why not dialogue? War will mercilessly reap open a pregnant woman and devour the child from her womb—why war? War will ravish a mother and her daughter before the tearful eyes of father and sons—why war? He would take a virgin and abuse her into the mother way then leave her to suckle her famished scar—why war? War will take bread from the plate of children, smiles from their faces and warm coat from their backs—why war? War, he will make graveyards out of anywhere: Market places, schools, playgrounds, work   workplaces homes and worship grounds.

—why war?

 

A once peaceful city shall become the scene of widespread looting and violence when War is Mr. President.  Broods of ill-trained armies by rapacious and bloodthirsty men shall scramble to gain control of as many towns as possible, making the lives of their inhabitants a living hell. Why war?

 

 

One sunny October afternoon, in a refugee camp in Ogun state, Nigeria, I met a six-year-old Liberian girl; she sat on the red muddy floor in a brown worn-out dress too big for her tiny frame. In her hands were three sticks, each was wrapped in a piece of rag; on one of them she attached a lock of synthetic hair. On the floor she made three small heaps with the wet red mud on which she pinned each stick.

Inquisitive I was, so I walked up to her, smiling I said hello; she squinted as she looked up at me, smiling she said good afternoon sir. I knelt down beside her and asked what where the sticks about, and her reply left a lump in my throat for many days. That six-year-old Liberian girl smiled shyly and touched each sticks affectionately on what I believed represented their chests, as she said these words: "This papa…this mama, and this Peter…my dear brother." That poor orphan child was trying to immortalize her dead family with the aid of pieces of sticks robed in rags. War is making orphans out of our children…why war?

 

A single bullet is enough to rob even the strongest of soldiers of his breath, yet, countless blazing bullets fly into a town occupied not by strong and heavily armed soldiers, but by helpless civilians that comprises of women, children, and the aged creating poor orphan children like the one I met at the refugee camp at Ogun State, Nigeria.

 

Even when this brute beast called war leaves town, our movements are restricted to certain areas because, before he left, he had sown landmines in what use to be farmlands…even playgrounds.

A child in shackles hops and giggles as she plays with her toy in the playground of limited joy. She tosses her toy in the air, it hits the floor causing great fear for it rolls, though not far, yet, to where her chains do not permit her. War, even after he had left town, we remain prisoners…prisoners of landmines.

 

War is a child abuser: to them he shows things even adults shouldn't see, moreover, he'll cause them to commit hideous crimes easy as a bell chimes

The children, whose eyes have seen things I forbid these eyes to see, are the children of Liberia and the helpless ones of Rwanda.

The children, whose eyes have seen things I pray no eyes should see, are the children of Darfur and of Angola's innocent poor.

The children whose eyes have seen things I pray no eyes should see are the emotionally wrecked of Lebanon and those of Israel who can't find the sun.

The children whose have seen things even adults forbid to see are the children of Lidice… young eyes witnessed the catastrophe

The children whose eyes have see things I pray no eyes should see are the traumatized of Baghdad and those of Palestine who may ‘ever be sad

The children whose eyes have seen things I pray no child should see are the children of Bosnia sitting in limbo and those of Croatia robed in sorrow.

O the children whose eyes have seen things I pray no child should see are the juveniles of every war thorn nation—those who narrowly escaped the jaws of extinction.

 

A lush land war will turn into a barren; a once habitable vast expanse he'll poison to a waste. Peace is sweet…war is bitter…O peace is sweet…war is bitter, but if you think me a liar…hear the tale of Nagasaki and Hiroshima!

 

Each day bore a golden sun that kissed our lands good morn'… assorted flowers stretched and yawn' and blossom into a life of fun in  lands where bouncing babes were born all in the image of God and Son. We made merry…never did we tarry to give thanks to the perfect one. But the storm came and nothing remained same, for nature tumbled …sadly she crumbled…our peace became lame.

Today, we pray for a redeemer…to purify both land and water because the burden of nine months only ends in fear—behold, strange infants in our shriveled arms we bear… in our poisoned lands—Nagasaki and Hiroshima.

 

Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan, still bleed to this day due to the atomic bomb that tore deep into their hearts in World War II, its venom snaked its way through their veins poisoning every organ in their system. WHY WAR!

 

Why war? Why invite the serpent into our pen of golden eggs? When war comes to town posterity is deformed. When war comes to town no child is too young to witness the cause of a sad song. When war comes to town, nightmare is a faithful bedmate. When war comes to town children cease to be kids but blood thirsty beasts among the reeds. When war comes to town, unclaimed cadavers dot our landscapes because the salvo of hatred chased away their kit and of kin. When war comes to town, hopeless is the able-bodied father as offspring dwindles in the merciless paws of Hunger. When war comes to town demons prance in glee at the incarceration of sanity. When war comes to town, the hearts of children carry loads too heavy for adults. When war comes to town HIV is an angel. When war comes to town, waste is ever seen…anguish evergreen. When war comes to town, like some have roommates, some will have grave mates. When war comes to town, with questions, inundate not the morgue…the ones you seek lies on the sidewalk. When war comes to town, playgrounds are farmlands; mines are seed yams… a bumper harvest of limbs in their barns! When war comes to town, boldly, rape walks the streets daring those who'll not bow to greet, When war comes to town, in charge are marauding bands trampling dreams like sands. When war comes to town, gruesome is our next-door neighbour …each day greets us with fresh terror! When war comes to town, sad letters are written from the front…equally sad replies are scribbled from what is left of home. When war comes to town, children are premature adults: ruthlessness and early graves are the results. When war comes to town, possessed by the spirit of the ruthless soldier the child becomes a glorified murderer. When war comes to town, children are fluent in the language of violence. When war comes to town, machete is ever drunk with blood deforming the image of God. When war comes to town, Zillions for life destruction …Peanuts for life preservation.

 

 

War is a crime against humanity; an arch enemy of peace and sanity. It is the most unprofitable business venture man has ever thought of, and embarked upon: a game of waste, a show of shame.

No other can rob a nation of her peace more than war; not even natural disasters or epidemics can rob a nation of her peace more than war. In times of war, walls of separation are erected everywhere; dissension and hatred thrives like a tree planted by the river and unforgiving spirit prowls like a famished lion, hence, revenge will never be pacified until he drinks his fill of blood.  War disunites a nation, while natural disasters or epidemics (not that we pray to experience them) unites even the world; as all would come together to fight against an epidemic; they would put heads together to seek a cure and vaccine.

However, because man is egoistic in nation, the greed for power and wealth has caused man to befriend the ancient serpent: the constrictor that seek to swallow us whole.

 

Therefore, to the devil we say, we need our homes back? We need back those moments we sat under our sumptuous mango trees in the youth of noon breaking kola nuts with kinsmen in the company of friends, sweet breeze and serene while the sun bathed our lands with productive heat; we need those moments back. We need our fire tongued wives to return from the market square and nag us like they use to; we need our children to noisily scurry in the yard in glee of play and break a pot or two. We need our old lives back---though it wasn't rosy… wasn't much of anything--full of back breaking toils, blistered palms and soles from working our soils…we need the naggings and blisters back.

The palm tree, she's pregnant with wine...but tapers are long gone…who'll relieve her of her sweet burden, our heavy hearts, when will her offspring gladden; we need our drunken kegs of palm wine back.

Our little boys…even "breastless" girls have been made robs for demons worn to the field of slaughter where parents and siblings are brutally slain…the bereaved condemned to eternal pain...we need our little ones back.

Machete, for life sustenance we designed thee: to help work our fields and trim our lawn,

fetch firewood to cook our meals and keep us warm; but today, a tailor you've become--cutting long sleeves and short sleeves out of us…we need our life sustaining machete back.

Our village, she was burring. Each evening, from the fields we return wary to our same old hurts to chew cola nuts and eat yam pottage cooked by faithful shriveled hands; but our village…she's burring no more…for there's so much action even in the dead limbs of a cripple... we need our boredoms back.

We'll give anything to once again hear the nerve wrecking voice of the market. We'll shed merry tears if ever again we behold the squabbles of our women in business; for we now sadly realize that they were but music to our ears compared to this noisy silence of death to whom we've lost the drums of our ears...we need our squabbles and noise back.

Our children once whined for more bean cakes, we'll give our right hands to hear them repeat those symphonies once again, for they now wail for even saliva to quench their burning thirst...alas, not even a rodent to appease starvation; we need the whining of our children back.

Dear Lord, we admit to our foolishness for we didn't know what we had until it slipped through our divided hands... we need again the hands of our brothers.

To the devil we say, have back thy chest of silver, and thy bag of gold we return for our souls...we're in dying need…we need our hearts back. Oh…may the flickering of the eyes of men once again be of the wind…we need our smiles back…our poor meals…squabbles, cold and fever, four seasons…and get together!

The moments we shared with out mellifluous wives making sweet memories when the sun is fast asleep in the west…we need our orgasms back.

Our cock crow at down, golden morning sun…we're in dying need of our hopes back. Above all, we need Jesus for our hearts to return and ‘ever dwell with us

 

War is an attempt at crossing the Sahara with but a glass of water. War is laying thy bed with thorns and red ants, bedbugs and black ants. War is salt in the engine of our nation War is storing water in a basket for posterity. War is a loaf of bread and a cup of acid. War is a rapist—a hymen thief. War is home on fire at bay is sand and water. War is the graves of children will be known to parents. War is kissing the lips of cobra, be married to viper War is a famished tigress to baby-sit a robust lamb. War is our harsh enemy, yet, invited by you and me. Why War?

 

About the Author

I'm an artist (painter) with equal passion for creative writing.

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