Nigeria Content Online

Last
Friday, I heard that Tahir was dead. Of all the millions of people in
the Federal Capital Territory, Tahir just had to be one of the eight
people killed by the bombs that went off during the national day
celebrations.

But why do I think
that someone else should have died in place of Tahir? Why do I think
that Tahir’s death is more a loss than some other person’s death; not
just to me or his family but to Nigeria as a whole? You see, Tahir was
no ordinary Nigerian. He was not your typical docile, self-seeking,
corruption-prone, law enforcement officer. He was an A-Class officer of
the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC). You only had to
meet with him once to perceive the potentials in this young man; you’d
know instinctively that this was no ordinary agent but one who was
bound for greatness. He had that rare combination of love for Nigeria
and a sense of justice which has since been eroded from the senses of
the average Nigerian.

I remember watching
him proudly as he marched up the stage barely one month ago to receive
the third place prize after an intensive five-month long course at the
EFCC training institute. Tahir was not just loyal to his country, he
was one of the most intelligent officers in his cadre.

I met Tahir over
the telephone sometime in 2009. I got on the phone and within seconds,
we were already teasing each other like we had been friends for
decades. Tahir had just gotten married and I was demanding that my cake
be sent from Abuja to Lagos. I don’t know why it was so easy to be
friends with this young man. Maybe because we had mutual friends whom
we both trusted and loved; maybe it was just because Tahir was such a
great person.

The last time I saw him was three days ago, he took his 6-month old girl from my arms and left my office with his pretty wife.

“We are coming back soon,” he said. He didn’t and will not be.

I met Tahir in
person for the first time later in 2009. I was on an official
assignment in Abuja. The exchange between Tahir and I was like that
between siblings. It did not matter that he was a Muslim Fulani and I,
a Christian from the Niger Delta. He helped me with my assignment,
drove me about in his car. Some people you meet, and the first steps of
friendship is taken with caution and suspicion. Not so in this case. We
spoke of his wife as though I had met with her already and as though we
were sisters. By the time his life was wasted by last Friday’s bombing,
I had met his wife, his daughter, his siblings and his parents.

Tahir was a good
man. I don’t say this because he is no more or because he was my
friend. Why do bad things happen to good people? This was the question
I asked myself when one of our mutual friends called me to share the
horrible news.

“Just so that you
don’t hear this from anywhere else, I want to let you know that Tahir
was killed today,” he said. My response was of course the classic one
of disbelief. Tahir? What was he doing around Eagle Square? More so
when another friend told me that Tahir had stopped him from going to
Eagle Square that fateful day. A friend says it is destiny, but what
kind of destiny culminates in a violent death when you have done good
all your life?

Not mad in vain

When I read that
suspected agents of MEND had detonated bombs around Eagle Square and
that about eight people had died, my reaction was of mild irritation. I
had seen the MEND warning which asked people to stay away from the
square, and specifically away from trash cans and vehicles around the
Eagle Square. I was not angry enough at MEND’s unconvincing ‘fight for
emancipation.’ I did not realise that everyone who had just lost their
lives mattered.

But after spending
a whole night tossing and turning on bed, worrying about Tahir’s young
wife, his baby, his siblings, his parents; I am angry. I am mad at a
government that deludes itself that it is a sovereign nation when it
cannot provide security for its citizens. Mad at a group of reckless
young men who claim that they are fighting for equality and justice but
may really be fighting for nothing more than their pockets and bank
accounts.

But I will not be mad in vain. I will live life as Tahir did. I will
take risks and live life for the greater good of my country. Life is so
short, why waste it on meaningless living? So help me God.