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Standing on the highest peak of Enugwu, across the horizon, I looked. From the West coast of the Niger River; Asaba, to Onicha, and to the Hinterlands of Owerri, Aba, Umuahia, as well as to the Coastal Areas of Igwuocha, Calabar and Ogoja, smoke, dust, and ashes design the sky above.

Having been tagged "Rebels", our markets, schools, houses, hospitals, churches, recreation centres, and all Infrastructures thoroughly bombed, burnt, and razed to the ground. No living creature spared... animals, vegetations and humans alike. It was a ferocious, brutal, mindless, and hate-filled campaign for the total annihilation, if not extermination, of a people from the face of the earth.

Over there, the ruins of war lay waste. Over there on the soil of the land of the RISING SUN, the Sun seemed set permanently on Biafra, as we stood in the valley of death, surrounded by the bones of well over 3.5million of our starved children, women, and men, as enunciated by the British-Nigeria, and her international allies.

Destitute, rag tagged, hungry and homeless; the dream of a great nation was seemingly literally mortified. Hopes of a great Black Continent dashed, and the Light of Africa finally extinguished.
To victory and conquest unending, their cups of wine kissed one another, in blissful and ecstatic toast.

It all so seemed a catastrophic end for a people, while the world looked the other way, in conspiratorial silence.

The peace of the graveyard reigned, as they mocked in sarcastic defiance at our pains and penury.
Who cared? The cries, the groanings, and the agony of a conquered people; all to deaf ears fell.

On a round table they sat, and upon the spoils of war they fell. Our r land and its resources the Sons of Futa Jallon, and their conspiratorial junior partners, the kinsmen of Afonja, shared amongst themselves, with Britain laying claim to the lion's share, as we licked our wounds.

They wished and prayed the Sun never rises and smiles upon us once again. But, at last, courage rose with anger, with fury, and with danger, as a new generation of Biafrans have emerged from the dust and ashes of the past, asking many questions, without any answers forthcoming.

Now, Captains of industries, philosopher kings, artisans, inventors, trail blazers, men and women of great means and wits they are.

Finally, in unison, they say NEVER AGAIN shall they be subjugated to enslavement, and treated as subhumans in their own land. Never again shall their destiny be controlled by strangers.

At last, clouds of horror descend upon the gladiators and on those who once cast lots on our inheritance. At last all secrets and conspiracies lay bare at the thunderous voice of the Lord's anointed, a young man called Mazi Nnamdi Kanu, in a faraway land of the oppressors, the parasitic and exploitative Britain.

Finally, it dawns on us that we either stand fighting, or we die kneeling, while crying for a non-existent help. The world has left us to our fate. Yes, our fate is ours to fight for, and our future to forge.

Like their forebears, way back at Afaraukwu, with bare hands, the indomitable and firmly resolute young generation of Biafrans withstood the Feudal Fulani Terrorists Army, not fearing the hovering fighter jets, armoured vehicles and all manner of deadly and heavy weaponry. Twenty-eight of them fell to the lethal weapons of the enemy, yet their thirst for freedom remains unassuaged, and their spirit undaunted.

The end is here with us. What stares us in the face is more horrific than the hammer house of horror. The cloud is thick and dark; the trenches are covered. It's the children of the once vanquished. Their hearts know no fear and their resolve is made of steel.

 Bold, strong, courageous, and unrelenting they are; able to withstand and crush any storm and tempest in their march to freedom.

NEVER AGAIN! the voices of the offsprings of the once rag tagged soldiers and debased of the earth resound like a lion's roar, and the rumblings of the waves of an angry sea.

Indeed, once again, the Sun rises on Biafra while it sets on the evil duo of Britain and Nigeria.

In Biafra Africa died, but in Biafra Africa shall live once again. The red line is long crossed. It is the battle for freedom, and freedom we must clinch with an iron fist. 

Written by:
Elekwachi Ude
(TBRV Writer)
For: The Biafra Restoration Voice - TBRV

Published by:
Chibuike John Nebeokike
For: The Biafra Restoration Voice - TBRV

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TBRV | Biafra

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