Skip to main content

AFOR-UMUOHIAGU BOMBING: 50TH MEMORIAL, CONCILLIATION AND HEALING



Today 50 years ago the drum of war was heard in Afor-Umuohiagu market.

On the 7th day of February 1969, the quiet and peaceful community of Umuohiagu and its environs were provocative, transformed into a graveyard of uncontrollable mourning and groaning by inhuman civil war activities meted against unarmed civilians (mostly women and children). The ungodly day witnessed a fully-packed afor-umuohiagu market desecrated and raped like a whore whose legs were tied to immobile stakes. The entire terrain of the central market turned into a river of human blood. As the eggs of death were hauled on Afor-Umuohiagu market, the reek of death pillaged and ruined the 3,400 capacity business centre.  

Five decades after this awful and infamous gibbet, nothing has been said or done to heal the traumatic memory. Therefore, it is important to draw attention to such inhuman proclivity for dissipation and turpitude.

"In defiance of hunger and probable death, the people of Umuohiagu and its surrounding communities gathered in the market to engage in their various trades on the market day.

On that fateful day, though fear hung in the air as it always had in the face of devastating war, there was no inkling that death was close by, encamped around Afor-Umuohiagu market, waiting to snuff breath from unsuspecting lives.

At about 12:30 on the windy bright afternoon, with a deafening sound that came as swift as lightning, Afor-Umuohiagu market reverberated, at the height if business activities.
In their bid to flee from the claws of death, they stumbled over one another, making an escape from the market even more difficult. The bombs devastated the village and left deep craters here and there.
When the raid was over there was huge wailing.
As the news of the massacre spread around towns and villages people rushed in to look for their dead or wounded relatives. Members of over 250 families whose relatives were killed competed with vultures in the search for bodies."(source: BLOOD AT NOON).

In keeping to giving the innocent victims a place in history, and in honour of the wounded survivors of the 50 year old unhealed sorrow, I, concerned citizen of the affected community, rise in solidarity to mark the 50th anniversary with the theme: "Afor-Umuohiagu Bombing: 50th Memorial, Conciliation and Healing", in order to restore peace in the land. 

I intend to preach the desired message about the foolishness of war and priceless gift of peace. Based on this resolve, I plan to tell and retell our own history as I call to mind such defining moment that shifted the paradigm of peace and oneness in Umuohiagu community. 

The aim of the anniversary includes immortalization of the victims and lasting healing for survivors.

The immortalization: Attract government involvement in establishing and equipping a functional health care centre for the wounded community.

War under any guess of it is senseless but peace is priceless.


Nnaemeka Nwankwo Okere

Wrote in from Umuohiagu


Nnaemeka Nwankwo Okere hails from Umuohiagu in Ngor-Okpala LGA of IMO state.
He studied English and Comparative Literature at the University of Uyo.
He is an expert in Communication and Election Observation Mission.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A letter from John

My bucket hat donned my head. It served the scorching sun right, my scalp was not one to be burnt for no offense. I relaxed my tired body against the board of the trawler. James yelled at me, "Don't just sit there and watch I and father. We will still catch some fishes, you can't just lose hope",he seemed to say. I peered at him through the corner of my eyes and closed them again. I felt cold water being sprinkled on me and I jerked up. It was father, I had no choice but stand up and join James.. I was not a man who wanted too many things. All I wanted was to catch some fishes yet the little things kept hiding and refusing to walk into the loving embrace of my fishing net. I may not desire many things but I sure desired to be loved not the kind of erotic love some of those Samaritan women would profess to men who lust after whore mongering. I sought for a love that was pure and chaste. A type that I couldn't even explain. I sought to be loved deeply by G...

WHY I WON'T BE BUYING ANYTHING AGAIN FOR A LIFETIME

Heads up, people!  Walking into a shop to purchase an item does not look appealing to me anymore. This is one of my decisions for the new year being that if something is not worth it then there is no point buying it especially trying to impress another fellow.  I have chosen to stick to buying experiences rather 'things.' One of my observation is that experiences cannot be stolen or compromised. They stick like your gum sap sticks to a tree.  So maybe before you buy that expensive Emporio Armani wristwatch or Jimmy Choo shoes, it might be imperative to checkmate if there are experiences that same amout can buy you. Don't get me wrong, it is as clear as crystal that you need to shop for clothings, food, phones or luxury from time to time but bear in mind that your happiness can't be tied to any item. That vibe you get is nothing but a fleeting one .  “One of the enemies of   happiness  is adaptation,”  Thomas  Gilovich reveals. “We buy ...

Mrs Woobag

Call her Woobag! He wooed her to make her a bag Whose mouth has been gagged A slum bag filled with punches Wearied with abuses in bunches Despised punching bag! Lengthy love letters turned assassination letters Man-handled by the man who gave her love's handle Love remains blind till it gains sight Woobag's face tells the story when his fury kindle Who will bring you down from that scary height? Fair face turned blue Kicks and slaps await you on a queue Upon your monster's punch tune You disappear in a ruin Your monster The master in feminine batter Who like a lobster Clinched your soul with claws till it splatter Your phlegm-trickling nose seeds Watch the master's deeds Innocence robbed Will there ever be a refund? Woobag! You await the right time and cry in a bag You may not become an old hag Till your bridled tongue you wag.