Do not kill Kanu and Igboho
Any day, a cow in a china shop is a recipe for disaster. Anyway, it’s also a metaphor for Nigeria. Anywhere, a cow never frolics in a china shop, except in a great-little country like ours, Nigeria, where it lounges in a china shop; lolling its big horns, swaying its brisk tail and clattering its rugged hooves to the noise of crashing china while the President of the shop watches in sadistic silence. Anytime, the mother cow and its male, the bull, should be in a ranch, mooing and munching mounds of hay, living each day in contented confinement, happy that they have everything – fodder, fun and fur – long before the stainless knife comes along to close their eyes in death. The cattle are unlike the average Nigerian, who’s bereft of everything: hope, dignity and prosperity, except the skin on his body. It’s animal cruelty to lead wretched cows, bulls and their innocent calves over one thousand kilometres along the forests, on foot, from Daura through Ilorin to Ore, Sapele, Afikpo, Opobo – in an age-long practice – …
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