These were the thoughts flashing through our minds
From the 10th of April through the 29th of May
When she was on a boat
Upon the stagnant waters of economic crises.
She trudged from side to side,
In the deep, cold mud,
Rain battering her head.
Through and through,
In and out
The open sores—
In her own flesh.
She cries out,
But no one comes.
Often it seems
There might be a glimmer of light,
Some hope, so she dreams
But as suddenly as this light shines,
But to no avail.
There’s a bundle of hands
Tugging at her poor flesh,
Tearing her apart,
Limb by limb,
Breaking her bone by bone,
Toe by toe.
Some have become food
For those who look up from the mud,
Hoping that she will rise.
And when light seems an arm’s length away,
We hope to finally shoulder her
Out of the pit,
And its misery,
That the last toe might be groomed to health,
That maybe Nigeria has hope
Now that a new power has the reins.
Left with inflation, starvation, depression, as our oars
Left with uncertainty as our courage
As to whether the next reef would split her apart
Or her pieces will hold on still