By Onuru-oyiza M. Sanusi I noticed that people were consoling a crying colleague of mine, for she was rubbed. Where? Okene! My home town! Every one turned to look at me. “Are you from that wicked place?” cold sweat came over me. My mouth opened, no word. Times you hear news about Ebira on NTA, printed media or verbal it is disgusting, very shameful. Few people started to calm me; I did not know I was shedding tears. I did not shed tears for the rubbed woman but, my land. Okene is definitely not the only place where rubbery is committed but, it is certainly the only place where brothers kill themselves for no just cause. A place where political crisis reigns for years yet no political position. It is a land where it is either killing for clannish differences or over nothing. What answers do we give when another ethnic groups ask why the killing and burning in our land always? I do not know whether those at home know the shame and challenges we outside the land always face. I thoug
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