Pyemwa Samantha Deshi captures it beautifully. On the 9th of May 2015, a family was travelling from Abuja to Jos at nighttime. They passed the forest and came to the settlement right before the climb up the Plateau. They were pleased with their progress and projected they would be in Jos within the hour. It was then that they noticed that no vehicle was coming from the other side of the road. Fellow road users were pulling over; sure that something was happening right ahead of them. Suddenly the dark night became darker. Even the light breeze stopped blowing and silence descended in the vehicle. Following the example of the others, they pulled over and waited out with everyone else. The inhabitants of the car included the patriarch and matriarch of the family, four adult children and a 3 year old grandchild. They were all returning from a wedding of a family member and an adherence to tradition caused them to leave later than they would have loved to. Perhaps sensing the mood in the car, even the little child stopped fidgeting and went to sleep. The sons came out and interacted with other drivers a bit and learned that the road had been eerily empty for quite a bit. They figured out that armed robbery was going on ahead and it was better to wait. For some reason, the patriarch asked his son to drive on. “Daddy, all is not well.” they protested. “Keep driving” he insisted. He was always held in respect so his son started driving silently. The tension in the car was a palpable thing. Shallow breathing could be heard in the car and almost no talk. “We think we should stop” the children protested but the patriarch refused. “Keep driving!” He ordered “Whatever is going to happen is going to happen. Can you run from death?” His daughters started praying in whispers forcing themselves to stay calm while they declared that death was not coming tonight. “We are not going to die daddy” they responded and continued praying in hushed tones. Slowly, the driver-son went up the absolutely deserted Hauwan Kibo stretch. They willed the car to be silent, to be invisible, to fly, whatever it took not to see what lay ahead. They would be in plain sight of any marauder when they got out of the winding, upwards road; at the mercy of whatever was waiting. They got out of the stretch and a little ahead, they could see stones scattered on the road. They could hear gunshots but mercifully, they were coming from a distance. They cautiously approached the military checkpoint on the road and could see no soldier in sight. Curiously, the truck owned by the military was on the road but it was empty. The details registered as they drove away as quickly as possible praying that no gunman was waiting for them in the menacing darkness. By morning the people of Tahoss village would be on the streets, running away from the terrors of the previous night, in some cases relieved to be alive, in other cases numb and deliberately flinching from counting their losses. In the morning, other road users would pass the road, guess what had happened the night before but in the normal Nigerian fashion, they would insulate their hearts from feeling hurt or concern. The story would hardly be heard by the citizens of Plateau State so it would not even make it to national news. In the rare event that it did, it would be hidden on page 16 in the daily, tucked away in the corner and the reader would hardly glance at a Plateau State Village attack story. Burying these stories had become a normal habit. By morning, the military checkpoint would be functional and nobody would question the authorities. Nobody questions a man with a gun. The men at the checkpoints would rule again until some nights when their authority would inexplicably fizzle out and the phantoms that raze villages destroying lives and property would again appear. The voiceless and the oppressed would be too glad to survive and often the anger at the injustice and the loss would be unleashed by their neigbours and brothers from neighbouring villages. Often, the secondary victim would be the innocent traveller who had the misfortune of plying the road at the wrong time. While I do not accuse the army of complicity in the killing sprees in the Middle Belt, I do ask a lot of questions. Why enforce a curfew if you are not prepared or equipped enough to defend and protect the people? Why disarm villages instead of teaching them to be actively involved in their security and hence reduce the burden of blood on your hands? Why arrest the hurting but never, ever catch a single aggressor? (Is it just me or has someone heard of a herdsman arrest? Why mount checkpoints at all and be kings of the road in the day time and non-existent when the road needs you the most? If checkpoints are not an effective security strategy anymore, what other options are you exploring? Intelligence or Bush patrol? The questions go on and on. I shared early this year about the massacre of the Shwo villagers who were waylaid while they travelled with the armed forces in convoy. The army car escaped the shooting by the snipers. The rest of them were wiped out. (Links in the comment box) Can I mention Dogo Na Hauwa? Miango happened only this week and we are still bleeding. These are just three examples to show that the present security arrangements are far from effective. It is not out of place for the citizens to demand an explanation or to expect a change in the way things are done. Peace is not the absence of war, but the presence of justice. When the system deliberately weakens one party and empowers the other, we sit on a time bomb waiting to explode. As a Nigerian voter I do not expect much; I am not concerned about treaties, prayers in schools or even pro- choice versus pro-life. My needs are simple. I want good roads, electricity, and water and yes, I want some protection for my life. I think of the needless loss, the endless flow of blood and tears needs to stop. We the citizens shall not be silent any longer. We will amplify every case, examine them under our lens and yes, we do expect better. Our lives really matter. #StopMiangoGenocide #PlateauLivesMatter