We Don Tire

I must have been about thirteen when a member of our church was killed by a soldier. I'd been living in Nigeria for a few years by then, and was no stranger to death. Or violence, poverty, and the sheer recklessness that comes with knowing there might not be a tomorrow.

A relatively young man, he'd studied in that other pseudo land-of-promise, once heralded as God's own country, but now mired in controversies so deep and dark, it couldn't smell the nard for the manure.