The title of this post has haunted my thoughts for the last 3 weeks. The two words combined, say something so simple, so powerful, and so profound, that their depth, makes me shiver.
Dear readers, For the last few weeks I have struggled to write. I have been out of ideas, short of inspiration, and devoid of motivation… But last night, I had a dream, and that dream has compelled me to write to you.
Poet Mourid Barghouti’s prize-winning novel, I Saw Ramallah is a thought-provoking chronicle of displacement. In it, the author tells the story of his return to his birthplace of Dier Ghassanah, in Ramallah, Palestine, after a protracted exile of over thirty years.
I recently found myself in discussion about Nigeria with an acquaintance of my grandmother’s. A man only a few years older than my older brother. He was of the opinion that there was no hope for significant progress in Nigeria within his lifetime, and I was of the opposite standpoint…