Nigeria is burning from the middle out
And everybody’s pretending they don’t see the smoke. Smoke?
This isn’t about religion, or fucking tribes (which the Britishers sold you, damn, you were nations), or even politics—it’s survival. The land is being eaten alive, and if we don’t face it now, there won’t be a country left to debate. Country?
Well, let’s say what must be said.
The solution nobody wants
This is a hard one. But it has to be said.
We must face it—the kind of treatment a doctor gives you when your back’s against the wall—one final, rather brutal cure, dunno. You won’t like it. You’ll resist it. But it’s the only option left…
This is about the killings in what’s called the “Middle Belt”—and how nobody in power wants to admit who’s doing the killing, or how to stop it.
Because doing so would mean naming the real enemy. But first…
The sin of Gowon
Let’s begin where it all went to hell: Yakubu Gowon.
That khaki-boy motherfucker who should’ve gone down in the so-called Biafra War (which really was Nigeria’s War on Igbo). Instead, he leads and rewires Nigeria into something like the colonials desired—fragile, false, failed. The motherfucker.
He breaks the country into artificial States. Renames places. Muddies identities. Sells Nigeria to Britain’s blueprint. And calls it unity. The motherfucker. Go on with one (motherfucking) Nigeria, his idiotic name became.
Today he’s (still fucking) celebrated. A Christian. A “man of peace.” A savior of Nigeria. The motherfucker!
Fulani—the problem
Let’s name the enemy: Fulani.
Not “herdsmen.” Not “bandits.” Not “unknown gunmen.” Not “strange armed herders”—they’re not running out of descriptives as long as they won’t say it.
This is an invasion. A takeover.
And the entry point is cattle grazing—open, unchecked, and deliberately weaponized. They’re not just rearing cows. They’re mapping terrain. Embedding. Localizing. Resettling…Terrorizing…Cows and AK’s.
When the guns come out, it’s already too late. Thunder after the lightning, a hypersonic ballistic—you heard it, you’re fucking smoked.
Five cowards in charge
There are five states at the heart of this: Kogi, Nasarawa, Benue, Plateau, and Taraba.
They have five governors. Five men (with pricks) who should have formed a coalition by now, as “chief security officers” of their states.
Because the enemy is common. The war is shared. The blood is the same.
But they do nothing. They sit and wait for 2027. To sit and do nothing, that is if they themselves don’t go up in smokes…
They keep silent because Abuja holds their leash, and the other fucker in charge of Aso Rock. They dodge the truth because their (cherished political) future depends on cowardice. Cowardice couched as cool. Cool, we love peace. Peace, huh? Damn peace!
The people die.
If the state won’t fight
Then the people must (O, peoples). Peoples…
If you can march in the streets and get tear-gassed (even gunned down by the NPF elephants, the other security officers), you can organize. You can resist. You can defend your farms, your families, your future.
This is not new. Odi. Ogoni. Zaki-Biam. Endless. Nigeria loves to crush the oppressed. Nigeria loves to suck its own blood. More below…
But when five kings once stood against four greater kings (fuck these kings)—well, they won. Genesis says so. And if I or my piece is the Abraham stepping in for the sake of his nephew, well then…
Let the people become kings again (for sure not for some stupid allegiance, but) to stop a common enemy).
The only trade without rules
Cattle rearing is the only business in Nigeria where the traders get to operate on other people’s land—for free.
No rent. No boundaries. No consequences.
A tailor pays for a shop. A farmer buys or leases land.
But a herder? He moves through your farm, eats your crop, destroys your harvest, rapes your wives and daughters, murders your sons and fathers—and you’re told to “live in peace.” Then he comes back, he sacks you. Damn peace.
That’s not peace. That’s conquest. O, o, who’s left now?
Draw the line
Here’s what must happen. Now.
Ban open grazing. Full stop. No negotiation.
Enforce it. Impound cattle. Arrest violators. You’ve got 10,000 troops motherfucker!
If you must, allocate land. Fence it. Lease it. Never sell it.
Respect boundaries. Cross them, face consequences. Real ones, not press statements. Not presidential panels…
And if the governors won’t draw the line?
Let the people force them to. Or remove them. O, o, their police!
The South is next
Tivland isn’t the finish line. It’s the starting point.
Once they’re done with Benue, Plateau, Taraba—they’ll come for the rest. The South should stop watching—prepare.
Not your fight? Well, Nigeria is a 120 years (behind). See?
Nigeria fights the wrong wars (all the time)
This same Nigeria—the one that claims it can’t protect farmers from Fulani attacks—deploys 10,000 troops to Rivers (the other state by the same motherfucker—the original one—Gowon—but I missed my point).
Ten. Thousand. This one…
Declares a state of emergency, sacks an elected governor, and imposes military dictatorship. In a democracy? The fuck! Damn, the sins of Gowon cannot be wiped away so easily… damn customers of the Great Britain!
Politics. Damn.
But when entire villages are being erased in the “Middle Belt”? Crickets. Press statements. Condemnations. Committees. Presidential panels. Then the next distraction.
The army knows how to act—but they only act when it’s to crush the oppressed. They only bring the thunder when it’s about shutting down resistance.
They never fight real wars. I know—there shouldn’t be (n)one.
They just make war against those already on their knees. We v. them—the enemy sits pretty.
If five groups today say “no more,” Nigeria won’t protect them—it’ll target them. Brand them rebels. Send ten thousand troops. Get it done quickly. Smile on his way to France for the next med checks (in a private jet from Europe)…
What Nigeria does. The motherfucker invention. A sustained idea, stupid every way you look at it. Stupid the more you look at it—stupid making stupid. How can you (not) look, stupid!
No fucking kings
If Fulani come and say we’ve conquered you, I say—fuck you.
I won’t swear allegiance to any man (fucking dicks)!.
Not to Fulani. Not to Christian. Not to Muslim. Not even if God itself asked to bow to a fucking mortal. Like, bow to a fucking mortal? What peace death is! O, hell. Hell? Then let’s burn while we look at God.
All this suffering—this world we live in—comes from people swearing allegiance to kings, chiefs, generals. Fuck all of that. Fuck all y’all swearing allegiance to and taking orders from bloody mortals!
Fuck you kings! Fuck you generals! Fuck you chiefs! Fuck you all!
No kings. No rulers. I die before I kneel.
Name the enemy
If we’re not ready to name it—then we’re not ready to fix it.
No more hiding behind soft words. Say it—Fulani.
Say what they are doing. Say how they’re doing it. Say what it will take to stop them.
Because if we don’t, the killings will continue. The villages will burn. And one day, there’ll be nothing left to save. Wait, who said? Save what?
Nah, we cannot flinch from truth. If it doesn’t set you free, it’ll kill you. You choose. What’s more freeing than that?