On October 20, 2020, as the tragic events unfolded at Lekki Toll Gate, my father and I found ourselves reflecting on Nigeria’s social and political history. The #EndSARS movement is only the tip of the iceberg. Before the events of that night, my father had an unsettling feeling. He told me, "I am reliving a déjà vu." For over a year, I have been interviewing him, reading books, and watching documentaries on the Nigerian Civil War.
We have spoken at length about the parallels between the war and the ongoing suppression of truth, even though they are separated by half a century. The government’s attempt to erase what happened in Lagos, its denial, and its rewriting of history is eerily familiar. "We are lucky," my father says. "Now, we have social media. It is the most powerful tool we have. But during the Biafran War, journalists were not allowed in. No one could document the atrocities we lived through. In seeking justice for what transpired in Lagos, I turned to my father’s memoir, where he recounts his own experience of war:
"I knew it was only a matter of moments before Nigerian planes descended on us, like kites preying on chickens. The trees in the garden offered some protection, their dense leaves making it harder for the kites to strike. But air raids were different. Warplanes tore through the sky like lightning, setting everything ablaze. Houses, trees, and lives, all swallowed by fire. At this time every day, fighter and bomber jets kept a regular deadly appointment with our village. It had become routine. In my naivety, I wondered if these pilots had a personal score to settle with us. Why was my father’s house marked for endless bombardment?"
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