The inferno that started an hour ago has not only destabilized the Johnsons, but has also reduced their large estate—which houses the factory, raw materials, and finished goods—to ashes. Chaos is evident, as every attempt to quell the fire has proved abortive.
Being the only child of very old parents, Mr. Johnson married his wife immediately after graduating from the University of Jos and took over his father’s business thirty-five years ago. He has since built it into a reputable national conglomerate, successfully acquiring all the lands around the one he inherited and converting them into his business estate—The Johnsons’ Estate.
The Johnsons’ Estate houses the staff quarters, the production factory, the inventory store, the raw materials storage facility, the powerhouse, and, at the extreme end, Mr. Johnson’s residence.
The fire began as a minor spark in the powerhouse but was ignored by the staff in that department. Eventually, it grew and consumed the powerhouse, while the inventory team remained unconcerned since the backup power had automatically switched on.
When the fire spread to the inventory store, the Head of Production insisted they should mind their business. It eventually razed the inventory store and moved on to the raw materials storage facility. With the same indifferent attitude across departments at different times, the fire grew unchecked and devoured everything in The Johnsons’ Estate—leaving only the staff quarters and the Johnsons’ residence.
When it reached the staff quarters, cries rang out—loud and desperate—from different rooms. Yet, the impending victims were less concerned until it got to their turn. By then, they realized their would-be helpers had already been consumed by the fire. Calls to the Johnsons’ residence were dismissed as disturbances—it was past midnight.
It is worthy of note that Mr. Johnson had just welcomed a set of twins five years ago—a boy and a girl—after thirty years of waiting.
Eventually, the destructive inferno arrived at the Johnsons’ residence. The staff, once indifferent, now ran helter-skelter for help. But Mr. Johnson proved to be a man who minded only his business, unconcerned about the chaos below. The domestic staff were soon subdued by the fire, and the battle shifted to the main residence.
By an act of God, the 65-year-old Mr. Johnson and his 60-year-old wife managed to escape. As they stood, watching their last remaining asset burn, Mrs. Johnson’s scream pierced through the chaos:
“My babies!”
The cry sent a surge of adrenaline through her husband as he raced toward the fire. The moment coincided with the arrival of the state fire service, who restrained him. Gathering the last of his strength, he screamed:
“Gentlemen… our future is in the fire!”
—and then he passed out.
Every creature, no matter how docile, will give up everything to protect its young. Once their young are threatened, one is likely to witness the zenith of their aggression.
…This story is not about The Johnsons’ Estate, but about my dear country, Nigeria. The fire we face may not result in immediate death, but its effect is like the virus in Resident Evil—it does not kill you; it only inhibits you and conditions you into accepting a strange, diminished existence.
We have lost nearly everything there is to lose as a nation. Every sector has been consumed by this insidious fire, fueled by the docility of those who still feel safe—for now. We have endured far more than we were ever designed to bear. We have become synonymous with dysfunction.
Right now, it is no longer just us in the fire—the inferno is ravaging our future: the future of our children and their children.
Sometimes, the path to saving the future leads through the fire. We may need to walk through discomfort, through sacrifice, through resistance, to reach a place where that future is secure.
We can either take a stand for tomorrow—or let it slide, as usual. After all, there are many countries to run to… places that may offer comfort, but will never be home, nor carry the spirit of our heritage.
…Our future is in the fire…