The Unwritten Story



He told me it was a beautiful place, a place that had the best climate conditions in the whole of the country
Despite being situated in a tropical country, it grew all sorts of exotic fruits and other produce, the people were never hungry

Aside its agricultural aspect, it served as a perfect holiday location for foreign nationals as the temperature hardly ever rose
He called it the Garden of Eden because of its enchanting nature I suppose

Its beautiful undulating landscapes defined it, pure unadulterated natural beauty
He told me how it had an unending supply of tin, so much that it turned into one of the country’s major exports

Tin was so popular that it attracted many investors forcing the government to develop that space
The same government that is now turning a blind eye on the chaos that drowns that place

A blind eye because the place no longer provides the income it used to, because the place is more of a burden than a blessing it used to be
He told me he had seen too much, he had seen enough sorrow to last him a lifetime, he had no option but to flee

Embedded in his mind was the cry of mothers who had lost their infants
Imprinted in his memory was the look of confusion and pain on the faces of children whose parents had been massacred before them

On the surface, this is a religious disagreement but beneath lies a political conspiracy
A conspiracy devoid of human emotion but aimed at attaining human votes
Votes for the conspirators who are sons of the soil
The soil that feed and protected them till present
The present which fills the air with the cries of the most defenseless and innocent

That day he told me the story, the untold story and the reality behind the known story
What I knew before was what the Internet had told me when I typed in the name of the place, not the truth of the place of former glory

He told me that the place had been a home for various tribes and religions for many years
He told me that the place had never been deadly to live in, they had lived without fears

I promised him I would write, write and tell their story
“How many articles and stories have not been written? How many songs have not been sung and how many reports have not been broadcasted?” he asked me

A spark has been ignited, a spark that will easily engulf the country in its intense flames but dare I predict?
Words can only paint a picture, but this picture is a reality in which only those in it know the intensity of the conflict

Who is he you ask? The answer would not provide a solution to the problem. His identity is irrelevant to the assistance needed at this time
The Assistance that should be provided for the innocent for the simple fact that they are human, must I further define?

The acronym Jesus Our Saviour (JOS) attributed by the early missionaries has slowly evolved into Jungle Of Survivors

**2Chronicles 7:14~If my people who are called by my name will humble themselves and pray and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then I will hear from heaven and forgive their sin and heal their land**


  1. Ayensua, u have a gift that can heal people. Don’t ever stop writing please. Ur words have got to spread to more people

  2. OMG, this is so touching and i definatly feel a connection. I was born in Jos, and even though i haven't been there in such a long time, it is still my birth place, and it is sad to see it become a battle ground.

  3. Ds is a wondaful writeup.d problem in jos will only be solve if their leaders i.e traditional rulers,religious fathers,politians in d state are willing and able 2 put sentiment away and reach a compromise.

  4. It’s nice to know some still cares. Thank a lot. We’re going to make it n be great. God almighty has just started pruning and soon the flowers (fruits) will blossom.


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