There is a particular quality to the peace of a place that has never known fear. It is a deep, unselfconscious quiet, the kind where the evening air hums with crickets, not tension; where footsteps on the sandy terrain are those of a neighbour, not an intruder. This was Ezimo.
For generations, our community, Ezimo in Enugu State was not just safe; it was safety itself a by-word for tranquillity, a sleepy haven where doors remained unbolted and nightfall was a time for storytelling, not vigilance. We walked the road, apian ways, tracks and pathways at night unconscious of any fear. We only knew peace and safety.
That peace, woven so tightly into the fabric of our daily lives, now lies in tatters. Its unravelling did not come with a declaration of war, but with a creeping, insidious violence that has made the familiar, strange. It began, as it often does, with a crack in the foundation. An evening, like any other, at the Iyi Nzu area, shattered by the arrival of bandits. They were kidnappers as we later found out. Two men, their stories abruptly hijacked, were taken. One was our son, the other from Umundu, a neighbouring community. Our community, unaccustomed to such bargaining, paid a heavy ransom—not just a financial wound, but the ransom of a heavy dent to our pysche.
The assailants, sensing vulnerability like sharks scenting blood, returned. They stormed the town with a brazenness that spoke of impunity, only to be met by the brevity of a hastily assembled resistance of our local security outfit and other men who see such affront on their land as worth dying for. Their retreat was a temporary victory, a gasp of relief that proved tragically brief. A few weeks later, they struck again, this time at a sand excavation site, a place of honest labour violated by the crude transaction of armed robbery. They fleeced their victims of their earnings, stripping them of the gains of their toils.
Then quite returned. We thought the end had come as calm returned. It was just a wishful thinking as we were rudely awakened to what would mark a turning point in the terrifying escalation of insecurity, a crossing of a rubicon that plunged Ezimo into pure confusion and dread.
It was at about 6:45 pm, under the dimming sky that all hell was let loose. It was the crescendo of the build up. The assailants arrived. They were sighted at the sand excavation site in between Amaogbele and Amogu villages. The news circulated. A combined team of the forest guard and neighbourhood watch personnel took position at strategic positions with a view to confronting the danger.
But the assailants appeared prepared. They seemed to have perfected their arts with a new and unlikely target their focus. They did not target civilians as was the case before. They launched an attack on the very symbol of state security – policemen guarding the home of Deputy Inspector of Police, Mr. Frank Mba.
Applying cunning, they avoided the home of the Deputy Inspector General of Police but rather set ambush by the wall of a house 75 meters apart. As the report had it, a youngster sighted them, and being suspicious of their movement advanced towards the police personnel mounting guard outside the home of the DIG and informed him of the presence of suspected assailants. Leaving his duty post, he walked 75 meters to check things up.
At that instant, a crack of gunshot was heard. The crack of gunfire was not a warning shot; it was a statement. When it ceased, one police officer lay dead, and his AK-47 rifle, a tool of order, was now a trophy in the hands of chaos. The message was chillingly clear: no one is safe, and no institution is too powerful to challenge.
The ultimate insult to this injury came just a few hours later. A couple who had the ill luck of playing host to the assailants who helped them finish off the cooking of beans and yam porridge, before pouring the entire pot into a bucket and dashing off testify to the assailants numbering over 20, with all of them hooded and wielding guns. Others lay the same claims…hooded? Your guess is as good as mine.
At 1:30 am under the bold light of the moon, the marauders were sighted. Not hiding, not fleeing, but methodically burgling and looting shops along the road. And there, the profound helplessness of a people was laid bare. Local security personnel, hearts pounding with courage but hands holding inferior arms, could only watch. To confront them was to invite a massacre. They were forced to be spectators to the pillaging of their own community, to “allow the assailants to have their field day.” This is perhaps the most corrosive feeling of all: not just fear, but impotence.
The people of Ezimo are now unwilling host to a nightmare. The familiar paths now hold shadows; the friendly face approaching might be a threat. The trust that was our community’s bedrock has been replaced by a constant, low-grade anxiety. How did a haven become a hunting ground?
This is more than a crime wave; it is an existential crisis. That Ezimo is home to the Deputy Inspector General of Police, the Deputy Governor of Enugu State, senior ranking officials of the Nigeria Customs, and other high-ranking political officials only underscores the audacity of this terror and the profound failure of the security apparatus meant to protect every citizen, regardless of their status.
Therefore, this is not just a lament; it is a desperate plea. A cry from the heart of a community that is losing itself. The people of Ezimo call upon the security agencies and the government to rise up with the urgency this situation demands. Reinforce the front lines, equip those willing to defend their homes, and launch a decisive operation to reclaim this territory from the grip of fear.
The soul of Ezimo is resilient, but it is under assault. We must not let its silence be mistaken for peace. We call for action, not when it is convenient, but now – before the last vestiges of that cherished peace are stolen, shop by shop, life by life, leaving behind a community that remembers what it was but no longer knows what it has become.
© Ubia Akwudolueze Nke Ezimo
