There’s a healing that comes from speaking and sharing. I felt it during the EndSars protests; I loved how it felt – like liberation. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew how the story ends. I craved justice -however, I knew that was never going to happen in a country ruled by criminals.

Africa has been plagued by the worst of humans in its leadership, but I think that from Idi Amin to Museveni, Uganda is yet to have a fair chance. I have seen and witnessed the unpolished manner in which these fascists make a public exhibition of their despotism, yet it shocks me to my bones each time it happens. I watched Museveni’s Interview with CNN’s Amanpour and thought it hilarious. Museveni’s poor attempt at colonial snobbery was both humiliating and plain stupid.

Tempers have risen. The man shut down the Internet, rigged his way through the election, and was declared a winner. But I also know how this story would end. Calls to the UN and the AU to intervene will eventually seize. Bobi Wine, who is currently under house arrest, imposed by the dictator, would either get weared out from abuse or keep fighting as his supporters gradually lose interest. Humans are like that.

But I digress.

‘Old People’ – A noun that I think requires a redefinition. Is this not who we have all become? Why the deafening silence? Or maybe this also is one of ‘adversity’s’ offsprings. Perhaps suffering has turned us into what we are not – mute – the ultimate defeat. ‘That is Old People for you. When something is too much, they keep quiet.’

Driving through the Lekki toll gate – the only reminder about what happened three months ago, sometimes, if the car is going at a higher speed, I don’t even remember. Lekki, just like a prostitute, loves money only. It is incapable of keeping a sad memory. It purges itself. Very quickly.