By Ebuka Ukoh
October 20, 2020, was an unforgettable Tuesday. Then, I sat at home, watching DJ Switch’s Instagram livestream, my phone trembling in my hands as her voice broke through the darkness.
The sound of gunfire echoed over the national anthem. Flags
fluttered in blood and fear. Protesters—unarmed, singing, kneeling—were sprayed
with bullets. I remember feeling sick. Not just in my body, but in my soul. I
knew how this would end. We all did.
In Nigeria, power too often answers activism, not with dialogue but with death.
