That Nigerian Girl

I love the mirror It shows me what I am What I look like It reflects exactly what it sees My scars, my pain, my aches... My marks, roughness My own eyes staring back at me I watch my tears flow down my cheek I see my tongue taste it Salty in it's own bitterness I hate what it shows me I like to think this is my greatest weakness Can I accept That the mirror doesn't truly lie? That it shows me what I really am? Or can I just blink it away Assume it was never there? Am scared that if I look away I become oblivious to who I am So I love the mirror It doesn't flinch or crack I like that it can't hear me It just tells me who I am Makes me understand how they see me Bitter truth sometimes...I must say I accept what it says I nod and believe ...It's just the mirror

          My tutorial teacher asked a question in class. She asked if any of us (students) would die for our countries. When nobody replied, she went ahead to say that in a class she had tutored earlier that day, a Nigerian had given a passionate speech.  A speech thick with emotion, on how he could die for his country (Nigeria).     All Nigerians in class immediately burst out laughing, I too laughed. The rest of the students had their eyes on us like we were crazy, but we seemed not to care. My tutor was not exempted as she starred at us surprised.     We as Nigerians in the class thought in our minds I’m sure the same thing. Can anyone really die for Nigeria? Of all countries! Some of my classmates (Nigerians) made statements like “am I mad?” “I never die for my mama finish”, my classmate beside me said she can’t even take a slap. But after a while in class I began to ponder, on what it actually meant to die for one’s country. How easy could it be? And what was it worth dyin