Two men were serving life sentences for the same crime, one in Kuje Prison and the other in Kirikiri Maximum Security Prison.
The Kuje man had one small, regular privilege in his confinement: a guaranteed Sunday 'pizza'—though a cheap, badly made disc of dough. The Kirikiri inmate, however, had no such comfort; he was restricted to a daily ration of dry garri and water.
When the Kuje man found out about the Kirikiri inmate's situation, he was full of gratitude for his own lot and pitied his friend. He reasoned:
"Kirikiri is hell on earth—no pizza, just garri. My prison is better than his."
Both inmates were presented with a rare opportunity: they could apply for a full executive pardon and walk out free to begin a new life.
The Kuje inmate looked back at his life before he went to prison and reasoned that he did not even have these privileges as a free man. Why leave the Kuje luxury for an unknown world of uncertainty?
The Kirikiri inmate, with nothing to lose (and who had nothing before prison either), applied immediately. After uncomfortable stresses, he was granted his full pardon and walked out free.
The Kuje man was genuinely happy for his friend when he heard the news, telling everyone: "I'm so glad he's finally escaping that terrible place! Kirikiri is a hell. At least he's free."
This is the situation at hand. We (Nigerians), playing the role of the Kuje man, are actively choosing a perpetual life sentence within British silent mental colonialism. We are unwilling to risk the removal of our cheap, badly made 'pizza' of privileges—the small comforts and bragging rights. The other man in Kirikiri represents the Francophone countries.
Nigerians are happy to remain as they currently are, while rallying support for Francophone nations to be free.
This way, we keep missing the opportunity to be a better nation and build a better society of the future. Our chain is our fortress.
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