A Loud October

 Growing up, I often felt that my generation had missed out on witnessing history. I would read or hear stories from people born in the ’80s and ’90s, stories of revolutions, protests and moments that shaped nations. They had lived through times that demanded courage and they rose to meet it. There was something powerful about watching people stand up for something, knowing they were part of a change that would outlive them. For those of us born in the 2000s, it sometimes felt quiet, at least in my country. The world had already been changed by others, and we were kinda just existing within it. That was, until the 8th of October 2020, the month that changed everything. The #EndSARS protest began as a peaceful call for justice against police brutality in Nigeria. It started with young, frustrated, hopeful voices rising online, and then moving into the streets. I remember joining the protest from my school gate after lectures because although I had never experienced police brutality, I knew it was going to get to me one way or another if nothing was done about it. There was music, at least some car owners that followed the protest played something from their speakers, there was chanting, laughter and amongst all, I admired the unity because for the first time, it felt like we were leaving tribalism aside and doing something worthwhile. But peace, as history has shown, often meets resistance.  As the days passed, the protests grew and so did the tension. I went home one afternoon when it seemed things might turn violent. I still remember the feeling in my chest, it was a mix of pride and worry. Then came the next morning. The news broke across the states that blood had been shed. Innocent lives were lost. The streets were bathed in the blood of young dreams. Dreams were silenced. The same movement that had started with so much hope had been met with heartbreaking violence from the military. According to them, it was an order from the president. It was a pity but I think it was also a painful awakening. That moment taught me that history isn’t just a thing that happens in textbooks. It lives, breathes and bleeds in real time. The #EndSARS movement made me proud to belong to a generation that refused to stay quiet. We may not have brought down a wall like Berlin’s, but our voices were raised against one. Against that wall of oppression and silence from bullets. And in that, we made history too, one the next generation will prolly be proud of. PS: I should have pictures of this day but, I was using an Android device at the time of the protest. Now using an iOS device, I couldn’t transfer files from that phone to this one, so I wiped all data and gave the phone out. ^{[img](https://pixabay.com/photos/trucks-convoy-winter-protest-7000385/) [img2](https://pixabay.com/photos/art-urban-art-wall-painting-8174626/)}