From the moment she’s born, the odds are stacked against her. The prejudice is unending. Her life is defined by rule after rule. She’s to conduct herself with the piety of a nun. Even then, she’s an endangered species. Her body, an object of torment; her aspirations, subject to the uncertainties of treading a treacherous path. All because she’s female. Being female the world over, just like being black, is an extreme sport. It takes a miracle to go through the darts that life throws unscathed when the essence of who you are is considered a limiting factor.

I have always struggled with how unfair the world is.

You know, things like how one person is born into staggering wealth while the other has to contend with mind-numbing penury from birth.

How those who have been imbued with striking physical features attract unsolicited favours at the expense of those who are in dire need but aren’t as easy on the eye.

And the skewed fate that ensures the most hardworking people are nowhere near the wealthiest.

Travesties like how being born into penury isn’t a guarantee that riches will find you at some point or how you could be on your own minding business, yet manage to press the offence button on a total stranger.

I am saddened that being an exemplary citizen doesn’t preclude one from getting gunned down by an out-of-control law enforcement agent.

You could be the model employee who shows up to work on time, puts in an extra shift, and never participates in office gossip, only to find out you’re still in some people’s bad books because they perceive you as arrogant or aloof.

Your refusal to steer clear of office politics could see you facing an early exit from the organisation.

They say being doing, doing nothing, and saying nothing is the only way to avoid controversy or haters. I do not believe this to be true.

These days, even if you are seated in your living room watching TV, a random individual could claim you are not doing it right and as such are deserving of punishment.

I should know, on at least two occasions, I have been accused of things I never had an inkling of let alone perpetrate.

It’s why someone would deaden their conscience enough to not only rape but murder a young lady whose only crime was following through on her quest for knowledge.

What’s more, the dastardly act happened in the house of God—a revered place of refuge.

It’s the reason black people are tending toward the path of extinction in the US. They don’t have to be violent or constitute a threat in any way before they are profiled on account of their skin colour.

We trend hashtags and march on the streets to let our voices heard regarding this anomalies—but when systems and cultures of the world offer tacit support for these injustices—at best, we are assured of a temporary respite.

Derek Chauvin may be imprisoned for a long time and the killers of Uwa prosecuted to the full extent of the law, but it would mean little on the grand scale if we are back on the streets chanting the next hashtag in the next couple of months.

We need to do better as a people.

We need to get to the point where we view the next person as the human they are and not a lower cadre personality that can be taken advantage of because they are weaker.

Injustice has to be the most hurtful phenomenon known to man.

Knowing that regardless of how innocent or upstanding you are, you remain at the mercy of those who view you as less human will continue to be a scary prospect until there’s a collective effort to put a stop to it.

I am tired of writing about rape or the plight of blacks.

It’s draining to have to advocate for something that should be the norm and not an aberration.

It’s absurd that we have to tell men not to violate the bodies of women. It defies reason that we have to remind police officers that they swore to protect the lives of the entire citizenry and not white people alone.

Each time I have to do this, I always hope it would be the last, but so far, that hasn’t happened.

I’ll not be surprised if I had to do this again. Sadly.