In 411 BC, the great Greek playwright Aristophanes gifted the world Lysistrata—a bold tale of a woman who, in her wisdom and daring, rallied others to wield the power of abstinence in order to end senseless wars in Greece. Centuries later, in 1980, our own Egbema Ozubulu-born son, Obi Egbuna, revisited this motif in The Rape of Lysistrata, laying bare the grotesque dangers of racial segregation in the global community.
In Aristophanes’ work, sex becomes a sacred tool, a ritual force to preserve life from the ravages of war. In Obi Egbuna’s vision, sex is desecrated, stripped of its sanctity, and deployed as an instrument of intimidation, domination, and destruction. The common thread is chilling: man forever clutching at control—over sex, over life, over death. It is this insatiable hunger to dominate and subjugate that fuels endless cycles of conflict—man against man, tribe against tribe, nation against nation. From the days of Ananias and Sapphira till now, humanity’s greatest undoing has been the inability to tame greed.
What then is the fate of an overzealous dog burying bones on trackless paths to a pilgrim city? Since the dawn of creation, no one has ever inherited the earth. We are but travelers, pilgrims passing through. So why do we kill? Why do we destroy? Why do nations rise against nations, and brothers turn against brothers? Why do leaders ascend thrones drenched in blood, seated upon skulls in a macabre theatre of supremacy?
The noblest duty of leadership is the protection of life. Every organized community—from family to clan to nation—entrusts chosen leaders with this sacred responsibility. But every chain of leadership is only as strong as its weakest link. And therein lies our tragedy.
Joe Igwilo was one of these leaders—an anchor of his family, a custodian of hope, a man who bore the present while preparing for the future. He trusted, as every good citizen should, that the guardians of peace and order would hold their line. But the chain betrayed him. His faith in the covenant of protection was broken. His life was cut short, not by the hand of fate, nor by divine decree, but by the unholy blades of villains—men without honour, marauders without shame—profaning the sacredness of our holy Joe.
And Joe was hacked down.
A noble oak felled in his prime.
A beacon of hope dimmed in the storm.
How are the mighty fallen!
In Aristophanes’ Lysistrata, life was defended at all costs. That was Joe—waging quiet battles to preserve his own.
In Obi Egbuna’s Rape of Lysistrata, innocence was ravaged, dignity was martyred. That too was Joe—violated by a failed system, sacrificed at the altar of betrayal.
And we are left to ask:
What gods keep silent in the face of tyranny?
What goddesses quench their thirst with the blood of the innocent?
What rivers can cleanse hands soiled with murder?
What perfumes can mask the stench of such a crime?
What traps can hold back the scoundrels who walk free while noble blood cries from the ground?
Respite, Joe. Respite, Ifeabunike.
Though the guns have gone quiet, do not be deceived—the silence of heaven is not the sleep of heaven. The gods may tarry, but they never slumber. Justice, like the dawn, will surely come.
Sleep well, noble one.
Your life was light, your memory a flame, and your sacrifice a haunting reminder that we must never cease to demand a world where leaders protect, where communities unite, and where no man’s life is wasted in vain.
*Contributed by Chidi Abajue (abajuechidi@gmail.com). He is the Publicity Secretary, Association of Anambra State Development Unions – AASDU, Lagos.
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