FOR BETTER SECURITY, BUILD BRIDGES

When we were much younger, we lived in streets where the roads were not coal-tarred. We didn't have any formal place we called a soccer pitch. We just measured small goal posts popularly called monkey posts with our feet, and sweet soccer kicked off.

Drivers at that time were used to these sights, so they would naturally slow down when they got to our pitch scene, and we would pause our game for a moment for them to drive past before resuming our fun games.

Despite the good driver and player relationships we enjoyed, I remembered that one evening, one reckless driver sped past our "soccer pitch" and almost hit a few kids. In response, most of us hurled insults at him because he was unreasonable. The man packed his car and came out to attack one of the big boys for not stopping us from insulting him even when he knew he messed up.

As he held onto Luke, almost every person on our little pitch grabbed at something on his body that now felt weightless. We lifted him and slammed him to the floor. Nobody told him he was no match for us, and no one told him to conduct himself when driving back to his destination.

That victory was one of the greatest victories of our community at that time.

In that community, Suleja precisely, our parents didn't have to worry so much about where we were because every child belonged to the community. When people visited, they didn't ask about house numbers even though they existed, they just asked if we knew this person, and we would just point at the house.

It was almost impossible for thieves to attack any home because everyone trooped out of their house the moment they heard a strange scream from any house nearby.

Parents were not under so much pressure to have televisions in their houses because we didn't need anyone's permission to stroll into our neighbours' houses to watch our favourite programmes or sports.

When strangers picked up fights with us outside, before we asked about the cause of the fights, we first offered defences because we understood the meaning of brotherhood.

The sense of commitment we had for each other was only possible because we didn't have fences, and in places where the fences existed, they weren't so tall to stop us from seeing each other and chatting while we carried out our different chores.

For a few years, I felt like a stranger in Abuja when we moved because everyone did so well at minding their business. It is in the city of Abuja that I first saw people locking their doors and doing nothing when their neighbours were being robbed. It was in Abuja, that I first witnessed children going hungry because there was no sense of community as such.

These days, you see people fighting and rather than separate them, people take their phones to make videos, and we wonder why insecurity and disharmony will not continue to thrive.

I know it may be impossible to live without fences these days, but we can build bridges in our relationships. Know our neighbours so well that when strangers visit our communities, we know.

We can reach out to people we love and be sure they have their meals and that children are going to school and doing well because every good we do ultimately affects our communities.

For Better Security and More, Build More Bridges?

Shalom.