The 59th Independence Day Celebration of Nigeria came with different vibes with citizens divided on the fact that there is actually nothing for the country to celebrate.

Photographer Amarachi Mbagwu (MARATIMES PHOTOGRAPHY) alongside her siblings and other kids combine to produce these amazing pictures with strong story to tell on what Nigeria has achieved so far in 59 years of Independence.

Enjoy the Photos

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How we are standing looking at Nigeria at 59.
What are we celebrating?
I am 12. Old enough to let a man my father’s age get in between my legs because my Parents say it is the only way we can survive.
Religion is the world’s biggest problem.
My Father talked about practising this kind of religion in his early years. And when I got into the university, I met a young lecturer who spoke so much about the traditional way of worship.
My Father said this was the way our Forefathers communicated with God Almighty.
The problem with Christianity is that it tries to teach it’s followers that every other religion is wrong.
In the history of Buganda during the reign of Kabaka Mutesa 1, a time happened when the two Christian denominations fought against each other.
A year ago, I travelled to the village for a family prayer and the pastor who held us in prayers paused in-between his teachings to begin to condemn the Catholic and everything that it comes with.
I have come to understand that religion is man-made and yet, one of the most biggest problem in the whole world.
God doesn’t care about religion and yet, we bother so much about what God doesn’t care about.
There are so many ways to worship your creator and it’s not in man’s place to say which way is right or wrong and which religion is demonic or pure.
Clinton Fearon’s Rich man, Poor man.
Patriarchy!
A few years ago at the Owerri Bookfest, Mrs Nnenna Ihebom talked about this. A tradition which doesn’t allow the woman be part of discussions. A tradition who sees the vagina as synonymous to weakness.
A tradition where only the men discuss very serious things.
The one under the man. The weaker vessel.
The one who should feel cheap and be ashamed when she is raped.
The one who should never talk about her sexuality and strength, hence the man who she would serve her hymen to would think her aggressive and think her anything below a wife material.
The one who it is her fault when she becomes a victim of rape. And so, she is expected to stay in the dark with her story and depression hence her bride price be reduced.
The leaders who sit on their white rock chairs, their children studying in schools nothing like the ones we go to?
The leaders who buy our lives before we begin to live them.
The ones who pay us to stain our souls.
The ones who think us ‘things’ below the human specie.
The ones who turn back to take us down when we take the footsteps they set?
The country who shouts ‘Honesty’ in voices louder than the thunder and slide in brown envelopes under our doors at night in exchange for this honesty.
The one who when we refuse to sell our consciences take the lives try didn’t give to us.
The one who makes the media lie through their teeth.
Four years in the university and out, I walk the streets of Nigeria, my CV slid under my arm getting soaked from the smelly liquid coming out from my unshaved armpit.
Four years in the university and out, I hit the road with my taxi, my shovel, my hammer, and if all of these fails, my gun.
While my mates leave for school every morning, I leave with my bucket of fried potatoes, yam and plantain. I come home before them sometimes and the other times I don’t…
I know that one day, I might begin to wear their kind of uniforms and walk to school and run to my Mother when I am back to help with my assignments.
"One day." It is what my Mama says. But I don't know when.
No matter how much I make from selling a full bucket everyday, my Mama says it’s never enough sew uniforms and buy books. She says ‘somethings’ are more important than the others. My education is ‘others.’
When I walk on the streets, people pass me with their hands over their nose.
They look away when I stretch out my hand to beg.
But when I am too hungry and become too impatient to wait to be given when I beg, they come close enough to call me names and cause me pains that would take me months to heal before I go back into the streets again.

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