People keep talking about bullets and bodies, but nobody counts the women who learn to sleep through gunfire only to wake at 4 a.m. to fry akara for schoolchildren. War is not just the front line — it’s the prices doubling while your husband’s shop burns in the next state. It’s your daughter sewing face masks from leftover wedding aso-oke because the hospital ran out again. I’ve seen girls with needle cuts on their fingers from working twelve-hour shifts just to feed brothers stuck in conscription lines. War doesn’t care if you’re neutral — it steals your power, your naira, your sleep. And when the cameras leave, we’re still here, stitching scraps into survival.
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