E no easy to explain how e be to dey watch your homeland dey turn to cage. To sabi say your family still dey inside—jam-pack for one corner wey no even get space before.

To hear your mama voice dey shake as she talk say dem no get where to run go. No be north. No be south. No be east. Even the sea no safe again because na only warship and bomb explosion you go hear from there. Na so Gaza don turn now: one place wey dem don reduce to trap.

For recent months, dem don push almost two million Palestinians enter one small land wey already small before. Gaza na just 365 square kilometres. Now, over 2.3 million people dey manage for just 120 square kilometres. Population don reach almost 20,000 people per square kilometre—more than ten times wetin London get, more than any big city for this world.

Schools don turn to dormitory, strangers dey share floor, and bread don turn to tori of the past. No tent remain. No clean water. No food. And no silence.

When I call my family for Gaza—those wey survive the latest Israeli airstrike—I dey hear wahala: pikin dey cry, bomb dey sound for background, and empty pot dey knock each other.

My niece talk say she dey share floor with eleven people for one school wey dem no build for people to live. My cousin, wey get four pikin, send me message last week: “We dey queue two hours for one stale bread. We dey drink water from gutter. Israel dey starve us, then bomb us again.”

No be exaggeration be this. No need to use metaphor. Na wetin we mean when we talk say 'concentration camp.'

Yes, I dey use those words because wetin else you go call am when dem pack people for one small space, deny dem food, water, and medicine, dey bomb dem without any way to escape. This one no be just war. Wetin else we go call am when government design system wey no be only to control, but to deliberately contain and destroy people?

For history, people dey fear to use that word because of respect for wetin happen during Holocaust. But if we wan respect history, we suppose learn from am.

For Nazi Germany, concentration camps like Sachsenhausen and Dachau dey to isolate, control, and destroy people wey dem no want. Gaza today dey more jam-pack than Dachau ever be. And yet, the people dey trapped for open-air prison wey wall na history and indifference.

Overcrowding: Auschwitz, for its worst time, pack 1,200 people for barracks wey dem build for 700. Gaza southern corridor now hold almost two million people for space wey no fit carry that kind number. Na place wey no get breathing space.

Shelter: For Auschwitz, people dey sleep for straw—row by row, shoulder to shoulder. For Gaza, people wey get tent dey sleep for ground, if dem lucky. Others dey under plastic or open sky. No privacy. Women dey nurse pikin among strangers. Families dey hide under rubble.

Sanitation: Latrine for Auschwitz no good but e dey. For Gaza, sewage dey enter makeshift shelter. Dirt dey pile up because nobody dey pack am. Water no dey drinkable. Pikin dey bath for gutter wey animal dey shit. Sickness dey spread anyhow.

Medical Collapse: For Auschwitz, sickness na part of the system. Same thing for Gaza. Over 1,400 medical workers don die. Hospitals don bomb or fuel don finish. Pikin dey die from wound wey nobody fit treat. Mass burial don turn normal thing.

No be collateral damage.

After dem force Palestinians from northern and central Gaza, Israel push dem go south, promise dem safety. But Rafah and Khan Younis turn target.

Israeli forces bomb the same area wey dem call 'safe zone.' Dem block food, water, medicine, and fuel. After small ceasefire, dem start to bomb again.

Since then, thousands don die. Thousands dey injured, many na women and children. The level of suffering no get size, but e no be mistake. No be collateral damage. Na tactic.

I no fit stop to think about my papa, wey live through Nakba for 1948 and always tell us, 'Dem fit take our land, but dem no fit take our spirit.' E dey waka for olive farm as pikin, barefoot and proud. Now e don reach 80, dey lie down for thin mattress inside tent, dey watch the same farm don scatter—and e grandchildren don turn refugee again, this time for the rubble of their own house.

Some people dey call am ethnic cleansing. Others dey call am genocide. Me, I dey call am wetin my mind dey tell me: slow-motion killing of people, with the world dey look as e dey happen. Gaza no just dey under siege. Gaza dey disappear.

I sabi the weight of these words. I no write dem anyhow. But I dey write dem because I don tire for sugarcoat talk. I don tire for 'both sides' language. I don tire to pretend say na conflict when e clear say na massacre.

I dey write because my siblings no get house again. My nephews and nieces no get school again. My parents no get hospital again. My people no get future again—unless we start to call this thing wetin e be.

This na concentration camp. For our own time.