THE RESCUED

Though he was half-awake, he knew he had to keep his calm. He would plot how he was going to rescue someone but he had to be rescued first. The way the carriage moved, he was skeptical about what was happening. He opened one eye and the brightness of the early morning sun greeted him with a harsh reflexion. He would have agitated but he knew any irregular movement will have him killed or killed. He added two plus two and he knew he was on a stretcher, in a thick bush. He could hear the crushes of the ominous criminals on the feeble grasses. He could not count how many they were but he knew he had to act fast before they get to their destination, otherwise, he may be powerless.

* * * * * * * *

David Smith was a reporter. He freelanced often but his main occupation was to report for soldiers, he was not a trained soldier. He was deployed to Brendeen State with real soldiers for the mission of rescuing the abducted Governor’s daughter, Jane. His job was riskier than that of the soldiers. He was to join the kidnappers, study their moves, discover their hiding places and other useful information then report to the soldiers afterwards for adequate rescue measures to be taken. The perpetrators had asked for a ransom tantamount to $4 million. The iniquitous kidnapping had been going on for a while in Brendeen State and the atrocity committed to the Governor of the State had called the attention of the President. They concluded that it was time they stopped the misdemeanour. 

Smith and other soldiers knew the meeting point, where the ransom was to be paid but the kidnappers had severely warned the government not to act funny; else, it would be at the expense of the Governor’s daughter. So they had to be astute in their motives. He had to bring his deceitful sense into play to relate with few people in the area and he got to know some suspects. He associated himself with them furtively in the wake of knowing more. He wanted the soldiers to break the kidnappers’ knee cap. He later knew four others and in no time, though as incongruous as it would be, he knew them well, like friends know each other.

That morning, he was in a bus with 14 other passengers; seven of them being kidnappers. He sat by the window side of the bus, two seats directly behind the driver. The abductors started humming and speaking in a language he did not understand. He was a little frightened initially but he erased the fear a couple of seconds after. It was part of the ills of his job. He prepared himself against any attack or attempted attack. He thought of jumping out of the window, he thought of his prestige and the joy he derives after every solved case. If he jumps, he will lose the lead he already had. He finally decided to meticulously get set for what happens next. Not long after he finalised, there was a signal from the man seated at the right side of the driver. Immediately, the kidnappers covered their noses with guards, including the driver. David tried to cover his eyes and nose too but it was rather late. The man beside the driver already blew a white substance that engulfed bus. The other innocent passengers that were not sleeping before started sleeping instantaneously. The substance had its weight on David too but it was not totally effective. He could feel that he was losing himself. He opened his eyes; the vision was dim…..and dimmer. He managed to see how men in nose-guards brandished knives and started stabbing the innocents. Under the handkerchief, his mouth was agape at the gruel act. He was powerless, with sleep taking its toll on him. One of the ferocious men approached him with a knife but stopped when the man beside the driver uttered their jargons. David tried to look back, he could not. He saw disappointment and regret on the face of the man that attempted to stab him and that was the last thing he saw.

* * * * * * *

Now, he knew he was in the forest, probably the only survivor of the bus attack. He also knew he was on a stretcher carried by four men on their shoulders. Conceivably, they thought he would be asleep throughout their journey. He circumspectly tilted his head to the side and saw a pistol in the pocket of one of the carriers. He silently prayed in his mind that they all have guns in their pockets. It was time for action; he vigorously kicked the shoulders of one of the hefty men with all the force in him. The man sprawled on the floor making the stretcher collapse to the right as David had envisaged. He steadied himself and quickly made for the gun of one of the hefty men who was still trying to stabilise himself. He grasped the gun and shot two instantly before the others could decipher what was happening. He made for the man on the floor, grabbed him by the neck and unto his feet, held a gun to his head and used him as shield. 

“You make any attempt to get your weapons, a bullet goes into your fellow’s sticky skull.” David ranted like a nursing mother-hen in competition with a mean hawk.

He shot two who attempted to dip their hands in their pockets. He had killed four, he was left with three. He had never done this before. The soldiers had taught him how to shoot and a little of martial art in case of necessity. He was clearly afraid. He feared that the man he had held into his hand will feel his heart pounding rigorously. So many things were in his head at the moment. He was absolutely engrossed with indecision. He needed not no one to tell him that his next action would be done in spontaneity. He was in the middle of the thought when the man beside the driver, in the bus, shot his shield. He still was amazed as the dead man slipped from his grip. He did not have the time to think of how someone would purposely kill his own just to get the enemy. He made for safety in the bush while exchanging bullets with the criminals. His movement was somewhat impeded at a point but he kept running till he found safety. The criminals had gone to hide too. He knew the directions they were but he did not know where precisely. He knew any shot from him would make them know where he was. He devised a medium, searched for a big stone and threw it in their middle. The captors shot at each others’ directions and one of them gave a loud yell. ‘Perhaps, the man beside the driver had killed another of his own again.’ David concluded wordlessly. He quickly shot at the direction of the other, thought to be the killer of his brethren. He knew he had hit him lethally. He tried to move to where his recipient was, to confirm his death, it was then he knew he had taken a bullet in the thigh. Then, he also knew what hindered his run the other time.

“What the eff!” David screamed as he dragged the leg to the spot.

The man was dead for real. The bullet went to his chest. He added another bullet to his fore-head to clear his doubts. At this point, the leg was heavier. He found it difficult to move it. He fell to the ground and sat up. He was about to think of ‘what next’ when he saw the man beside the driver with blood gushing profusely from his left arm. He knew he had concluded wrongly. The man he just shot had misfired into this man’s arm. The man beside the driver didn't not die but had become a nemesis. Fortunately, for David, his only enemy had his back to him. He pointed the gun at him. With joy and a sense of partial accomplishment, he pulled the trigger. He was negatively flabbergasted to hear the gun make a ‘click’ sound. He pulled the trigger again and again and got the same result. He had wasted the last bullet on a dead man. The advantaged became the disadvantaged, the man beside the driver faced David immediately he heard the click. He knew he had won. He looked at David, laughed viciously and pointed his gun at him. He suddenly stopped his laughter and stared at David with a stern face.

“You know….” the man said as he knelt before David and pressed the bullet in his thigh with his gun. He disregarded David’s loud cry of agony and continued, “I must give you credit for the stunt you pulled here. I must confess, I thought I had seen someone that was better than me. Now, instead of my demise, you have met your doom.” 

He stood in pain, freed the hand that had clutched on the wounded arm for support and pointed his gun at his surprising formidable opponent.

David knew this was all, he had tried after all. He closed his eyes and asked God for forgiveness in his mind as he was set to receive the bullet……..

Serving Nigeria 2

To God Almighty for the enablement to continue.
Also to friends, whose encouragements spur me to action always.
“If you don’t know where you are going, any turn may just take you there.” – Wale Adenuga (WAP)
********
WHEN ARE WE GETTING THERE?
I could not stop myself from looking back as our ‘Peugeot’ vehicle drifted away from Israel’s figure. It was going to be a long journey and I was in a dilemma of thoughts. 'Should I think about the wonderful hospitality or envisage the journey ahead and how Zamfara will be?' I soliloquized. I was in the middle of my deep thoughts when our vehicle had a hiccup.
'We have not even travelled up to a kilometre!' I screamed within myself. 'What a bad omen to start a long journey'! I was bitter at the occurrence but little did I know that it was a blessing in disguise. I used the vehicle-wreck-opportunity to look for a place to fill my bowels. Well, it is a fact known to most of my friends
that I do not joke with edibles. As the great architect of the universe will have it, I did not trek far before I saw an individual saddled with the responsibility of peddling my favourite, ‘BB’—Bread and Beans. Immediately, I remembered what Tunde, a university colleague, had said one day we were meant to go to the field at 4 p.m. and I decided to eat ‘BB’ even when the time was 3:50 p.m. “This Lembo boy, make dem talk say heaven gate go close by 5 p.m., him go still go chop bread and beans for 4:59 p.m.”
I forbade it though.

I did not mind that the place looked scruffy, I ate to my satisfaction. I was also flabbergasted when those that condemned my decision to find a place to eat, left the temporarily damaged vehicle for where I was just to force food down their ‘yeye’ mouths. It took about two more hours before the chauffeur could fix his Peugeot. We hopped in again and prayed we would not have to face another of its kind. The driver over-sped this time. It was crystal clear that he was trying to make time for the period wasted as a result of the stop. The car was filled with youths, so most of us did not complain or did not complain openly.

During our journey, I got to know that both Kwara and Niger States have a town called Jebba. We passed Jebba, Kwara State first, then Jebba Niger State later. There was a border check-point where ferocious armed men guarded. Their faces were cantankerous as if they had seen a violator already. They temporarily blocked the road with sand sacks just to aid their work. I did not hold any contraband but I was scared of them, initially.

Niger State was where we spent most of the day. Gracious goodness! At a point, I got tired of checking the bottom parts of sign posts because everything was Niger State. We moved through Makera, Pandogiwa, Kotangora to mention but a few; all in Niger State. At about 1:30 p.m., the driver halted at a filling station and advised that we stretch for about an hour. My mind went to a former Head of State and recalled the thievery his government once came to exemplify when I learnt that we were still in Niger State.
“So this man stole all these lands for himself?” I whispered to myself, making sure no one heard even a strand of such unforgiving thought. In between the hour stretch, someone pointed to an obvious computer centre along the road and told us to go there and make photocopies. I stumbled upon a fellow passenger as we went to make the copies of our documents.
“You mean we have spent about four hours in Niger State alone?” He pounced on the thought, as if he had been thinking about it before.
“Na so we see am o my brother,” I replied, happily finding someone who reasoned the way I was. You cannot give us one whole hour just to stretch; that is too over exuberant. We decided to do other things on our own. The filling station was a common place for travellers to relax for about an hour or two, so there were dealers in all sorts of things that could make you dip your hand in your pockets to buy stuffs. After making the copies, my eyes went about 45 degrees away from where I stood and immediately saw a long row of smoked meat(suya) peddlers. I did not think twice about it before approaching one of them and spoke what I heard people speak to him —“bani tozo”. I asked for suya worth of a hundred naira and watched as the young man kept slicing and cutting for me. The substance was garnished with their flavoured pepper (yaji) which I love so much. It would have surprised me that the suya was much but I remembered that meat is in abundance in the North and so could be sold in large quantities even to visitors like myself. I purchased a bottle of ‘Viju milk’ drink to soothe myself in the vehicle whenever I eventually felt like taking it.

After about 45 minutes, we continued our journey as scheduled. It becaae boring at a point. What we saw were endless plantations of millet. I initially thought the grains grew on their own until I was moved from the thoughts when I saw farmers threshing millets in the hot sun. The houses were sparse and antediluvian. Even the few inhabitants were so obsolete in their dealings that I thought I was seeing a documentary.

I tried not to tell anyone that the Northerners at the filling station made me ask myself if they were Nigerians or ‘Somalis’. They bawled and wailed haphazardly. Their incoherent arrangement even with their fuel kegs was nothing to write home about. I initially thought they were there to get water because they were very careless with the oil. The place was so macabre that one would pray that an explosion doesn’t happen. The filling station was as well crowded with petrol seekers and lots of bicycles of roughage sellers. The sellers pushed their bicycles so close to the fuel dispenser as if they were also there to buy fuel. Every one of them did things obstreperously and one could not help but conclude that it was part of the first experience.

Other passengers also did more than stretching as they got junks for themselves too. Soon, mouths started rolling in the vehicle. Before eating, I felt somehow anomalous about what I bought but I could not just figure out why and what for. The answer was not far-fetched; it came like a bang to me. The suya I bought and thought was plenty meat was actually plenty fat. The first munch was appalling, chewing it was preposterous and everyone could read belligerency on my stroppy face. I hissed at myself, spat out and frowned before fellow passengers started laughing at me. I narrated the ordeal euphemistically. It was then I was told that tozo meant ‘meat with fat’.
“You should have said bani nama (give me meat)’, Sola corrected, as both disgust and regret filled my face.
As if that was not enough, I decided to find solace in the drink. What I sipped tasted like N10 sachet of powdered milk. I should have seen the rap before buying it, the design was faint and the cover was not firm. In a nutshell, I bought an expired drink. What an afternoon! What a town!! What an hour of unhelpfulness!!!

The long journey continued. I tried to put the sardonic situation behind me. I love knowing places but do not like travelling. Yes, how Ironic? It was not long that I started feeling uncomfortable. I had sat for too long and my bony buttocks started eking out pains. At about some minutes before six, we reached a Y junction and the driver made for the left. He told us that the right led to Kano State, though, we were in Kaduna State. There were no obvious geographical differences between Niger and Kaduna States, well, maybe at the border. In Kaduna proper, the population was denser than Niger’s. At least, one could still see from afar, another hut. The drive inside Kaduna State was not long. We got to Yankera in Katsina State in an hour. Fellow passengers were already slumbering but I was anxious. I wanted to take note of every area as well as notable occurrences in that area. The driver made a left turn at Yankera and it was not long before I saw the big sign that shouted at me— Welcome to Zamfara.
‘Wheeeewh, finally!’ I exclaimed.
Surprisingly, everyone woke from their sleep at that time. One could read the innate joy in their minds. We were stressed as if we had been working all day. We were in Zamfara but how to locate the Orientation Camp at Tsafe appeared the bothering question in our minds?
“I only ply Ilorin to Gusau, the state capital, I don’t know where Tsafe is,” the driver answered, as if he had read our minds.
Someone in the bus then opined that we ask passers-by. After asking the third person, we got the same response the first and the second gave—"Ba turenchi" (I don’t understand English).
It was then the driver decided to speak the tainted Hausa he understood. We got a discouraging response this time. We could not even decipher what the passer by uttered. One of the passengers just mentioned something about corpers and suddenly, the Hausa man caught a glimpse.
“Kofa! Kofa!! Oh, yowa!!!”
I didn’t understand what he said afterwards but I knew he gesticulated that we keep moving forward even as darkness enveloped the skyline. We were in the early minutes of 8 o’clock. We squeezed through, all our senses at alert; we could not wait to alight from the vehicle.

Alas! We saw lots of buses parked in an area, people alighting with luggagese, smiles everywhere and instantly knew we were there. The big NYSC Orientation Camp sculpture was built in form of an ark with “Tsafe, Zamfara” completing the circle. We alighted and stretched well enough after a long and tired journey. Nobody knew what awaited us inside camp, but one thing was certain, it was going to be a time filled with awe. How was it going to appear????????
………………………………………..To be continued

Serving Nigeria 1

To the almighty God for giving me the insight and the knowledge to computerise my first seed. Also to Isaac Israel Collins(Afin) whose....you'll see in the story; and Raheem Oluwafunminiyi whose evaluation, judgement and criticism have always been a push-up.
The palest ink, as I was made to believe, is better than the sharpest memory. No matter how amateurish this may look, at all at all na him bad
pass.

I did not want to believe what people told me on phone that I was posted to
Zamfara State. All I did was smile, laugh and giggle placing my mind on a 50-50 state. More confirmations rolled in and everyone kept saying they saw 'ZM' on my name. To console myself, I started thinking of other states with similar state code but the only option that came to my mind was Zaria which is not even a State (where I won't even wanna go). I had to go to Osogbo for self-confirmation. Lo and behold, it was boldly written 'ZM' and the laugh continued, this time, louder. I made jest of myself by singing Ice Prince's "Aboki" song. I organised other graduates posted to the north and
together we started singing Hausa songs. They were songs of consolation before each and everyone of us will go and have individual thoughts (negative and positive) on our respective sojourns.

I cleared myself at school, collected my
certificate and call-up letter. I took it as fate, left for home (Lagos) and started with the travelling processes. I agreed with Salami Abiodun (Alfa) to meet at Oshodi where we will board a vehicle
to Ilorin then we'll move to Zamfara from there. After all said, agreed and done, we met at Oshodi, then our journey began. It was the very sunny afternoon that made me a little optimistic about how worse the weather will be in Zamfara. I had to move my mind away from it and decide to cross the bridge when I get there. The bus (space bus) was encompassed with people of respectable intellects. By their fruits, you shall know them. One could guess
the occupations of the passengers through the ways they spoke. I learnt a great deal, especially in politics. How Awolowo and the rest influenced the political system of Nigeria, how to tackle Nigeria's economic problems, the problem of corruption that had pivoted into the nucleus of every Nigerian and so on. It was a very nice
journey, so nice that I did not want us to reach our destination on time.

We arrived at ilorin around 8:30pm, we had no place to sleep. A hungry man is an angry man, we had to find means to settle our stomachs first. Then, we discussed our predicament with those at the park and liased with them as to where we would lay our heads for the night, maybe staying with them at the garage.
"No problem at all" was what a driver who sleeps at the garage said, "This is where we sleep, even travellers sleep with us here, you are safe." He
concluded.
We pounced on the opportunity, it was a lifeline. I tried to make a comfortable bed for myself with the benches and desk, then, like a bask, I remembered that Israel resides at Ilorin.
"Oh! What have I been thinking? Am I in my right senses?" Series of question-like thoughts banged in my head as I scolded myself for remembering too late. I picked my Nokia 'torch' and dialled Israel's number, that albino boy boasts always of good hospitality, here
is a test. Just like a click, when he discovered that Alfa and I were in Ilorin, he was angry with me at first for not informing him earlier but he immediately embarked on the hospitality mission. He gave me the direction to his house then we packed our belongings with immediate effect. The driver that was poised to provide
'garage' accommodation for us was the same person who told us how to get to the place Israel directed. I couldn't thank him more, he was very helpful, he saw that we got a cab before leaving for his usual sleeping spot. We
alighted from the taxi that very dark night, unfortunately, we didn't get the exact place. Like an Israelite, Alfa complained...
"You would have allowed us to sleep at the park instead of wandering up and down in search of an unsure greener pasture."
I almost fell for that claim but I shook it away with the thought that we were
actually going to get to Canaan Land. He didn't say anything but Alfa joined in the thought. Simultaneously, Israel and his Ilorin friend, Taiwo, were also searching for us. After some hiccups, I heard his voice from afar.
"That must
be Israel's voice." I told Alfa then I screamed "Israel".
God provided echo as a result of the
night that was as quiet as the grave yard, the call was as if it was done with a public address system.
"Iwo omo Lembo yii, o o gbon" (This
Lembo guy, you are not wise) was Afin's response.
That's typical of him. My heart nearly shifted to the right as Alfa and I started to bask in the euphoria of joy. The anxiety in me increased to a conflagratory level. What a friend indeed!!!

I don't think I have ever experienced a greater and more welcoming hospitality. Israel and his household were one of a kind. It was a short notice but we were prepared for like we had informed them earlier. Israel's room was our place of abode, where we'd lay our tired bodies. Appetizers, food, drinks, desserts, shower et al were provided. We ate ourselves
out, almost to the point of constipation. There was a short gist and comedy between Israel and I before the unannounced sleep came. I remembered vividly that I woke in the midnight into a very cold room. The
air-conditioner was obviously blistering air like a thick smoke, the fan running as if the blades were in competition to meet themselves. Alfa had already covered himself with the blanket. I
didn't want to cover myself, as usual, wanting to show my strongness and cold-resisting ability, no one told me to cover myself up to head level when the cold threatened to turn me to ice if proper care is not taken. Don't mind
me.

God woke us early, we took our baths, dressed and in continuity of their unexpected but great hospitality, Israel's dad, the architect, opted to drive us to the park, Maraba park precisely. Who are we to think about the privilege? It occurred to us that we slept in a hotel. Our night was perfect. Even Israel had to see our vehicle 'peugeot' depart before he left for his home.
To be continued.....