Flora
It has been eight weeks now since my son was abducted. The government was doing nothing tangible about it. They only promised us that they were working title to release them. I had heard that same words of assurance countless. They have in fact become clichéd gibberish. At some point I wanted to lose my mind and just leave carelessly with myself without interference from the external world but I knew I had to be strong for my son. I knew I had to do something about the whole quagmire of unsavoury fate. So I kept on pressing.
I resigned from my job as I decided to become the leader of #releaseourstudents# hashtag.
I battled tenaciously for the release of the students, making turns at offices as well as making necessary calls. That struggle gave me a sense of purpose. It distracted me from the trauma that would have beclouded my mind. I also found Fatou reasonably helpful in the struggle for the students’ freedom. She had created the hashtag on twitter and other social media platform. Her sorry stories and experiences with the extremists had also compelled the various world leaders to endorse the #releaseourstudent#.
We were not surprised when government acknowledged the abducted the students after months of political horse trading. The struggle that was barracked by molestation and wanton assaults soon became lighter for us as we roamed the streets of the capital territory without harassment or police brutality. Our registered grievance became civil and the hope of their return became opulent by the dawn.
We received supports both financially and morally from within and outside of the shores as concerned individual saw our efforts as selfless and conceited although they were pockets of claims and accusations that I was too personal with the whole struggle because my son was among the abducted. I knew there were elements of truth in their claims but the truth is that his absence in the house had given me a sense of purpose and I was not going to let anyone talk down that sense of purpose. I was determined and I was convinced that I would rather die fighting than life, sulking and accusing fate.
We made the garden close to the national villa our abode. We slept and woke up there, undeterred by pressures from the government and other social critics, who did not see sense in what we were doing.
The weather had been ghastly over the few days, threatening to sack us from our new found home. The ghastliness of the weather soon translated into showering drops before transcending into a full blown rainfall but the joy of it all was that we refused to give in to the fanciful yearning of nature. We remained resolute and unmoved, even as the rain pattered ferociously on the God’s green earth and its inhabitants, which would include us. The fall rescinded after hours of ferocious drumming on the bare earth but the damage was already done because some of us had already caught cold, our clothes dripping with malevolent wetness. I tried to wriggle out the wetness in the edge of gown before a black metallic car with tinted glasses pulled over right before me. I saw three men jump out of the car with tenacity. Their movements were calculated and precise. They moved like a flash of lightening and before we could assess the situation, they were already before me, flashing their IDs and shiny silver plaited handcuff. It was certain they were from the state security agency.
“Dr Okolie… you’re under arrest!” Their voice echoed.
“What are the charges?” I heard one of the volunteers ask.
“She will be informed at the office!”
“That’s no way to arrest!”
“Dr Okolie stays here with us until you read the charges!” Another supported, swinging her body to cover me from the unfazed agents.
“Do not force our hands…” he threatened, brandishing his M16 rifle. I heard the clicking sound of the chambers and I was convinced I had to act fast in order to prevent a bloody altercation.
“It’s okay… I’ll go with them.” I said with a calm voice.
“No!” They insisted.
“We don’t know what they want and the authenticity of their claims...”
“I understand you fears… but trust me, it would be brief.” I assured. They regarded for a while with eyes that were grubby with pity and fear. I touched them in the shoulders and reassured them that all was well before the agents flanked me on either side and at the back, swaying their guns callously as if they have caught a notorious criminal.
“We should come with at least…” the lady in lilac gown insisted.
“Just her!” The agent behind me rebuffed her. We entered the car after which it screeched of vehemently. The journey was brisk and adventurous as the driver drove uncharacteristically, skidding past the traffic as though he was trailed by jet bombers. We arrived at the office and I was escorted to their director’s office.
I was drenched from head to toe but they cared less. They were interested in achieving whatever aim they motivated to. I stood behind the chairs the director offered me, insisting I was fine. He persisted but I was insistent. We were still in the animated argument when I heard sounds of shuffling feet at the lawn. They voices were marked by indistinct disagreement. I heard familiar voices and it finally dawned on me that some of the volunteers had found their way to the office. I felt loosely relaxed, with oozing confidence from the solidarity they had shown me.
“Well…” the distracted director began slowly, searching through his head for the appropriate words to use. “You might want to tell them to return because this is not connected to your misplaced struggles!” he taunted with flash of scorn smirking through his bloodshot eyes. His blazing eyes forced me to regard him for a second and what I saw was pickets of balloons piled aloft one another. His lips were unhealthily black, result of wanton herb smoking I suppose. I ran through the concourse of his face and then realized that there were issues far more worrisome than his foul appearance.
“Then… why am I here?” I took my time to answer him, easing off nervousness.
“Sit down.” He implored again.
“I am fine until you tell me why I am here!”
“Very well then… I will be placing you under arrest in connection with the robbery at the central bank some months ago before your resignation!” he said with a stretch of frown in his over bloated forehead.
“I was aghast but I found myself laughing uncontrollably and almost hysterically.”
“What evidence do you have to substantiate this unfounded allegation?” I affirmed with untold gusto as I was all round confident of my innocence. He looked into my eyes and then said nothing. He scratched the edges of his desk and then conjured a white paper that was littered with black inks. He then handed it over to me. i studied it after which i realized the seal was already broken on the edge. I fizzled with it with my moist fingers before i caught a remarkable attention right there in the paper.
“I don't understand lettered gibberish.” I Whined.
“Well... Let me spell it out for you... We followed the trail of an almost impeccable robbery in the history of our dear country and we discovered that the linchpin himself was none other than your brother and as if that was not enough... We trailed this email that was sent on the 14 of April to your brother by no one else but the missing Fabro Okolie!”
“Those are conjectures, fairies... you have no proof!”
“Are they now?” He snapped.
“My son can be anything but a thief!”
“Well, we'll let the judge decide that... Especially when the evidence of the Central Bank's sketch is found in his email sent!”
I felt my mouth shut up for once since I came into the office. My dignity suddenly dwindled and it's reflective in my tongue. I thought I was finished until he hauled me to the reality of my imminent indictment.
“We have every right to believe that you are co-conspirator in this whole act of professionalism, otherwise how do you explain the aptness of your son's sketch on relation to the real design of the bank?” I maintained a conscious silence as I stared into the empty space ahead of me. It was obvious Smart was a bad influence but roping my innocent son into a crime was intolerable and unbearable. “Dr Okolie I'd have to place under arrest for aiding your son in the crime against nation!” I kept staring at the space ahead, obviously lost in this realm. How do I begin to explain that my son had a special gift for recreating images he's seen before? I pondered.
It was obviously overt that the director had knocked the wind out of my sails.
The next days were filled with ominous darkness. I was kept in custody with no hope of imminent freedom. The #releaseourstudent# campaign was derailed as i was cut off from the rest of the world. My grief increased ultimately, not because i was locked away but because i felt the gloom Fabro would walk into should he be released.
I was with myself when i heard the door creak. I noticed there were movements at the front door and soon the door was ajar. The director dragged his robust body in alongside Dr Iwena, who wore a depressed face. He looked unwell and his eyes were dured as if he had been denied long nights of sleep.
Dr Okolie... the director began softly as his disposition was already shifted from the terrifying officious personnel to a calm gentleman.” I’ve instructions to release you... we’re sorry for the inconveniences”. He said, hoping to see me smile but he was disappointed because the indictment of my son was far greater than more freedom. I knew i was innocent but his innocence was doubtful especially since there was mention of Smart, the devil’s last son. i remained unfazed and my face remained inscrutable. After a momentary silence, i was led outside alongside Dr Iwena into a waiting car. We boarded and the car rolled gently through the shimmering road. The rain must have rescinded. I thought to myself as the driver plied away. I soon realized that Dr Iwena had been held by the security agencies as well.
My fate had been tied with him as well as the one of every other person in our department.
Fatou
School has become dure and uninspiring. The atmosphere was always bemused and less lively. My class was worst hit as the victims of the abduction had been almost wholly drawn from it. Assembly were marked by silhouettes of animated prayers: constantly praying to God to free our brothers and sisters from the stranglehold of the extremists after which the day went about within subdued routines. Activities in school became terrifyingly boring that i wished it away by the close of my eyes.
I wondered why Baba allowed me to return that school, when he was well aware that the horrors of Moses’ memory would always haunt me.
He had promised to promised change my school but i had to see out the rest days of the term, which was supposedly a brisk but the weight of the memory elongated the supposed brisk moments. Waiting for the closing bell was all that made sense to me at that point because i had nothing to learn, i must confess.
The gory sight in the bus was always strong in my head at noon. It replayed in my head without recourse, a déjà vu experience that obsessed my nostalgic mind. The feeling of nausea was strong this afternoon. I cringed and felt the urge to throw as goose pumps covered my whole body in an inexplicable manner. The sight of Moses lying in the pool of his blood, with eyes wide open as if he was day dreaming played repeatedly in my head. I felt the surge to hold my head and scream the pains away but i could only manage to make a miffed sound with my hand, clutching my head vigorously. I was convinced that whoever looked my way at that point was obviously seeing another Fatou, an eerie Fatou.
He should not have died had he closed his mouth like everyone one of us but the euphoria of victory chants was too much to pass upon by a supposed military routine check. I flinched and twitched unnecessarily, hating the world around me- the world of oppression and cruelty. I wondered why humans derive pleasure in killing their fellow human without provocation. My head began to run haywire with thoughts of recent acts of macabre in the nation.
Two days ago, there were reports of total annihilation of innocent worshippers in the church. The pains of cruel unprovoked mother poked me incessantly with no respite. I was glad it could distract me imminently from the horrors of my own experiences. I felt like writing something down. I had never been a writer and had never had a thing for writing but my experiences needed recording in any manner of literary act. I drew out a piece of ruffled paper from my bag. The front was inscribed with figures and letters of calculations. My love for mathematics was responsible for that feat. I turned the back and it also littered with equations and formulae but i was not deterred. So, i rummaged through the bag and found an unused piece of paper. I straightened and began my scribbling words on the paper.
Scattered rhythm of manacled Shrill
Voices of infamy, we looked upon HIM
With wanton spyglasses. Our hearts
Bent on infernal bondage of penitence.
The air rattled with marauding cacophony
Of unpleasant necessary noises.
Cloaks and soutane flung gloriously
Apart, like bickering couples
We smacked our lips, at the divorce:
Of the pulpit and the pew.
A spectrum of spectacles; the aisle
Littered infamously with emptiness;
The doors and fussy panes
Bore the weight of the heinous venture;
We that shared brotherly love, forsook
Our lip profession.
The abomination that lauds desolation drawn
To our unprepared sight. Metal ground-
nut cascading like a ferocious October rain.
With sacred shouts of profane faithful
Echoing the fears of infidels:
Allah Akbar!
Freely capitulating, with careful abandon;
Slouching slices of minced torso
Filled the air. Slow legged bore
The full weight. Gasping with
Pleasant horror.
Men! Destroy this profane temple.
Reigned the swaying muscles
Heaving foul breaths. Torching
Souls and roofs with mangled
Fussy blood and fire.
My head wagged. i supposed it was not an outstanding piece but overall, i was glad to paint clear picture of what had befallen my once innocent nation. i recalled the stories of Baba and his friend, the narration of the almost impeccable state we had, when the seeds of hatred and spite had not been planted in the soil of people’s minds. Now, politics has dismembered us and made us clasp of fragile fragments held together by linear volatile lines. Their stories made me ponder often times, asking myself the pertinent questions that my little brains could not give adequate answers to. Politics had indeed breached the tranquillity we had before now.
All we seem to have now are people who are interested in their selfish means and ends, brainwashing the unsuspecting masses through the religious and traditional institutions in order to achieve their heinous ambition.
I flinched and then returned the paper to my bag. I felt grateful to my pen and paper. They had served as adequate distraction from my nostalgic horrors. I was gratified when the closing bell chimed. I knew it would be a respite from the familiar ghost of my class. i ran through the lawns, wading through the sea of students that were wont to go home quickly as well. i reckoned i was in no mood for pleasantries because i turned a blind eye to everyone who was interested in such fraternal overtures. I arrived at the gate and was greeted by heavy dose of disappointment as neither the driver nor the car was there, a fate i started to suffer since Amad left his duties to return to his clan for the infernal Malik to take over the wheels. I wondered why Amad chose to return to the insurgence-infested clan of his but the signs had been there for the last two months. He had been receiving strange calls and had been acting strange lately. He had once declared his love for the extremists and the good works they have been doing for Allah in one of his discreet phone conversation. We had ignored his sudden change of attitude, believing he would regain his senses but he shocked us with his sudden disappearance. He never left any message neither did he leave any notes for us as he left. We were only able to reconcile his statements to deduce he had left his job for his clan, probably to join forces with the soldiers of god and that was the beginning of the reign of another hideous character in the form of Malik.
I hated Malik’s attitude to his job. He was much concerned with alcohol and cannabis and it made him lazy and slothful. I was certain he would have been held up in his joint, drinking codeine and smoking hemp. I had caught him several times. I had also threatened to report him to father but he pleaded vigorously, promising to change, yet the fruit of his change were nothing but unripe and acidic fruits. I stood, waiting patiently for him as shoals of students flocked through the main gate towards their various destinations. I had the urge to get angry and walk home but i decided to give him some benefits of doubt. I waited for minutes and still, there were no signs of him or the car. i felt my face blush with red anger. I promised myself that i would report him to Baba as i feet my feet nimble in sweaty agitation. I felt my chest tightened in exasperated anger. My hands kept drumming on the mid air in an iffy rage.
He finally arrived when i had made up my mind to walk home. He appeared, grinning and sweating under his brows. His eyes were as reds a blazing coal when they opened because they were closed half the time. I was convinced he had drunk and smoked himself into a delirious state.
“Sorry Madame...” he pleaded. He had a way of pacifying demons of wrath but i was not convinced he would win over that today because i was boiling inwards. “There was traffic at the market!” He announced. I looked him over and chose to remain discreetly quiet. I believed he irritation dancing menacingly in my face as he mumbled a few words that i suspected were apologies. I ignored him and entered the car before he joined and grabbed the wheels as if his life depended on it. It was obvious he had inordinate passion for drugs but one thing you cannot take away from him is driving expertise. He was calm and calculated at every turn of the wheel.
As soon as we steered through the various alleys before my street, i felt my rage abate. My contracted chest was released and my angry head became clear of all irritation- in the clarity of my mind, i remembered Fabro’s mother and i released it’s been one whole week since i last saw her. She had been busy with campaign to free the missing students and that had made her busy.