The Birth Of The Christ

"Sanctus. Sanctus. Sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth!", we chorused in unison as the One took His Place on the Throne. Amidst the fluterring of wings and the silence that followed, I sensed the certain reign of Divine aura and density deep within my heart.

I prefer to call him "Boss". It felt safer for those of us who had chosen the path of light, not exactly what our former commander had chosen. This Name forced me into the memory that my very existence was His and I had nothing else to exist for.

"Mankind has gone astray!", the Boss thundered, sending most of us to our knees. Then, timelessly, He turned aglow while His feeble Voice reminded the gathering of how much He loved them. From the group of Seraphs who stood to the far right, Uriel spoke. He was the most outspoken, even above Mi-ka-El, who had immediately taken the war-path against the decision of our former commander. Uriel, lead vocalist and director of the Seraphs and Cherubs had been gifted with a voice like no other's. The Boss had mostly kept this for moments like this. Just like all of us, the Boss loved him...yet, One sat beside Him, whom He loved most since the One, too, was part of His God-hood; His Only Son. Above Them Both, hovered the Spirit, the final person that made up the Trinity.

''Master, You are most merciful and magnificent in Glory. Yet, the fate of the flood may need to be repeated on . . ." Before Uriel could finish, the One had cut him short. "Not again! Remember the rainbow? Look at the children of Abraham. See the sons of David. Hear the cries of innocent women. This is the work of Lucifer, the one who revolted from our midst." With these words, His voice dropped to a low tone. "I love them all", He concluded.

Again, the Boss thundered, "The land has to be cleansed. One must go down from here and pay that price. I am no more interested in the blood of their goats and sheep. Those have become an abomination unto Me. I need a perfect and permanent sacrifice. Only then, shall I desist from the destruction that I plan. Whoever decides to do this, know this; YOU WILL SUFFER IMMEASURABLY. Take your time and think." At these words, the Light deemed from the Throne and the Boss was in recession. Heaven was quiet. The question hovered, "WHO SHALL GO FOR US?".

............

"Gabriel!", the Boss thundered from His quarters. My heart sank. Have I been chosen to pay the price? I doubted as I strode down the corridor towards the Throne-Room. The Boss was much more democratic than that. He always allowed us to chose. The moment I stepped into the room, I felt it. Something was wrong, hugely. The One, His own Divine Counterpart-in-Godhood, had taken the challenge. He had chosen to die for mankind! In tears, the Father simply starred at me. "Go to Bethlehem, the home of Joachim and Anne. There is one I sent to them neatly 14 human years ago. My Son needs a channel of birth. I shall use hers." With this, I turned and walked away, towards Bethlehem's route."

The young lady sat by the Carpenter's workshop. Joseph, a man of extreme decorum, a carpenter, under whose care Mary had been put, for tutorage and subsequent marriage. 

............

The conversation was short. She simply listened on her knees, asked a few questions and concluded with a statement that shocked the Angel out of me; "I am the handmaid of the Lord, let His word come true as He wills it!"

............

The next string of messages was to follow on the appointed day. Some human months later, amidst hugs, tears, fears and excitement in heaven, the Son stepped down from beside the Boss. While I left to announce His coming to mankind, the choirs rang out again in unison.

First, I met some shepherds sleeping in an open field. Before I revealed my full self, they all vanished. It was the major problem of mankind; fear. I simply reappeared ahead of them, cornering them to a standstill. While I broke the news, I heard the shrill cry of a baby in a manger somewhere ahead in Bethlehem. Then, I realised how unknown the Master's ways are.

I simply walked away, screaming in joy and excitement. I can tell this story firsthand, because my name is Gabriel; the Archangel and Messenger!

I am i~Witness.

Stripped ~ 1 (Series)

Just sitting in my birthday gift to myself, a Mercedes Benz GLE and with a Chris Aire engagement ring for the love of my life in my right hand. Tonight I’m taking Tomi out and putting this ring on her finger. It is long overdue. You don’t want to know, trust me.

“Akin you better drive with your body, spirit and soul in this traffic because I will not take it lightly with you if I see any scratch or dent on this car. You better face the road and stop smiling like a goat that just got his lips shaved off”.

It’s my 28^th birthday and no one sent gifts, cakes or even greetings my way. Even Tomi my girlfriend of 14 years and all my friends. Wow, does everyone just hate me over night. I hope this is not the beginning of my Job experience “shut up O2, you take things too personal. Just get home man”. Well I just can’t wait to get this ring on her finger.

Oh sorry for not introducing myself, this birthday thing is getting to me. Osasere Osagie is my name, my friends call me O2 because of my initials.  An accomplished young entrepreneur is who I am, don’t make that face jooor, I am pretty much accomplished. My team and I are responsible for “Group Study” and “Living waters” besides I made it to “Forbes 30 under 30 individuals changing the Africa”. I’m not usually this proud but a man’s got to blow his trumpet sometimes. Wait I didn’t tell you Tomi calls me her tall glass of dark chocolate milkshake, yea I guess it’s expected when you are six feet and five inches with a sexy body. I am not vain. I just love me.

For some reason, with all my accomplishments I still feel empty. There’s a void that needs to be filled. A lot of times I pretend not to know what it is, that makes me feel this way. Trying to get rid of this feeling, means going to look for that missing slate and that is something my pride and anger won’t let me do. It is just hard. Today will be a significant day in my life. These kind of days are to be shared with friends and family. I dread days like this. No no no no wait, you don’t understand. Days like this remind me that I have no family left in the world. My parents separated when I was 14 years old, my Dad passed on ages ago and I have no clue if my mum is still alive, all my grandparents kicked the bucket too. Growing up as a kid in Lagos, Nigeria was so much fun. Dad taught me how to play soccer. Every Saturday morning, we’d drive to the beach to play soccer, then have breakfast while enjoying the sea breeze and watch the waves. My dad was my mentor, my role model. On some Saturdays mum would come with us, she was my biggest fan. When I joined the soccer team in school, she would come watch me, she never missed any of my games. My mum was my biggest cheerleader and the best chef. My mum was Ibibio, if you know women from that area you’ll know they are a natural when it comes to cooking. There was no soup she couldn’t make, was it Afang, Atama abak, Ikon, Edikai nkong name it. Every soup was stuffed with a variety of sea food and well roasted goat meat. I really miss those days.

Finally home. This is my Victoria Island home, it is a beautiful five bedroom duplex, with a three bedroom boys quarters or guest house like Tomi always calls it. It has a basketball court, a pool area, a gym and a garden. Babe seems to thinks it’s a big property but I think it’s just ok.

Everywhere is so quiet, did Tomi leave me already or did something happen, different thoughts going through my head. Walking into the living room, it is pitch-black and quiet but I feel the presence of humans in the room. I switch on the lights and then voices just start singing happy birthday. I almost ran out but looking across the room I knew everyone in there. Tomi just stood there smiling at me like the angel that she is.  I was close to tears but I did a good job fighting it. My closest friends were all present. I hugged Tomi so tight. The party began, I didn’t even want to get out of my work clothes. There was a lot of food. Dj Sagie my friend, was there to deliver good music. I danced my ass off. Trust me I got moves from Azonto to Shoki to Nae Nae, I’ve got it all.

After what seemed like hours the music faded out and my all-time favourite person in the world had something to say about me and my journey so far. Tomi’s words got me all emotional and brought tears to my eyes. We’ve been best friends before we decided to start dating 14 years ago. So she has been there through it all, in plenty and scarce she stayed put. She believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself. When she was done with her speech, it was my turn to go all John Legend on her.  This wasn’t the plan but it was more perfect that what I had planned, after adorning her with the crown of every beautiful adjective, I couldn’t bring myself to ask her the life changing question “will you marry me?” After my unprepared speech, we danced a little more before our guests began to leave one after the other, till everyone was gone and it was just us two.

Babe made me go up for a shower, she said ‘by the time you are done with bathing get in your pyjamas and come down your birthday gift will be right here waiting for you.’ Filled with so much anxiety, I hurriedly had my bath got into one of my old Chelsea jerseys and a pair of pyjama pants. I ran down the stairs like an excited kid who can’t wait to unwrap his present. Tomi was there in the living room sitting with a woman. I was confused as to who this was, or what she was doing here, is she the gift? Could Tomi be considering a threesome just after I proposed to her, well let’s see. Walking towards the living room, babe gave me that flashy smile from across the room. This made me more uncomfortable. The lady will not turn her face towards me, so I walked up to her closely. Then she raised her head and I almost had a heart attack, WHAT! I fell to the ground...

Uduakobong Etukudo writes from Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia.

Umudike

"MIsericordias Domini in aeternum cantarbo..."

The cold humming continued as members of the Taize community sang their way through my very essence via the car stereo. The low temperature inside the car completed the requirements for a dull morning. Then, I was thirsty!

"Pooommmmm!!!", came the most obvious sound from a hurrying taxi as I let down my window to summon "the-kid-with-the-coke". I just couldn't imagine the sharp difference. Heat waves from the window. A mixture of all sorts of sounds from all sorts of unfriendly sources. Dust particles flying at random from shuffling feet in the dirty tar-like stretch of a road. Signposts by the roadside were as many as the total population of Madagascar. It was almost impossible to drive through here unscratched. This is UMUDIKE!

"Oga, which one?", the-kid-with-the-coke asked, amidst other competitors. I had seen the particular bottle of coke I wanted to drink from a distance. Infact, I could spot it from a million bottles of coke in Abia State. It had the inscription "Share a Coca Cola with Gabriel". Of course, the most comfortable thing in life is to drink a chilled bottle of coke ALONE! I am not a marketer actually, 'm just being realistic.

Since I wouldn't want to have a kid's brain splashed on my face, I drove slowly a bit forward, off the road. The-kid-with-the-coke magically moved at the same pace with my car, no matter how sporadic the changes in speed became. I had to quietly swipe my side mirror down to be sure he had not straddled himself to my car. Surprisingly, he had not.

The-kid-with-the-coke looked 8, smart, intelligent, could easily read my mind, spoke good grammar...yet, was not in school! There were millions like him around here.

While he pointed the bottle at me, I thought through the fact that there were billionaire politicians in this same community. Education was preached as a free commodity.

Just before I could reach the N100 note in my pocket, the-kid-with-the-coke had vanished; with his bottle of coke. Then, I heard the blarring siren of a police van...towards where I had parked. My heart-beat increased. 

As the dark-tanned Police-Man walked towards my window even before their van came to a total halt, I shot a glance to confirm the presence of the wig on my dashboard. Then, I slowly let the window roll down again and smiled; this time, with the confidence of a lawyer who just won a case against the government.

"Yes? How may I be of help officer?"

I am i~Witness.

Save the Black Child

The evening dew settled on everything around and harmattan dust decorated them to a different flavor. The humming sound of the strolling river spoke volumes to my soul. My heartbeats became like an accompaniment to the river music.

 For several minutes, my eyes felt like they were not permitted to stare away from the waters. Yet, each time they belched, my heart sank to its very depths. When I finally gathered the courage to look around, I realised how late it had become. The beach side was completely abandoned. The Michael Kors time piece on my left wrist screamed a tick; it was 8 o'clock.

Thoughts of stories of mermaids swimming out to river banks at unholy hours caused a tremor in my stomach. As I hurried away, my feet struggled to jumble through the thick pile of quicksand. The blue Amazon tie I wore kept flipping into clear view in response to wind direction. Suddenly, my eyes caught sight of the object of my fears.

An object lay quietly just a distance away. Oh no, rather, a couple of objects. I attempted a diversion, yet laziness and the length of the new distance brought me to a standstill. I produced the thick glasses; my spare eyes, and stuck them on. This thing has a grande relationship with my bone-filled face. It just sits in and hugs the face like a gorilla in heat. Just as it settled into position, the objects became magnified. And I saw, for the first time, the image of a tired child, lying beside a bag of pure water, a plate, a spoon, an old piece of canvas shoes for a pillow, a little heap of clothes and covered with two scanty pieces of whatever rags these were.

My legs wobbled as I gathered the guts to walk towards the heap. She looked 9. Frozen in the cold. Unperturbed even by nature. I simply sat beside her, pulled my glasses and let the tears flow freely. I pulled my suit and added to her self-constructed set of duvét. She smiled in her sleep and stirred as if to appreciate the increase in beachside temperature. As my teeth started clattering in the cold, it occured to me that this one could simply die out, unnoticed; and her corpse swept away by the ragging river.

While I sat, lost in thought; she woke with a start. "Officer please don't arrest me again, I have no way else to go. My mummy and daddy have died and my aunty said she will kill me if I don't sell all these pure water", she begged, almost wailing. Obviously, she has been threatened or even arrested severally. I simply pulled her closer. "I am no officer", I replied. Her heartbeat hurriedly slowed down as tears splashed from her eyes on my wrist watch. "What happened to you?", I asked. "My name is Edidiong." She began, in plain English. Her throat was cracked, I could detect it from her voice.

While the bag of pure water lay protected like diamonds, Edidiong excused me, strolled towards the flowing river and lapped off some water in a doglike fashion. I sat there, frozen and in tears as she hurried back, sat closely beside me, tugged herself beneath my left arm and began her story.

I am i~Witness.

What If...

There is nothing in this world I hate more than a January morning in England. Oh! How I detest the dampness, the fog and most certainly the frost in the air that comes with it. However, all that I could live with but for the fact that a January morning in England is also deceitful. The brightness in the sky gives you a false hope that heaven heard your prayers last night and it just might be  -2 degrees rather than -10 degrees. Ten times out of ten, it is latter rather than the former.

Nothing was bringing me down today, not the frost, not the damp and most certainly not the disappointment that the brightness in the sky presented a false hope of a sunny day.  It was -13 degrees and yet I was determined to have a great day!

Phew phew phew … I whistled happily as I walked to the 79 bus stop. Today is going to  be good day  I thought to myself as I waited impatiently for the bus to arrive. 

“Where is the bus anyway?” I spoke quietly to myself. Of course I did not want to be mistaken for a retard.

“Whop! Whop!” I coughed in an attempt to disguise my whispering from the people waiting at the bus stop with me.

“Wow that was close”, I thought.

Imagine if they concluded that I was a retard. I obviously would be given a wide breath when the bus arrives and we finally get to file in. It is bad enough that I am an African girl living in England, I did not want anyone thinking I was a retard as well. That would be double trouble.

I stretched my hand to signal the bus as it whooshed pass me.

“Bloody bastard!” I shouted at the bus driver, this time not bothering to disguise my words with even a sneeze. I regretted my impulsive words immediately as everyone turned in my direction. Oh great! now they think I am an aggressive, ill-mannered African girl.

“Who bloody cares anyway?” I thought to myself. At least, I was bold enough to say what all of them were thinking.

I boldly looked each one of them in the eye and dared them to say anything. Everyone seemed to suddenly receive a very important text message on their phone, as they all quickly whipped out their phones and tapped vigorously at it while avoiding any eye contact with me.

I must stress the fact that I shy away from using profanity, as much as I can of course. But I dare anyone who lives in a country where profane words are used like an elder in Umuanunu village uses proverbs, not to swear at least twice a day. As a child, my mother would threaten to wash my mouth out with Omo detergent if I swore. In fact I can truly say that I couldn’t say a swear word until I was eighteen. Eight years later, I still hesitate to do so except in exceptional circumstances, and I think the current circumstance warranted at least 3 swear words. In my defence, I only used two.

The bus had taken its maximum capacity of passengers therefore could not stop at the bus stop where I waited, to take in anymore passenger. That's just my luck!.

A good day was slowly turning to a bad day. Nevertheless, I was determined not to let that happen. I was not going to let a minor bus incident steal my joy and so I clung to my happiness like a drowning swimmer clutching at a broken twig. Desperation, I swear is the mother of invention. 

My mind sought new ways to entertain itself. I thought to myself, if I had my life to live over, would I change anything?

At first, I riled at the idea that I would want to change anything about my life. I am well educated, I have food on my table, the clothes on my back are of a good quality and to top it all off, I have a family that loves me unconditionally. Why then would I want to change anything about my life? I thought.

As I thought about my perfect life, doubts began to creep into my mind and before long I realised that I had changed my answer to the question. My life was not so “perfect” after all.

It needed a few tweaks here and there.

If I had to live my life over again, instead of wishing away the years in boarding school and whining about the punishments, watery soup and cold baths, I'd have relished every minute of it and recognised that they were the years that shaped my future and the only chance I had in life to cast my cares aside, to live without major responsibilities.

I would never have maintained my father roll up the car windows during our trips to the village just because I was afraid of a little dust settling on perfectly ironed dress. A dirty dress was like a tiny speck of dust compared to the troubles life brought with it.

I would have encouraged my friends over for a visit even though our sofa was faded and we had no cable t.v. In doing so, I would have been able to easily separate the wheat from the chaff.

I would have taken the time to listen carefully to my grandfather, my grandmother, my mother and my father as they ramble about their youth. For truer words of wisdom were never spoken that those that fell from an experienced tongue.

I would have lit the pretty pink, passionate red and baby blue candles that were shaped like cupcakes before they melted in storage.

I would have lay on the lawn with my siblings and cousins and never worried about grass stains.

I would have laughed and cried less while watching television and reading my novels ... and bit more while watching real life.

I would have shouldered more of the duties and responsibilities carried by my Father and Mother which I took for granted. I would have eaten more ice cream and less salads.

I would have hugged my mother a little more, said I love you to my father even when he upset me, listened to my brother brag about his achievements, allowed my sister launch my favourite dresses and never complain when she borrowed my stuff and never returned them.

Given another shot at life, I would seize every minute of it, see it for the blessing it really is, try everything at least once, laugh recklessly, cry shamelessly, love desperately and never give any minute of my life back, I will use them all until there was nothing left of it.

“Excuse me, are you catching this bus?” an unknown said to me.

Firmly dragging me away from my musing.

“Yes. Thank you” I replied as I watched another bus 79 slowly make its way to the bus stop where I stood. This time thankfully, it did not whoosh past me!

It may yet be my lucky day.

I am i~Witness. 

Chukwunonye Chinwe writes from Nottingham, England.

We Were Soldiers

The thick brown khaki shirt stayed sat on his body and the large designer buttons clasped the piece to order. Mummy sat just a distance away, tear-soaked yet joy-filled. Otobong had just taken the dreaded military job. YET, that is far from the scary part.

Crickets whistled through the night. The dusty wind blew with reckless abandon. Camp was scarier than usual tonight. Telephone networks had been marshed by terrorists' activities in this area. Wide roads had become bush tracks; except from a little protection by the desert heat. We lay almost a kilometre away from the last explosion...barely 72 hours away. I peered through the shadows and saw figures all looking like myself, except one; Otobong. This is my definition of fate: we both attended the same Secondary School...now, we have just been sent to the same war-front, having been admitted as 2nd Leiutenants the same day. He was more of a specially structured individual. I had felt his shape looked like an improper fraction; where the upper figure always stayed larger than the lower. His head forehead seemed to grow at a pace a little faster than his body. Muscular shoulders followed. Otobong was one man you dared not annoy. Apart from the military training we had, he was a stammerer...not exactly the kind of person you would double-cross. He was the complete soldier; made of steel and built for war.

The camp lay still as we were all fagged out from a whole day's trip in an M35 Armoured Vehicle. The tank's danglings had caused an uproar within my stomach. This was war...toilets were a taboo. In the darkness, Otobong's forehead glittered from a reflection of desert moonlight.

While my thoughts and eyes travelled, I realised that other things had travelled too. There were short and brisk movements around the camp. The trees seemed to change their positions from time to time. It is military enough to understand what this meant; I did. I stayed stuck on my make-shift sleeping rack. We were under attack! 

The terrorists sneaked like a pack of lions into position. I starred, in horror, as a whole crew of about a hundred men were about to be exterminated. Yet, we all lay still.

I had to sound the alarm. No way. The whistle that hung around my neck became heavier than the MG9.0 that lay beside my rack. My heartbeat skipped numerous beats. Otobong lay frozen...still. Something was not right about this. So I readied myself to activate the "seat-eject" button tied to my right wrist. It was a trap door which opened the pit beneath my bed, sent me downward and replaced my bed with a heap of grass. From beneath, I would follow a tunnel out of the territory. Everyone was advised to have a plan like this and one knew the other's. Even Otobong did not tell me his.

Just as the terrorists emerged from beneath the moving trees, my hand swung to the whistle. Too late. The sound of the whistle was buried by the Machine Guns which roared, vomiting bullets the size of my thumb on all our beds. I activated the seat-eject and disappeared into oblivion. Soldiers do not shed tears...yet, I did. I just lost about a hundred men to these animals and, I could have warned them. My conscience weighed much heavier than the gun I hung as I crawled through the tunnel.

The 7 hour crawl was worth it, as sunlight shone through the cracks on the tunnel. Just as I found the outlet, my heart sank. I found a scarier sight; a hand waiting to pull me out and a forehead looking too heavy as its owner starred down at me. As I got pulled out, the rest of the team roared with an applause. I was the last to arrive. How they survived? They never slept in camp! Those make-shift beds were heaped with grass, forming the figures I saw. Otobong must have been a good sculptor; the reflection of his forehead came from the camp football we played shortly before bedtime.

"I wouldn't dare die on my birthday", Otobong retorted, as we jogged along to our next post.

I am i~Witness.

Indlela Yokuthula

I had always believed that God lives right in our midst. There is no pretence about that. Of course, no further explanations could be given to the deep rooted peace I felt whenever I found my feet travelling this particular street. I called it "Indlela yokuthula"; a Zulu phrase I had learnt while in South Africa to mean "The Way of Peace". I would wake on awkward mornings and stroll through it for an exercise, the return trip was always accompanied with peaceful thoughts. You could rob me without any weapon...simply because I lacked the courage to trade that peace for anything. God, obviously, had an apartment on this road and did do some exercises every morning. Today was a typical December morning on Indlela yokuthula; yet, it seemed God had taken a trip to the next street. This notwithstanding, He always shows up on time.

The dry harmattan wind trespassed all bounds. Like a reckless trabadour, it dragged with it, anything that cared to follow, voluntarily or otherwise; dust particles, brown leaflets from nearby trees struggled to stick on mothers; tree stems that had abandoned them and, even little children who seemed to be unperturbed by the freezing morning wind. I strolled along, humming G. F. Handel's "The Heavens Are Telling...", loudly greeting the farmers that hurried to their farmlands amidst the unkind temperature and wind. Just then, I greeted one; and, like John, her foetus kicked at the sound of my " aunty amesiere o". She was "fully loaded". Intuitively, I hit the end of the road, took a quick turn and followed her.

She was not only loaded biologically, but physically. The basin on her head indicated that this one was one hell of a workaholic. In a python-like fashion, she trod along. It occurred to me that her steps seemed numbered and laboured. My heart skipped several beats as she came to a standstill. I flipped a quick look ahead of her, there was no physical hitch. No gutters to cross. No road blocks mounted. I starred hard again, nothing had gone wrong...none that I could notice. I got stuck in this frenzy until I realised her fingers were tingling. Her bid to communicate something to me was obvious. I hurried closer and beheld a sight!

A stream of blood mixed with water hurried downwards between her legs. Until now, I had completely failed to notice how shapely they were. They shock as she struggled in vain to keep the load on her head. Before I could muster the courage to grab the filled basin, it had begun its journey from her head. Her hands had failed as they vibrated from the force of an incoming truck. Confused as to what to catch, the basin landed with a thud, spraying its numerous contents on the sand ahead. Then, she followed! Her "water had just broken".

A quick look around confirmed my fears; I was the only living thing on this road. This was not the major problem, there were two other basic issues. The first was that it seemed the road would remain lonely for a longer while. The second? The last time I ever sat beside a Biology textbook was 15 years ago, while I laboured to survive WAEC. Every other thing I ever knew about the human body was just due to my consanguinity with a doctor for an elder brother; who, like his professional colleagues, took a lot of humanly abnormal things for granted.

The harmattan wind seemed to have stopped and stared helplessly too. The swaying leaves stood at akimbo, smiling at my ignorance. My Michael Kors time piece screamed its tick tock into the very depths of my soul, reminding me of the essence of time in the presence of blood. Yet, this blood would not just stop coming. In fact, the indlela lokuthola lost its peaceful flavour. All that came to reality now was that a lawyer was about to practice traditional midwifery. This was not fun. I breathed in deeply...and ignorantly began.

She had already laid on the sand, legs apart. Her fall had caused a little injury to the side of her head. Then, I realised that a lot of blood had been lost already. White eyes, pale skin...the blood slowed down! Her heart skipped some beats...then...stopped completely! Just then, I realised she had fallen badly and hit her head on a small stone hidden the thick folds of sand. Her temperature quickly reduced and her eyelids struggled to stay open...in vain. In minutes, she had found peace.

Shocked, my gaze tilted upwards and the last I saw was an image of a blue sky and the sound of gushing wind. Then, the DARKNESS CAME!

When I Served My Country (contd...)

13.

The ocean roared past my eyes like a bride hurrying late for her wedding. With mixed feelings; of joy, seeing the waters and of sorrow, imagining the up-hill task of fetching it back home, i turned and started the stroll back, making haste to complete the day's task ahead.

The sound of sweeping kept thrashing my ears as i got closer to my room! Dirty water flowed freely from the doorway. In semi-shock, i found two "mute" kids doing a perfect job; cleaning my "kitchen". These young ones were not actually mute, but English language was a far cry from their understanding. With this difficulty in communication, i simply crawled away from them and reoccupied my seat of authority in the Bull.

Truly, money is a language understood even by the dead. As i produced my wallet, they smiled. Of course, they understood that their labour was about to be rewarded. Quite awkwardly, i never knew who they were, because we could not communicate.

While i relieved the Bull of the load it carried, my "kitchen" kept frowning as it was almost filled already. "Knock, knock", the awe-inspiring figure showed up with a...hang on; is this a matress or a mat? Whatever it was, it was meant to be slept on. I received it with fake smiles and threw it on the floor as the figure rattled away.

As i looked for space to hang my numerous clothings, it was obvious I needed a carpenter to re-inforce the swinging wall hanger. Well, i doubt these people have any carpenter with equipments. Stones were everywhere, so, i walked towards one. I could do the job myself.

The stone seemed to follow my hand in a magnetic fashion. A shiny dark-tanned snake lay beneath it, starring at me with its head hanging!

.

.

.

I sluggishly picked up my diary. Before i could write anything, my dull eyelids unsuccessfully fought the urge to stay alive.

When I Served My Country (contd.)

12.

"Corper, follow me!". I was startled as the voice by the doorway met me staring in wonder at the sleeping figure before me. Nonetheless, I stood up and hopped after the container from which the command had emerged. It was a carefully packed confederation of bones, held together by bandage-like ligaments that served the purpose of flesh. The only difference between the neck, the back and the buttocks was that the latest advertised two covered Akara balls, which moved mechanically like pistons of an old generator, in turns. The pink gown and a green headtie suggested a feminine creature.

"Na me de take care of Corpers for council", the creature continued, still moving forward like a robot. "I wan give you accommodation. Before that...", then she turned around, "...your acceptance fee na 1000 Naira." I quickly produced my wallet, just to avoid looking at the construction which stood in for a human face. To worsen my feeling, my hand came in contact with her's in the process of paying the fee. At that point, I was worried it had rather fallen on the hard blocked half-wall on the corridor...but the corridor moved; it was her palm!

The 7 minutes walk through a bush-track terminated in a "haunted-house". I stopped behind her and looked ahead in surprise. The question as to the status of occupation of the house ahead went right back to my throat as a slim beautiful young lady with an NYSC cap emerged from the block and smiled at the figure ahead of me! The contrast was terrible.

"Uduak", the figure called out. I exhaled for my neighbor was from Akwa Ibom. My excitement quickly reversed when the door to my supposed room popped open. Uduak had strolled far off, out of sight. The room was just enough to contain only the books the Bull carried on my behalf! It had a kitchen wash-hand sink attached to the wall. Opposite the sink, lay 2 tubers of yam, 8 cooking pots, a kettle, a stove, some old newspapers and, quite awkwardly, a pillow!

                                  The rattle of bones behind

 alerted me just on time to see the figure turn and walk away. At this point, I knew I wasn't going to do my NYSC...but I hoped I could.

My Bull crawled through the track and stared at where his commander was to abide. First, I needed to keep pouring water in that room until it spoke. i quickly changed into work clothings, put on my canvas for a trek in search of water. A little stroll towards the other end of the track revealed a slope. Beneath the slope lay a road that had endured much more seasons than the colonial masters expected it to. I kept on down the track, smoothing my fingers through the edges on my NYSC Identity card inside my pocket...security issues.

Suddenly, the temperature of the late morning hurried downwards. The sound of an untuned radio gushed into my ears. Then, I stood face to face with a tributary of the Atlantic Ocean...on the other end, was a flag of Cameroon!

When I Served My Country (contd...)

11.

The temperature was blood-boiling. My heartbeat went in unison with the songs and prayers uttered silently within. The devil himself looked up, at my face. His silence was unbearable. I stood before him, trembling, broken, pierced, and most of all, weak.

"Just come for your clearance tomorrow, we'll talk then", the devil finally blabbed. I heaved a sigh of relief and turned around without a word. The Bull seemed to understand my situation, as it seemed to move slowly in cooperation with my weak trembling feet that could barely press the acceleration pedal.

I arrived my Place of Primary Assignment, the Local Govt. Secretariat, and lodged my Bull under an angry tree...it threw a dozen leaves on my bonnet, in disapproval to my packing. "Your leaves don finish?", I queried in annoyance too, and strolled to the area that seemed occupied.

A little cow-shed lay to my left, made completely of logs. A signpost revealed it was a department. Chairs and tables lay in a haggard format under every shed. In fact, every place was an office! A man sat by a hall, tagged "Legislature", and smoked two sticks of cigarette at once. His face brightened each time he took the sip. Obviously, he was mentally unbalanced.

"Corper, good afternoon and welcome to our land of peace", the figure whispered amidst puffs of smoke. I was taken aback. This was the only human, apart from the devil himself, who conveyed his thoughts in purified English. My smile widened, but my heart raced...soon, my feet joined!

A woman sat under a tree just after where my mad friend had his home. I sincerely hoped they weren't colleagues-in-insanity. So, I walked up to her, boldly adjusting my cap. Before I could get close enough to her, she quickly pointed at a door ahead of me. I felt terrible though, but obeyed.

The Inscription "HOLGA" hung nicely at the door. I knocked, and crawled in. A huge fair woman sat on a rocking chair and stared at me above a tilted pair of glasses which now rested on her pointed nose. The memories of childhood rushed back as she looked more like cartoons we drew as children. Funny enough, we used this image to represent the wicked step mother.

"Good afternoon Madam", I said with a smile that mutual have tickled her fancy. A semi-masculine voice emerged from between the lipstick-smeared pair of lips. Wait o...did she apply this lipstick, or did someone simply fling a bucket of red paint at her?

"Corper, sit down", she responded, leaning back on her rocking posture yet still staring at me. I became too uncomfortable as she kept staring without a word for about thirty whole minutes. My face kept flickering here and there to avert the look in her eyes. In my confusion, I stood up and tried to say something, expecting her to revolt. Actually, she didn't! She just kept staring at my empty seat. Something was not right.

As I moved closer to her table, I noticed a little smear of her red lipstick on her white blouse. Spittle travelled from her open mouth downward, getting an accompaniment from the red neighbors downstairs. Her upper jaw was linked to the lower by strings of foam. Her snores kept the rocking chair on motion. Behold, my host was deeply asleep, though her eyes stayed wide open!