"The calm"

Flora

It was past 3 o’clock but there were no signs of my son. It was remarkably strange and i wonder where he had gone. I Ran my hand through my scattered hair, scratching some parts that seemed itchy by the thoughts of my son. I was calmly worried, taking my time to run the lawns beside the garden, which was couth and well trimmed.

He had been tremendous in these past few weeks i thought. Where did he get those strengths? I asked myself because he was well endowed with physical strength and mental strength. Several kids would have given up after the loss of their parents to death and psychological disturbance but here he was managing things that were beyond his control.

I passed up a bit and then heard the creaking of the gate. I turned and found him strolling gingerly to the main house but from the looks of things he was trying to mask his pains under that luminous swag. He had a faint smile in his face when our eyes met. It was no more than vanishing flint of a soothed soul. I am sure he was glad i was beginning to recover, especially with my physical structure. It had been two days but i felt it has been more than two weeks. I knew his strength carried me to that level.

“Your appetite is back.” He had smiled to me before leaving for class in the morning. He was glad with my speedy recovery.

“Good day mum!” his voice sank into the deepest part of my soul.

Are you alright... my dear?

“I am...” he said, pressing his firm body against mine in a warm embrace.

“You don’t look at all... give me your hand!” I saw him frown but i was not interested in his wanton frowning. I needed to be sure my son was alright. He offered his hand after brief indecision and hesitation. I got really mad when i inspected his hands, they were marked by blisters. “What is this?” i asked with much concern.

“It is nothing to worry about mom... i am fine, really! He nodded

I demand to know what happened to your palms or i will be forced to go to your school, first thing in the morning! I threatened, hoping to squeeze out the truth from his witty lips.

Alright mom...i got into a fight and i was punished for it!

“You fought? Since when?”

“I had no choice... they gave me no choice...” he stuttered with subdued rage.

“When did you begin to settle issues with violence?” He looked down, trying to avoid my hard stare. “Whoever taught you the act of violence... because i am sure... i didn’t, neither did he!”

You are making it sound awful... It wasn’t as if i had plans to fight...

It is awful because no one plans for fight... you should learn self control! There was a brisk silence between us as we stood in the lawn, assessing the situation.

The street is not art and logic... he said as he moved inside the house. I was not fazed by his distractions but something struck me right then. It was time to pull him out of that jungle called a school. I was determined to get him back to the right track. The exposure was having a negative influence on him and i was determined to break the cycle of that influence. That night saw me putting through calls to Dr Iwena, the head of my corporation. He was glad to hear from once again after we exchanged pleasantries. I told him of my interest to resume official duty, if there was still any space for me.

“this is nothing something we can discuss over the phone, flora... you should try coming to my office tomorrow morning, so we can fix you somewhere.” He said, in that mild endearing tone.

“Okay... thank you Dr Iwena! You have been most helpful.”

“You are welcome... i will be expecting you tomorrow.” He said as the line went dead. I was glad, there was hope after all.

I slept that night, feeling utterly relieved that my dreams might not have been over as always thought. Although, i was aware that the stress that knocked me off had placed a black mark on my otherwise, impeccable record but i was determined to make a meaning of what was left of my dreams.

I woke up very early for the appointment. I was not going to take my familiarity with Dr Iwena for granted besides he was shrewd with time. A stickler for time he was. I was less surprised when i saw him already engrossed in work as early as 8 o’clock.

Good morning, Dr Iwena!

“You are here already?” He smiled.

“Yes i am and i am also not surprised you are here already...”

“Time is an irredeemable factor... once gone, never to be reclaimed.”

“I quite understand... one of your principles, i guess.”

“I guess so... but i quite recognise that i am a Nigerian by body and western by mentality. He chuckled, inviting me to share that joke with him as i smiled, maintaining a straight face. “Let’s get straight to business, Dr Okolie...”

“Yes, yes...” I snapped in impatiently.

“A lot has happened in the past, which were quite unfortunate, i must confess... I know there are dark sides of ambitions but i am also interested in seeing the promise of redemption. You have been immense to the growth and development of this corporation as well as this country.” i was feeling uneasy with his sermons because i knew how these sermons ended. I shifted awkwardly on the seat at various counts of his preaching; praying inwardly that it did not end in utter disappointment. “But i am sorry...” he paused, avoiding my gaze and confirming my fears. Your position was declared vacant, when you...

“Dr Iwena, i think you should help me here by going straight to the point. I interjected.

“Well... the political bigwigs have offered your position to another.” He declared with sorrow in his voice. i felt disappointed but i tried hard not to showcase it. i was already aware my late husband courted with deadly rivals, who had swore to render him and whatever that was associated with him politically and economically irrelevant. I was not surprised they still fought while in death. i refused to sell out. I was determined to maintain a straight face until he spoke again. But i think i understand your immense and invaluable contribution to this corporation. So i will be offering you a position in my office as the head of operations. I don’t know if that will be fine by you?

“That is just perfect, Dr Iwena. I can’t be more grateful.”

“It’s nothing, Dr Okolie... i know it is a step backward for you... but it is better to build on something than to hope on nothing.” He surmised.

I knew he was right and i did not complain either. My desire was to pull my son out that ghetto called a school. He was the reason to live again and i was determined to give the good life he deserved. I left his office after he had inquired of Fabro as we talked a bit before i left his office.

The politics of the country had been deliberating set up to hurt the people, especially those that stood with the truth and the masses, of which we have become victims, my husband and me. Fighting back would be a fool’s errand and it will definitely expose my son. i had to let go and begin from the Dr Iwena’s offer. It is better than fighting over the confiscated property and the frozen accounts as established by the blood sucking demons called politicians and their anti graft puppets. I was determined to start all over again.

Fabro

It has been two days since i got into a fight with the class captain and it has also been two days since i met Eva the labour prefect, a perfect girl with an impeccable body structure with a matching chocolate colour that complemented her body as well as curves that sat in their proper places. I did not need a prophet to tell me she was beautiful because it was obvious, even to a retard but despite her beauty and the accompanying status of the hottest girl in the school, she was a snub, a trait that had stared at me when we first met under the grassy hot sun. She had turned so many boys in the school as I heard from Fatamata, the school journalist.

“She was the premier candidate for the school prefect but her class felt she was too arrogant for that hallowed position, so they fought her and ended up appointing her the labour prefect!” she had narrated to my attentive ears. “But where did you meet her? You sound very keen on her.”

“It’s nothing Fatamata... i was just curious.” I dispelled her curiosity.

I sat in the class, nonplus at her gesture towards me on the day we met. She had came back after she left and helped me to complete the number of minutes i served, promising to squash out the rest of the charges against me: a feeling that was heavenly but The class had become excruciatingly dure for me, the free period left me with nothing to do but to mop up the heavenly thoughts that pervaded through my head.

i decided have her sketched with the blur image, that i have of her, the one i have saved in the sacred parts of my memory although my palms were still hurting with blisters. I decided to rack up the last burst energy in my hands to have a drawing of her. I slowly began to sketch Eva’s portrait.

“Who’s she?” I heard a voice intruding into my concentration and giggling at the same. I tried to ignore the familiar voice. “Or i think i know who you are trying to sketch!”

“Who do you think i am trying to sketch, Channels?”

“Who do you call channels?”

“You... of course, Fatamata! You like prying into people’s privacy!” i blurted out. The words stung her as she recoiled and crawled back to her hole like a snake. I smiled because i knew i had stung her on her delicate parts, which i regretted at that moment. I would have apologized but i chose to do it later because i needed privacy to finish the sketch. Apologizing would have offered her more legitimate right for gossips, which she was a chief. Although there were other gossips like her but she was annoyingly open about it. i knew hers was not the only prying eyes sucking the life out my art. I knew her seatmate, Fatou was also interested in what i was doing but i knew she was less courageous or arrogant perhaps.

I kept sketching until the bell chimed for the long break and that meant training. But something kept stuck in class, I was not sure I want to train with them because a lot had happened to me in the past forty eight hours. The motivation to train and play in the national sport dwindled by the day. I was still struggling with my hands and the paper when I felt a recent familiar presence. I raised my face and behold it was her. She was gay and solemn.

“Hey… what a pleasant surprise” I said.

“There is a man outside… he says he is your uncle.” She said with a straight face.

“Uncle?” I was baffled.

“He looks rough, big scar on his left side check, huge frame…”

“Uncle smart” I said with amazement. “What’s he doing here?” I stood instantly. I watched as she peered into the sketch. Her face asked lots of questions but i was less in the mood to listen to her curiosity as i could i dash out, heading straights to the gate. I was determined to rebuff Uncle Smart and give him his place. I ignored every distraction until i saw him standing in the shade of the huge pine tree, standing tall on front of the school gate. His appearance was overtly dour and ominous. He wore a dark blue crazy jean, with a crisp black shirt and a tank sitting protectively on top of the shirt. He had a black heart with a dark goggle, which i believe was to disguise his identity. I stood afar off, regarding him and the trouble that loomed ahead. He beckoned on me to be quick in my meeting with him but i hesitated because i knew he was always in a hurry, always scared of shadows, scared of his environment, scared of time and temporal space. I consciously wanted to delay him and irk him perhaps, so he can leave my humble soul for good and stop attracting situations for me.

Come on, Fab! He waved. “I don’t have all day!”

Why are you here? I queried him, after i walked up to him with much reluctance. Besides today is not a visiting day, how did you?

Relax, Fab! I have my ways around everything.

Indeed! I mocked.

Sorry man, i heard the unfortunate incidence with those miserable fools...

And why do you care?

“You are my gee, Fab.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Uncle Smart... i have had enough problems with you around.”

“Alright then...i will leave, never to come back but you just have to help me out in this one.” I raised my eyes in confusing anticipation. Uncle Smart had never asked for any help before, how much more me. “You just have to help me...mahn.”

“What do you want?”

“I believe you are well acquainted with central bank...”

“Yes, i am! I answered with a raised brow.”

“But it’s been long, i visited there... of course you are aware mom doesn’t work there anymore...”

“I am aware of that, Fab! But that’s not the issue now, is it?” I thrust a suspicious glance at him. He took the cue but he was a very resilient man, a quality that everyone was aware of. “I need the sketch of the central bank... I believe you can conjure that up!”

“I can’t do that! i blurted out.”

“Come on... don’t be ridiculous, mahn. You have to help me in this one... you are my last hope.”

“What do you want to do with it?” I probed, although i was certain it was nothing but criminality.

“You know... i have a thesis writing to present... you got my back on this one?”

“I know you don’t have any thesis or whatsoever to present but i will see what i can do...”

“Thanks mahn... you are my real man!” He smiled widely.

“Please don’t show up again... i will email it to you.” I said before i began to move slowly to the earth. I felt he was going to call me and hand me over wads of notes. I had made up my mind to reject his ungodly benevolence but as soon as i turned my back, he was already off, vanishing into the thin air. I wonder how he managed to conjure those miraculous escapes. I was half way the field when i heard my name called out like a chiming bell.

I looked up and saw the athletic frame of my sport’s master, standing sternly tall on the edge of the field.

“Where should you be by now?” I lacked words to express my disinterest in the training, the games, and the national festival because his posture was hostile and belligerent. “Now, get into those shorts and get in here!” he barked.

Although i wanted to tell him that i have lost interest in the games, especially since the final year students were interested in frustrating for me for the captaincy of the team but i found my voice, incriminatingly voiceless. I trained with the team with less enthusiasm but i still managed to put in a stellar performance in the game.

I quickly left the field after the training and headed straight to the class without any pleasantries.

Cheik

As soon as we settled in to the camp, which i later learnt was called Chesha, our lives grew from misery to mystery. We had no idea of what our lives would become as every second we spent on earth; we counted as an ostentatious luxury. In all that befell us, nothing was compared to the cringe i felt in my stomach always in the camp. It reeked of death as the foul breath that swayed wantonly across the crannies of the camp. It was as if death lurked in the shadows and his smell was perceived across the crevices of the worn out tarpaulin tents. Those tents must have been battered by rains and stormy desert gales.

The stenches of death were so strong, even as the uncanny militias strutted in and out of the various tents, making my feet curl.

We clutched the lives we had with staggering fear and dexterity. Darkness hovered over our existence and our fate was bleak and untold until we were ordered to a large space behind the big tarpaulin tent, a place they called arena. We marched irrepressibly in a single line, which formed another extra eight single straight lines at the turn. I am sure we would have censused more than one hundred and fifty as we stood over those taunting single straight lines. I casted a quick glance at my fellow unfortunate conscriptees and i found out that most of us were young and ruddy, perhaps in our early, middle and late teens. I saw fears in their eyes as much as it was in my eyes. I saw free men that were bounded by the machination of cruelty and child abuse. I saw boys that should be in school or other vocational studies so as to contribute to humanity. I saw horrors written all over their faces as the burden of innocence were mounted with great pressure to go rogue.

We stood, fixed and docile like lambs arraigned for the slaughter as the platoons of militias, wielding terrifying weapons pranced about as if they had mandate to make opportune moments count impressively.

I clutched my heart in the hands of my mind as we watched a terrifying figure saunter from the shadows and marched towards with a malicious intent. He had more men than the lot that guarded us. I watched him as he stood in the mock podium erected for such events. He wore a camouflage with a light brown boots and a black scarf tied around his head. He also had a dagger, so massive that it can rip a heart out in a single thrust. He had everything but smile in that shiny charcoal face of his that was ridden with beads of sweat. As he mounted the podium, a massive black flag, mixed with green imprints were raised high above his head, floating haughtily with so much gusto in the air space behind him. i assessed his imminent appearance and i deduced he was no older than a twenty seven year old even if he weighed little in the flint scales of fanciful nature. He was quite young.

I watched him as he chanted some words of incoherent prayers before ending it with the one i was acquainted with.

“Allahu akbar” he declared militantly.

“Allahu akbar!” I heard a massive chorus of responsive and miffed voices cry out. He greetd us with “salamaliku” which we replied half heartedly before he went on to admonish us as being the chosen ones. He charged us to be grateful to the almighty Allah for finding us worthy to be counted among his warriors. He then went on to give the most captivating and inciting speeches i would ever hear. He told us of how corrupt the government had been. He told us of how we have been made miserable by a nation that murders her own children. He told us that civilization had been the bane of growth and development as well as humanity. He spoke so fluently interjecting between a Hausa so pure and Arabic that i lost my detestation for the commission i found myself in.

At some point of his speech, i found my goal slightly concomitant to his course. I had been hungry, poor, homeless, deprived and afraid half of my life, so it was logical that i bought into his course, since i had become privileged to channel my bitterness to the right course. He went on to inform us that there would be a massive reward for us in the afterlife since those who die, fighting a just and holy course ended up in the mansions, Allah has reserved for his faithfuls. At that point, most of lost our reservations and every other form of humane propriety. His words had hit us in the places where resistance did not exist.

We were dismissed that morning after his speech. It was obvious his speech has registered bitterness in our hearts and it would only need the right situation to express our hatred for the nation our country had become. Later at noon, we were called up again. This time, we had no hate speeches and lectures. We had few moments of basic military drilling, which we repeated again at dusk. The next morning we were fully armed. They told us we were ready and we could not agree less.

Three days later, i was summoned alongside a group of thirteen boys that I have become familiar with by the camp lieutenant. He ordered us to be quick as we dressed up in full military kits. I was confused by the whole hasty and fussy atmosphere because none of us had any idea of where we heading to. The militias that were in charge did not speak a word to us. They only hassled us occasionally, making us realize the delicate nature of our first mission. Our movements were calculated, Silent and quick as we marched straight to the revving truck awaiting us. I had no idea where we were going to and no one seemed to be privy to such information. We sat quietly at the back of the truck as it dangled off through a path that was strangely unfamiliar. I wondered how a road could be constructed to meet such a ghastly place. We sat in dire silence as the truck galloped its way through the rough paths. Our heavy breathing filled the air- It was tersely tense.

The rhythms of our heartbeat were uniform because it was wrapped in horror. Our eyes shone through the thick darkness that pervaded the truck. Had someone chose to speak, the atmosphere would have been diffused but our choice of communication made tension swell with macabre. The truck plodded away until we made a stop. Our eyes glittered with anticipation and uncertainties as we waited for the next line of action. In the thickness of that darkness, a shimmering black figure came and ordered us out of the truck in quick movements.

We were transferred from the back of the truck to an old rickety bus. We were packed in like a tinned sea food before the bus glided from the rough patches of the path into a narrow tarred one-lane road. The bus plied the road for close to six hours, with an amazing reckless speed on the highway.

We plodded steadfastly until we arrived at a minor village, close to Kaduna. We had a stop there as the driver engaged some men in the silhouettes. The conversation was swift and beforehand, we were ordered down. They moved us to a worn out mosque, a place I believe has been deserted for only God knows when. It was god forsaken and it reeked of mixtures of gas and mercury. We sat down on their order, waiting for further instructions as the man who brought us moved in to the inner room, where the stench of mercury oozed out from. He returned to where we sat with a brown envelope that had a bulge in the centre. He wrapped the envelope to meet the shape of the bulge, consciously avoiding any eye contact with us. He tucked the envelope into his back pocket and moved into the shadows. I never saw him again; neither did I see any of his aids again.

My heart raced occasionally for no genuine reason. I was slightly shaken by what the future held for me. I felt my death was sooner than later, although I was ready to leave this god forsaken earth to that promised paradise, where all the goodies goodies would be offered to me on platter, I still felt a tinge of fear, welling up in my stomach. In the charades of thoughts, a voice intruded, charging us to change into the costume they have provided. I quickly obeyed and hurried into the clothes, not because I was enthusiastic about the whole business but because I had no choice.

They told us of the script we are about to act. It was going to be a short thriller and we should be mindful that we are not coming back except providence allowed it. That was when I understood what I was in for. I was meant to act like a refuse collector in a certain reserved area of the capital territory: a place that housed many multinationals and international organizations. I felt my pores burst up as it poured loads of hot sweat in that cold twilight as I was handed a parcel that was concealed a large sack. I was told to be strong and courageous that Allah was proud of my heroism. A man with large scattered beards came out and held me by the shoulders. He told me, I was carrying out a holy war that God would definitely win. He told me to count it joy that I was found worthy to be God's tool in ridding the nation from the infestations of the bloody infidels that have refused to accept the biddings of Allah.

I watched him as he repeated the process with my new found comrades. He encouraged us and afterwards we were handed our different packages and sent to different places. That morning I was led to a small car and carried away. I felt I was not going to see those comrades ever again. Death was imminent for the either of the parting group. My eyes were clouded with loads of tears but I did not allow them to drop, not even an inch.

Two other upstanding comrades joined me in the car as it began to roll slowly out of the compound. I was sure they presence was to enforce the mandate but I was certain their presence gave me a tinge as the one that sat in my left hand kept smoking away like his life was on tobacco support.

We arrived at the capital territory, exactly at 7:15. The road was still quietly busy. Shoals of cars screeched without recourse. There was a sense of diligence in the part of the civil servants as they scurried to beat the eight o'clock mark. I admired the bustle. I had seen a place so beautifully committed all my life. The Sandy paths of Aruko had been my experience of the temporal word. I had no idea; a place could be desperately beautiful and organized like the capital territory. I saw craft as we drove straight to a desolate compound. There, I saw the instrument of my mission, a rickety and old two legged truck. It was so dirty that I flinched at its sight. I wanted to throw up and empty my already hunger-ploughed stomach but I knew I needed to conserve the energy for the mission ahead. I watched as the two comrades transferred the sack into the truck before shading it with different sizes of worn out utensils and irredeemable electronics. When they finished, they squeezed my shoulder and assured me that God was with me. I nodded naively and began to roll the truck into the major road in the street. I rolled it with cold sweats immersing my young frame. I passed so many beautiful buildings that shut the world out with their gigantic gates and gargantuan walls. I shook my head occasionally at the gulf of disparity between the rich and poor in a nation that is so much blessed that it could carter for her people without much fuss.

I kept rolling, determined to get to the spot I was instructed to stop. My determination soon gathered momentum and resolution tightened when I saw eyes of indifference prying at me from the comfort of wound up windscreens and lofty balconies. Some had no interest in my existence, they just casted a quick glance at my dirty self and went about their business. I felt relieved at how easy the mission was turning out. I took a sharp turn and headed straight to the reserved area where the multinationals and international organizations stood comfortably.

I became nervous when I began to see men on black livery. I knew it had to be them and I was ready for any arrest or harassment as my resolve swayed to its apogee but it was deliciously complicated as I kept rolling with no one stopping me or asking me any questions, even those in camouflage livery ignored me as they tossed the guns about as if it was the adequate protection they needed.

I stopped at the spot I was told, the one directly adjacent to the famous international organization. I felt my nerve failing at that point as my body shook unnecessarily to the heat of the nefarious assignment standing face to face with me. A policeman noticed my nervousness as his eyes seared holes into my body. He stood up from where he sat with his colleagues, chatting away that early. I was scared as he moved close; with a murky blood shot eyes that accentuated suspicion. Hot piss threatened to pour randomly through my brownish white jalabia. I knew the mission was about to blow up.