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THIS IS AN ADAPTATION FROM THE YET-TO-BE-PUBLISHED NOVEL BY AHAOMA KANU
It was
nearing the end of January and I was a week and some days old at my new
job when what looked like the heaviest attack by the Nigerian army
started. It started usually with mortar shellings which initially
killed more civilians than soldiers. The attacks started initially from
the Okigwe section but the offensive was quickly halted for no apparent
reason. No sooner had the dust raised from there settled did a full
attack with heavy arsenals from the Nigerians started from the Onitsha
region, I knew the battle there was serious when I noticed the
regularity with which infantry soldiers were dispatched towards that
zone. It was learnt that the road blocks set up on the Okigwe and
Mbieri sector achieved its aim there of preventing the passage of
enemy heavy equipments and tanks.
I had
not had the chance to go back to Egbu village to see Mrs. Okonkwo and
my brothers, my inability to go visit them was more out of the fact
that I could not penetrate the kitchen department on like before so I
did not see any use going home empty handed when my brothers would be
looking out for me with an expectant mind. There was also talk about
the enemy deliberately destroying the farmlands of any vicinity they
captured and which was on the threat of being recaptured by the
Biafrans. The Biafran army were fighting with determination and sheer
luck; I heard talks among the soldiers about the new weapons
manufactured by the Science Department in their task to turn waste
materials to war materials.
There was the formidable and highly lethal Ogbunigwe
(mass killer) that was definitely a disaster for the Nigerian troops,
the explosiveness of the locally made bomb was such that it not only
killed but blew the enemies to pieces. The Nigerian soldiers had to
introduce the use of herds of cows to detonate the deadly mines that
were buried alongside the route they marched on towards their aim. The
Ojukwu beer was another popular weapon discussed among the soldiers, it
was so because it was death in disguise, appealing outwardly to quench
thirsty but sending its finder to the great beyond should that person’s
thirst for its liquid content overcome their cautiousness. The weapon
was made in the form of bottles of beer and were normally disposed and
scattered over an area very likely to fall into enemy hands, lethal
bottles of beer would be left in a way to suggest to the unsuspecting
enemy advancing infantry to look as if the Biafran soldiers fled in a
haste on learning the closeness of the advancing army.
The
soldiers claimed they watched the weapons achieve its aim over and over
again. The Biafran soldiers on their own side encountered so many
disadvantages in the battles; the Nigerian soldiers learnt abut the
scarcity and inadequate arms and ammunition situation on their side and
also almost naked conditions of the Biafran soldiers. Many of them
lacked uniforms, boots and helmets. Some wore their singlets and shorts
while the very unlucky ones fought almost naked. The enemies started
dropping broken bottles and sharp objects on the frontline to check the
infantry charge. The strategic worked really well for the Nigerians for
many of the Biafran soldiers became the look out for broken bottle
instead of being on the watch out for the enemies. As many of our
soldiers fought more or less naked, pneumonia and cold became a serious
ailment that attacked them in the battle front, many of the soldiers
were brought back with life threatening bouts of fever and cold that it
became a major cause of concern to the authorities. The major problem
the combating soldiers faced was hunger.
As
the fighting continued and the troops were deployed to the war zones,
it became necessary that cookhouses were set up near the fronts, the
civilians that manned such places performed courageously but the
cookhouses suffered the problem of dispersing anytime the army lost
ground. It took quite some time for its workers to regroup and set up
at another location once they got dislodged. This development led to
the troops fighting on the frontlines for days and nights on hungry
stomachs. Some of them ate raw grasses or if so lucky, some fruits in
the forest, like unripe pawpaw and plantains which to some extend did
more harm than good. Another problem the Biafran army faced was having
standby reserve platoons to reinforce the fighting platoons, where such
forces existed; their deployment became another problem as they had to
wait for night to fall before they could move to where they are needed.
Again
the acute scarcity of fuel and vehicles for carrying across messages
amongst the various brigades, the use of foot runners was thus the last
resort. It was such that by the time the requested reinforcement
arrived; more ground may have been lost. In order to tackle the petrol
situation, mushroom refineries were set up to carry out petroleum
refining so that the needed fuel would be available for the war. Most
of the fuel gotten from such measures ended up being sold in the black
market with less quantity getting to the army. Some of the refineries
were usually planes that frequently targeted such places, a number of
the refineries shut down out of fear when one palm oil processing plant
was napalmed at Awo-Omamma. It was told that the plane appeared out of
the blues and dropped its load of bombs directly on the plant, as they
bombs exploded; it sent the highly heated oil frying everybody within a
distance of the place. That singular tragedy was felt all over
Biafrabecause majority of the victims were village women who came with their babies and children to purchase palm oil to sell.
The
hospital where I was assigned was constantly busy throughout the period
of the attacks. Day after day, soldiers wounded in battle were brought
over by porters on foot, with the truck and a few made it on their own.
The intensity of the war at that period made it impossible for the Red
Cross to fly in their supplies of which we run out of stock. The
bondages got finished completely that we had no option than to remove
already used bandages from patients that were older in the ward to be
washed and used on fresh causalities. Three qualified and elderly
nurses came over from Umuahia to help us out and another young doctor
arrived from Orlu. The constantly arrival of the wounded, nearly dead
and dead causalities made the added human resources unnoticed. Dr Nwosu
worked day and night, we worked during the day, with the fear that
could give us away. Many of the casualties that went into the surgery
room were carried out dead because, at a time, operations were carried
out without anaesthetic.
The
patients watched their shattered limbs and arms gruesomely cut off
their body. This led to many of them dying of the haemorrhage. One
night, I watched as a soldier carried in another wounded comrade, the
wounded one was very older while the person that brought him was
younger almost as young as me if not for his enhanced biceps. As I
showed them a place to lay the wounded man down for me to administer
first and, my kit being river water and a small face towel with a
length of bandage, I noticed the striking resemblance between the two
soldiers, they were father and son. The older man had been hit in the
hip and by the way his trousers that was held to his waist by a rope
which I believed served as a belt, I was sure the man had lost so much
blood, the position and distance his son carried him contribution no
doubt. As the wounded man was laid down, his child pleaded with me.
“Biko, nyere nna m aka, ekwela ga onwu o biko,”
he pleaded, I saw the pain and the fear with which he meant those
words. He was been ready to do anything to ensure his father did not
give up. I nodded as I started loosing the knot on the rope, the man
cried out in pains as my hands moved to check out the exact position of
the exit wound. The son disconnected the bayonet from the nozzle of his
rifle quickly and cut the rope, helping me to pull his father’s blood
soaked trousers down.
“Papa,
hang on, don’t die, hang on,” he consoled his father as he undid the
trousers, it was such a pitiful sight that it brought tears to my eyes,
it was such a horrible situation to watch your own fat her dying before
your very eyes and you could not do anything.
“As I soaked the towel inside the iron bucket I had with to clean the area surrounding the wound, the man cried out,
“Ahh, Chineke mu, AlaOji bia kwa nu, Chineke bia kwa o!”
“Papa ndo! Ndo! Sorry! Jisi ike,” his son consoled.
“Mmiri o, biko nun ye mu mmiri!” he requested.
“He needs water,” the young man said to me as if I was deaf.
I shook my head to indicate the request was cannot be granted.
“Please, give me water, Jesus, I am dying, I need a drink!” the father yelled, his son still looked at me questionly.
“Give him water to drink please, he is my father!” he pleaded as tears rolled down his young eyes.
“No, it would kill him,” I told him.
“Chineke umu Africa, biko, mmiri! I need water, my mouth is dry,” the man groaned, I could see his loss of blood was sapping whatever energy he had left.
“Papa
please don’t die, please hold on,” his son cried, “Nurse! Help me,
don’t let my father die, please help me.” He asked holding his dying
father’s head on his laps. I cleaned the surface of the wound and the
man flinched and shouted with a very familiar drooling sound that I
heard often inside the hospital’s butcher room,
“Hmm, chukwu ala oji nwa oduma anaa! Blood
trailed out slowly from the wound, whoever fired the shot aimed to kill
him instantly but instead his death was occurring slowly. I went on to
bandage his waist to stoop the bleeding.
“Where
is the doctor?” the kid soldier asked with tearful pleading eyes, I
pointed towards the new doctor who was standing by the bed of another
patient.
“Doctor,
Doctor!” the boy called out, leaping up and moving towards him, I cried
more for his pain, he was willing to keep his father alive. I looked
back at the dying man, his eyes were half closed and some saliva were
running down his mouth, his mouth squeezed into a smile as he looked at
me.
“So
this is how a man goes,” he said a little audibly, I held his hand, not
really knowing what to say or do at that very moment. I knew the man
would be gone in a few minutes time, I had seen cases like his in my
short stay at the hospital. I looked up on time to see the boy and the
doctor coming down to us, the doctor crossed over to where we were and
shifted the two weapons lying carelessly by the side.
“Nurse, what do we have here?” the doctor asked as he bent down to have a closer look.
“The
patient was brought in not long ago with a bullet wound to the pelvis,”
I narrated, “Must have lost so much blood and requested for water. I
tried to stop the bleeding.” I finished the doctor lifted the bandaged
to study the wound closely.
“The entry wound is a real bad case,” he commented, “did you check if there’s any exit?” he asked.
“No, I replied.
“That means the lead is still lodged in there, too bad,” he said as he checked the man’s eyes with his torch.
“This
one will need someone to till the ground,” the doctor finished as he
stood up, it was our code for indicating a patient that may die soon
and be buried.
“I’ll
go get some pain killers across,” the doctor announced getting up and
touching the boy briefly on the shoulders, “be strong and be man.” I
knew the doctor would not be back, the talk was just a way of buying
time for the expected to come to happen.
“Ikenna,” the dying man called out weakly.
“Papa, I am here,” his son replied.
“Icheghi na nga agbake na nka,” he started.
“Papa, hold on the doctor is coming,” the boy replied into his father’s ears.
“Ikenna,
listen,” the weak voice demanded, “I am leaving and want you to know I
died a very proud man. I am proud of you, you are a brave son.”
“Papa, you will not die, the doctor will soon be here. He went to get drugs for you,” his optimistic son continued.
“Take
care of your mother and sisters, don’t let them down and don’t let
those bastards hurt you,” his dying father kept uttering, his eyes were
closing and the strength in his voice was trailing with each word.
“Papa,
hang on, Papa, Doctor!” the boy shouted, “Nurse call the doctor, my
father is dying,” As he shouted, his father’s weak head kept shaking on
his laps with his body’s movement. The only thing I could do was to
watch the tragedy happen, if I had had the power of life, I would have
been more than generous for the son’s sake. But being equally mortal, I
cried at the demise of yet another causality. The poor boy started
crying and calling his father continuously, it was useless, the man was
dead I watched with tears as the boy hugged the torso of his dead
father whose was nakedness was still exposed with only the bandaged a
rolled round his waist covering his manhood partially. The boy was
still bent in agony when Dr Nwosu appeared from the butcher room
wearing his same bloodstained gown, he watched the scenario for
sometime and then walked up to them and collected the two rifles lying
on the floor.
“Elias,
keep these inside my office,” he instructed, “he will certainly come
back for it.” Both of them left the scene as if nothing happened. I
stood by the side and grieved with the boy, the boy’s sobs continued
for sometime until he could cry no more. He got up and looked about
with reddened eyes which fell on me. He stopped “towards me and asked,
“Where will I bury my father?” I did not know where the dead were laid,
it was the job of Elias and Orjiakor or any solider Dr. Nwosu assigned
the duty. I went and enquired from Elias and he led us that night to
the place used as burial ground for the fallen heroes. That night the
kid soldier called Ikenna carried the corpse of his father to his final
resting place, I held the lantern as Elias dug the grave. Elias helped
the boy put down his father’s remains down the grave, the body was
completely stripped of its clothes as they were in short supply and was
needed by somebody else. I said the prayer for the soul of the departed
man and heard the boy’s tearful Amen. Elias reminded him to perform the
burial rite of dust to dust, the boy grabbed some earth heaped by the
side of the grave and stared for some minutes at his dead father before
he courageously said, “Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust. Papa goodbye.”
After
that Elias threw in his and I followed, I still held the lamp as both
Elias and the boy covered the grave and marched on the grave. We all
walked back to the hospital together silently, when we got to the
entrance, the boy asked Elias, “Where is my gun?”
“The
doctor took it to his office,” Elias informed him. I watched as he went
in there and came out with it, the expression on his face was obvious,
he was no longer a boy, he was a soldier; a solider that was out for
revenge.
The
war took a more threatening dimension when the enemies involved aerial
raids in the attack; they started dropping loads and loads of highly
explosive napalm bombs on anything within the Biafran occupied
territories. The Biafran air force that prided themselves on the
adventurous exploits of their Biafran Babes jet fighters could not
match the aerial superiority of the Illushyin jets of the Nigerians. We
watched the battle in the air as the baby jets and their brave pilots
were shot down one after another, that as the time I knew how crucial
the war was.
The
next morning the bombers woke everybody up with a bang of explosions,
the attacks came from the air, from mortar shelling by the enemy
infantry in preparation of their onward launching into Owerri. The
number of refugees that ran into the barracks in the early hours of
that morning told showed the intensity of the attacks. There were talks
and rumours that the some villages in the outskirts of Owerri were in
grave danger of falling into enemy hands, others had it that some of
the towns had actually fallen. The situation was made worse by the
incessant manner by which the shellings was coming; the Nigerians were
out to incapacitate anything and anybody within the perimeters that may
pose a threat to them. They wanted to move in unchallenged by any
pocket of resistance anyway. There was no way the stories could be
verified as people came flooding into the barracks every passing
minute. It seemed that the enemies had decided on a final assault to
defect the Biafrans and possibly end the war. With the way things were
going, many of the civilians refugees had started asking questions,
annoyed at losing the loved ones and members of their families, they
wanted to know why the soldiers of
Biafrawere not retaliating for what the enemies were doing.
When they could not get favourable answers from anybody, they started talking about why
Biafrawas
still engaged in a war they could not win or was trying to win. The
talk started like any other idle talk that had been on since the war
broke out, but that particular surrender clamour gained instantaneous
momentum that Army headquarters had to intervene to calm the brewing
storm. It became apparent that I could no longer go on my long planned
visit to Egbu as I had thought the reason begin the news I received
that the vicinity was among the villages endangered. Further enquiry
from some soldiers confirmed my fears that Egbu, Orji, and Mbieri
villages had fallen into enemy lines. Some of the escapees I later met
narrated how they narrowly escaped being either shot by enemy infantry
or blown to pieces by their aircrafts.
They
said the aircrafts started their habitual air raids in the night and
continued till daybreak when the eventual happened, for the first time
since the war started, the people saw enemy soldiers marching into
their villages and towns behind deadly looking tanks and armoured
vehicles. The air raid of the night before was done to clear any
trouble the land attack might possibly face. It was said that the
wreckages and obstacles erected by the people of
Biafrawas
the delaying factor the Nigerians encountered, some of the people were
able to escape while the invading troops struggled to clear the roads
for their heavy machine to move on. When I learnt of the situation, I
became weak, confused and tired. For the first time since the war
started, I was separated from Okechukwu and Ekene, the thought was too
heavy to bear. I slumped to one side of the barracks and cried. I did
not know what to do neither did I know who to run to, I was at a kind
of crossroad that I very much feared what the outcome might be.
My
mind wondered to Mrs. Okonkwo, De Ibe and my brothers, what may have
happened to them; were they dead? Did they escape like some of the
people did? I tried to believe they may have hidden in George’s hut but
the more I composed those pictures and excuses, the more I knew the fix
I had found myself in was not one I was familiar with. There was nobody
I could run to for consolation in the crowds of confused, defected and
equally hopeless people that milled around the barracks, no friend, no
brother or sister and no Mrs. Okonkwo to help me on. The only thing I
had that was as close was my chaplet but recent happenings around me
were beginning to put doubts in my mind if the Blessed one was still
around me. I tried to pray but ended up making meaningless words while
my mind kept flashing ugly images of Okechukwu, Ekene and Mrs. Okonkwo.
It was at that period that I knew the bond I had with these three
people in my life.
I was
still languishing in self pity and pains when an idea cropped into my
head, “they may have fled like the others,” one voice reasoned inside
me, “they may be here looking for me while I was mourning for no
reason.” That thought was like an engine, a surge of strength and a
spring of hope, I believed at once that they were around me, I only
needed to search them out among the mammoth crowd of refugees and
soldiers. I went into action immediately walking about with my eyes
scanning peoples faces for recognition of my loved ones, the exercise
rather revealed the many different faces of a people, I saw faces
filled with pain, sorrow, hunger, annoyance, fear, optimism and a will
to survive. They came in many shapes, sizes and ages,” the old, the
young, the small, women, man and children of all ages were scattered
about inside the barracks and other parts of Owerri town. Some were
with their loved one, others stood or lay alone, some children wandered
about crying out aloud for Papa and Mama, crying out for familiar arms
to hug, comfort and console them, to show them a little love or
kindness and assure them that there may be a tomorrow.
Each
face I saw had one similar expression, they wore the expression of a
people that have seen death so close and were thinking if they may be
twice lucky. The sight of the pregnant women was more sympathetic, they
looked about as if asking God why he allowed such situation meet them
in that condition, they stared on into thin air with full knowledge
that their unborn children may not be a thing of joy anymore, they
seemed to have accepted their fate that the end was not so far away.
The nursing mothers were another set of people that needed mentioning,
they sat on the floor with their babies in their arms, precious gifts
that they looked at time after time. They may have been lucky to have
come that far but the fears in their eyes as they watched their babies
cry was that of how long, how long it may be before they throw the
bundles of joy away in a possible attempt to save their own lives. They
did not need to wait long, that same night the Nigerian birds of death
came calling.
After
strolling about for quite some time looking and starring at faces of
people around, I decided to quit for the evening when it became too
dark for me to make out the faces. I made my way back to the hospital
to see if I may be needed. I met Elias outside talking with a girl I
did not recognise, I greeted them as I passed and went into the ward.
The place was three times filled to the last space with patients, a
greater percentage of them civilians since the air raids started. The
whole place smelt of unwashed bodies, blood and death, there was people
lying down everywhere calling out for help the help they needed was
made slower in coming when Dr. Nwosu went into the war front to start
up field hospitals where wounded soldiers were firstly treated to
stabilization before being transferred to the hospital for further
treatment as the case maybe.
The
new doctor, Dr. Okoro, was the only one around and was being helped by
the two midwives from Umuahia. Some of the escapes from the raids
volunteered voluntarily to help out in the ward so my long absence was
not really missed. I walked around the ward from bed to bed, mat to mat
and checked out the patients, firstly looking for the familiar faces of
Okechukwu, Ekene and Mrs. Okonkwo before then looking out for anyone
that really needed my attention. Those that needed attention needed the
attention to be given with kits but unfortunately, our kits and
consumables from the Red Cross had long finished. There was no more
bandages, methylated spirits, pain killing tablets and so on. I just
promised to get back to patients who earnestly pleaded with me knowing
full well the promise was an empty one. I went outside the ward and
watched from the window how the people kept wailing in pains inside the
wards. I saw members of the Jehovah Witnesses going from bed to bed
comforting the patients, reading out portions of the bible and
preaching hope into the painful faces of their listeners.
This
special group of Christians had been engaged in those acts right from
the camps at Agbogugu and Okigwe. I watched with interest as one of the
witnesses explained the bible to a patient, pausing here and there to
listen to a question the patient had to ask. As I watched them, I
admired their courage and strength to be doing what they were doing
even at that point in time. I left the window and headed out of the
hospital towards the kitchen and saw the crowd of people walking about
in the dark night. They had set up a night market by the place that
used to serve as negotiation zone then, that was the zeal of the common
Ibo man, they strived to move on in the face of any danger. The traders
sold items ranging from pinches of salt, garri and cigarettes.
Their wares were spread out on the floor before them with a
locally-made lit lantern providing light, they shouted on top of their
voices announcing the various goods t hey were selling. Since I did not
have any money to buy anything I walked away from the place and want
towards the burial ground, I wanted a place I could alone and away from
the noisy barracks. I had hardly settled down at the feet of a tall
tree when the familiar vibrations of the dreaded Mig Jets came roaring
from a distance, then appeared within minutes after it’s sound were
heard. The people had already started dispersing on realizing the
presence of the birds of death; the planes flew at a very low attitude
because the breeze from its propellers blew up dust that night and
quenched most of the lanterns burning in the night. The noise and
commotion among the people as they struggled to their feet in flight
from the imminent danger was more than the noise produced some few
minutes ago, leaving their wares behind, some of the brave ones
dragging their children behind, they all scattered in different
direction.
Those who had not yet mastered the surrounding ran helter
skelter towards the dormitories. The soldiers reacted swiftly coming
out from their rest places shouting on top of their voices in the
chaos, shots started firing from the guns of the soldiers who ran for
cover as well. It was as if the shootings triggered off their annoyance
the planes started dropping the parcels of death they had brought, the
first target was the market place. The explosion rocked the whole
compound sending a big glare of light that illuminated the whole arena
momentarily turning people deaf and sending hundreds to death.
The shouts of confusion started in a higher pitch as the next
round of bombs hit the place. I ran immediately through the bush past
the burial ground into the thick forests, as I ran, I met people that
were heading to the same destination. Nobody cared to rescue anybody,
the night made a little act of heroism or bravery the last thing one
could think about the successive explosions that erupted made one
concerned only with surviving, the enemy dropped the highest number of
bombs I had ever witnessed that night within some few minutes of
arriving. As we ran deeper and deeper into the thick forests, not
minding the fears and wound the grasses, short root stumps and
undergrowth inflicted on us, we ran as far away from the calamity
happening at the barracks.
More sounds of enemy aircraft came and it came with the
quantity of devastation and death. As the run for dear lives continued
the thoughts of Okechukwu or anyone else never came to mind, I was
concerned about outrunning the woman in front of me, to get away from
the valley of shallow of death which was happening not quite far away.
I heard people crying out for help as we ran, others were calling on
the name of their God endlessly but nobody attempted to stop. It was
the kind of situation that even with the night very dark and people
bumping into trees in their flight, they got up almost immediately and
kept on with the run.
As we ran deeper into the forest, the explosion kept on
sounding while the planes kept crisis crossing the sky above us. As I
managed to peep behind me, a saw the yellow glows of fire burning in
the horizon, the moon was full that night as the children of Biafran
kept dying. I may not have known how long I ran but soon I came up to a
place where people gathered about.
“Ozugo nu, unu agbazina oso,” a man cautioned, some moved a
bit further from him before bothering to stop as he ordered. Many
stopped not because of the caution but because energy had drained from
them. We were safer where we stopped as the tall palm trees in that
tropical rainforest hid us from the jets hovering about. Many people
that came along stopped briefly to take a breather before starting
further up the hill, it was safer there than where we halted. I
followed suit in climbing the bushy hills and came a little bit on an
elevated place. We sat down at different places up the hill and watched
the catastrophic destruction of our brothers and sisters go on all
through the night. By the trunks of the tall palm trees, we sat down
and cried when we heard the explosions that we all well knew the
aftermaths of its been dropped. Throughout that night till the early
hours of the morning, the attack continued, almost all the building
where on fire and the smell of smoke was everywhere, the picture was
definitely that of hell. Nobody slept, we all stood at alight, diving
for cover anytime a plane flew above the area we were hiding. When
morning eventually came after what seemed like eternity, the rising sun
was not noticed by anyone. The day drew away the cover the night gave
us, exposing the people on top of the hills. From that distance, I
could make out the barracks or what used to be the barracks, many of
the building had burned out long before day broke, the smoke pillowing
from them was the reminder that the ordeal was real and not a dream as
many would have hoped it to be. Small explosions started occurring
around the devastated area, it happened leaving lot of white smoke and
knocked the surrounding trees down. The sudden appearance of enemy
tanks and heavy equipment sent the people hurrying farther into the
hills. I watched in fear and saw for the first time the enemy soldiers
following their monster looking Saladines pushing forward wit a mission
kill.
The shout they made was barely audible from where we hid.
Unlike the Biafran soldiers who fought more or less naked, the enemy
troops looked like real soldiers, the greenness of their uniforms could
be noticed from that distance, they wore helmets and boots and all of
them had weapons. But even at the extent of their sophistication, they
moved more in caution into the bombed out barracks, shooting anybody
that moved and setting building that survived the bombing on fire. To
me and everybody watching the enemy marching, we were seeing the end of
the war. It was obvious that Owerri had fallen as the little resistance
the Biafran army put was stopped even before it started. We watched,
from our hiding places, wounded Biafrans shot dead by the Nigerian
forces, they were not taking any prisoner. For no reason explainable,
the enemy positioned their armoured tanks and waited. They did not make
any move to advance further than they were.
Their delay gave us more time to move away from the hills, the
survivors marched on through the forest on bare feet, some naked and
others bleeding. People grieved as they moved, they cursed both Ojukwu
and Gowon and blamed God for their woes. A young lady kept crying
aloud, throwing her hands in the air. Her blouse was soaked with
lactating milk from her breasts, she was a nursing mother but had to
thrown her baby away in the race to escape from the indiscriminate
bombings. It was like that always, mothers throwing away their babies,
fathers leaving their children behind and husbands running away without
their wives and families. It was like that, everybody ran for his or
her very own survival and then mourn for those they left behind and as
the case always is, lost. On our way to wherever the bushes may lead
us, we ran into some company of Biafran infantry soldiers, seeing them
in t hat their half-military-half-civilian attire and looking more
determined than the arsonists we were running from, was like seeing
angels.
They took their time to console us and organise everybody
together, asking questions about the enemy back there at the barracks,
the number of tanks they came with and other intelligent questions. As
they debriefed the people they marched on to make sure the last of the
people had passed before they went farther ahead to set up their
weapons which included Tempella mortar anti-tank guns, and the deadly
flying Ogbunigwe’s. as they reconnaissance team returned from examine
enemy positions, the first rounds of mortar shells started firing
drawing so much cheers from the people who refused to move on as the
soldiers ordered them, almost everyone close to remain and see the
enemy paid back in their own coin. As the shelling continued, Biafran
infantry soldiers started moving in through the flanks, I was
witnessing the war in real colours.
More jubilations went up when we heard the sounds of planes,
many of the civilians ran for cover as they thought the killer was
flying again but were informed that the little birds up there were
flying for
Biafra
. In the joy of the counter attack, some of the men who some
few hours ago were running through the undergrowths with their pants in
their hands, instantly joined in the assaults, taking up any available
arm they could lay their hands on. Not before long the Biafran babes
fighters appeared, explosions started sounded like sweet music to the
ears of Biafrans. Fighting soon commenced as the soldiers made contact,
many of the people could not contain their joy as they ran back to the
position they left not long ago to watch the battle from there, to see
the Nigerian soldiers pay for their sins and bloodshed. From the look
of things at the beginning, it was as if the battle would last some few
hours, as the speed with which the Biafrans attacked but it was not so.
That battle by
Biafra
to defend Owerri lasted for five days and nights. During those
days, nobody left, we all remained solidly behind our army’s back to
cheer them up, we ate grasses and wiped the sweat off the faces of the
combating soldiers and prayed for victory. The enemy retreated back
further than he advanced and closed up. We were to learn that the enemy
was attacked by the
Biafra
soldiers from Umuahia, dislodging them back to Okigwe. The
remaining enemy soldiers with their equipments were cut off from their
comrades and were trapped on both axes. The news was a happy one for
Biafra
because Owerri was not completely lost as feared but a very bad
one for me because the area the enemy held included Egbu village,
Okechukwu, Ekene and Mrs. Okonkwo now appeared held within enemy lines.
The enemies could not go forward nor backward; they remained
there with their saladines on the ready. When the enemy retreated to
their position, mines were laid and a defense trench dug through all
the enemy defences. The people started coming back when the all clear
signal was sounded. On our way back, we passed and met the now swollen
corpses of the victims of both the initial attacks and the battle that
brought the retreat. We came in to meet close to thirty enemy prisoners
of war, they were all stripped naked and their uniforms and boots
shared among the gallant Biafran soldiers that saw to their capture.
Some of the prisoners were in bad shape and needed medical attention,
when the call for a doctor was raised, it made us to learn that Dr.
Okoro, the young doctor from Umuahia was among those who did not escape
from the premises alive. His roasted body was identified by one of the
nurses by the ring on his finger. The job of taking care of the wounded
enemies fell on the nurse and myself. We had barely started to examine
their wounds when shouts of annoyance filled the air.
“These na the bastards wey kill our children, our wives and
our brothers. Why we go help them?” the people asked. They formed a mob
and requested for the heads of the soldiers. I watched the enemy
prisoners at close quarters, the white of their eyes flashed about in
fear of the apparent danger, the ones among them that could speak the
Igbo language started pleading for mercy.
“Biko nu, unu egbu anyi, menu ebere,” one pleaded in a Yoruba
accent, the mob did not agree instead they brought the corpse of a
fallen Biafran soldier, that of a woman and of a child and laid them
before the prisoners.
“See wetin una do to us,” the assumed leader of the mob asked
in anger,” did these people beg you for mercy, even wetin this baby do
una? We no go leave una, na blood we want, an eye for an eye” the army
officers were enjoying the fear the mob instilled on the prisoners,
they did nothing to save the situation. When the mob seemed to be
becoming uncontrollable, the soldiers intervened. It was later decided
that since the doctor that was supposed to treat the wounded prisoners
was burnt to death by the enemy bombs, it was decided that all the
wounded soldiers would be killed equally by burning. Immediately the
decision was ruled, the mob assembled the naked wounded soldiers
together, dragging the men by their legs on the ground to the centre of
what remained of the market and danced round them happily singing,”
“Enyi mba enyi, nzogbu enyi mba enyi.”
In all, thirteen men were brought together to have jungle
justice carried over them. The remaining healthy ones watched in full
glare the fate about to befall their comrades. Their execution was
delayed for some time while the search for petrol was made. A little
while later cheers went up all over the jubilant young men, a man waved
a ten litre gallon in the air and proudly walked towards the men who
had been bound feet and arms. One after the other he poured the liquid
on each of them. I can still hear the cries of the men, they rolled on
the floor in a bid to escape but the mob had them surrounded, holding
clubs and sticks of different sizes just in case any of the prisoners
developed ideas.
The eyes of the men flashed in fear as they cried for mercy.
It never came, there in the presence of men, women and surviving
children, thirteen Nigerian prisoners of war were roasted alive as
their comrades watched. The war was definitely not the kind of war that
we used to watch on our small black and white television back then at
Zaki, the war was brutal as well as gruesome. In this war, no one gave
a doom about the Geneva Convention. The remaining prisoners were taken
to the Army tactical command as was announced, nobody knew if they ever
got there alive.
Within the next few days of February, Biafrans picked up the
pieces and moved on with life. The dead were buried and some of the
damaged building started being repaired, starvation set in and hunger
was in the land as the way to Umuahia was partly being held by the
enemies, it took Caritas some weeks to start shipping in their relief
materials which never got to us. It was after the Red Cross resumed
their night flights to Uli airship with the relief materials that food
started appearing at the black market but at very exorbitant high
prices, it came to a point that the army officers had an open
confrontation with the civilian administrators at the food directorate,
they accused them of hoarding the food and selling to the black market
operators. The hospital where I was employed soon became filled with
refugees that had bouts of malaria fever and pneumonia,
The Red Cross came in fully with their doctors and nurses who
helped the people that were sick. I had little or nothing to do when
the officials of the Red Cross were around though I helped in putting
on the bandages and occasionally stitching up somebody’s wound.
Whenever I was not busy, I went outside to look down the road leading
to Egbu village where the enemy was in control, I would stand there for
hours trying to picture have Okechukwu, Ekene, Mrs. Okonkwo and De Ibe
was faring, I had come to accept they could not have escaped like
others after looking tirelessly around but to no avail. I prayed
constantly for them to be alive not at all did I allow the negative
thought of them dead come into my mind. I kept my ear to the ground
listening for any information about the people behind the enemy lines,
stories did fly around that the enemy was killing the people one after
the other, another version said the men were being buried alive while
the women were raped and then shot. In all the stories I heard, I never
wavered, I stood by faith and hope and wished for the best. When the
intelligence unit of the Biafran army started gathering information
about the trapped enemies, my hope was renewed with some of the
reliable information they got.
The unit got their information from the Biafran kids they sent
out to the Federal troops, the kids soldiers would claim that the
Biafran troops killed their parents or forced to fight in the war, they
would fabricate stories that would make the Nigerian soldiers absorb
them into the camp they had set up and when absorbed, the kids would
monitor the enemies logistics, as petrol tankers, announced tanks and
saladines and how was their brigade commander, brigade Major and maybe
the strength of the brigade the kids, knowing the grounds too well,
will after some days escape back to the Biafra side to be debriefed by
their military intelligence officers. From the informants we learnt
that the Nigerian troops kept the people inside camps in different
schools, prisons and hospitals around the part of Owerri they
controlled, they informed that the captives were separated men and
women and closely guarded by mean looking soldiers. The part of feeding
was more worrisome, the enemy soldier used to feed them on the onset
but ceased when their food started going down.
The people were left hungry and were fast looking
malnourished. The best achievement of the spies was exposing the method
by which the declining food supply of the trapped soldiers were
replenished, their colleagues came flying at very high attitude to
by-pass the Biafran soldiers that had cut off the trapped Nigerian
soldiers, once on the side of their comrades who would clear an area in
the field and spread a white cloth there as a sign, food materials, and
ammunitions were then dropped from the helicopters. Immediately the
trick was learnt, Biafran soldiers started clearing areas in the field
and deceived their enemies into dropping supplies for them also. The
situation remained calm on both sides that for almost three months, no
fighting occurred between both parties. The air dropping of food helped
Biafrans so much as it helped in the food situation in the country. I
was still employed at the hospital where the Red Cross brought in
salted fish and powdered milk to distribute to the refugees, the salted
fishes helped in temporarily arresting the salt scarcity being
experienced in Biafra, the fishes would be shared among families who in
turn would used a little bit of the fish to cook with.
The orphaned children and other abandoned children were taken
care of by the Joint Church Aid, another organisation that was helping
Biafra
. I was selected to serve as cook for those category of
children and there I met a girl that became my friend, her name was
Kuseme and she was from the Efik tribe, the people that were referred
to as Bakana way back at Okigwe, Kuseme and met, like almost every
Biafran, shared many things in common, she told me she lost her family
to the war when Ikot Ekpene, their hometown fell, she was lucky to
escape with an Uncle who took her to Ogoja, a town near Calabar. When
the war reached Ogoja, Kuseme said she ran along other people and
boarded a train to Umuahia. There at Umuahia, she was taken in by a
police office as his wife. Her husband enlisted into the army and
brought her to his folks at Owerri. She was still the unofficial wife
of the soldier until the attacks on Owerri started Kuseme, though older
than me, looked much younger and very social with everybody at the
camp. We became inseparable and consoled ourselves, when she learnt
about my family been on the other side, she told me her fears about
what those held behind enemy lines suffered at her hometown.
She said that the enemy soldiers left the people to starve to
death, the ones that survived suffered from Kwashiorkor, a health
condition caused by the long and severe malnutrition they were
subjected to. Her revelation further heightened my fears to the extent
that I started having nightmares about Okechukwu and Ekene showing me
empty plates crying that they were waiting for me to bring back some
food for them. On such nights, I would wake up soaked in perspiration
and would not sleep for the rest of the night. The bad dreams continued
that I started being afraid when night falls. I would be the last to
sleep when we finished our chores. I tried to stay awake by looking up
at the moon and counting the stars in the sky, I imagined how ironic it
was that Okechukwu and Ekene may be looking at the stars and seeing the
moon just as I was doing but we were still held apart by the enemies,
by the war and instability that was in no way any fault of ours. My
belief in the Blessed Mary to heal troubled hearts and restore peace to
the world was my only source of hope, I prayed my rosary everyday of
those painful weeks and also cried any time my worries weighed me down.
One morning while we were waiting for the Red Cross officials to come
and share us relief materials, we were asked instead to go and serve at
the army officers mess, we were to serve some special guests of the
army.
The enemy soldiers that were trapped were to pay a courtesy
visit to our camp. Such was the brotherhood and fraternity still
existing between the two warring sides, it started at the collection
ground of the air droppings; both sides reached a truce not to harm
themselves over the development, the friendly gesture developed into
exchanges of gifts of food and later on, friendly visits by both sides.
A small welcome party was organised for them when they arrived that
night, looking so tall and busy due to the many weeks of isolation. The
soldiers talked heartily with themselves and drank the cans of beer
that we served them, a gramophone was surprisingly brought and the
Beatles track of “All we are saying, give peace a chance” was played.
Willing young girls were provided for the enemy soldiers to dance with
while the celebration continued throughout the night.
At
that moment, nobody cared about the war, nobody cared about the leaders
nor what their superior officers would say, that night everybody became
one again and saw themselves as brothers, fellow citizens of a great
part of Africa, only that all the expressions showing it were facial,
none came from the heart. The parties went on until the fighting
started again at Umuahia at all cost, it was getting close to the
Easter celebration of 1969 but the enemy did not show any sign of
halting the war for the Biafrans and Christians to observe the period
as they usually did. I remember it was during that period that I became
a woman.
Many
a times in the night, I often thought about my mother, Aunty Nkem and
more often Mrs. Okonkwo, they were the three women in my life that
could educate me on growing up from a girl to a woman. There were so
many experiences I encountered during the war that I needed fore
knowledge, one of those experiences happened in the Easter celebrations
of that year when I turned thirteen years old, I was skinny and lean,
though I was amongst the best fed, many thanks to my being accepted to
work in the food departments often, but my luck did not prevent my
being emaciated a bit. I had finished my chores for the night that
included washing all the dishes used by the army officers and cleaning
the tables at the officer’s mess. All the while I was doing the dishes;
I felt wetness in my legs. I dismissed the feeling as I thought I was
just sweating under due to my having been standing all day. When I
finished, I went down to the dormitory allocated to the female workers
in the camp, it was situated at a corner a bit farther from the
barracks. As I walked through the hallway between the corners we slept
on two persons shared a mat and we used our few clothes folded together
as pillows, I noticed that many of the tattered mats were void of
people.
Many
of the girls prostituted with the soldiers at night in order to get an
extra can of beef or a piece of dried salty meat that was now mainly
available to the army, the girls waited for night to fall before they
would sneak out to their various partners they may have arranged with
during the day. As I got to my corner, Kuseme was missing. I collected
the small tin container where I put my black soap, and pant, and a
piece of my faded town gown which served as my towel and headed for the
back of the building to take my bath. I had earlier gotten the iron
bucket used for bathing but the place used for bathing was smelling
awful as some of the girl urinated right there and defecated not very
far from there. As I made to undress, I still felt the wetness in
between my legs. When I removed my panties in order to wash them and
put on the other fresh one (I just had two of them, I noticed it was
soaked wet.
I
could not really see in colours as the moon was not bright enough so I
touched myself only to notice where the wet sensation originated, I did
not need anyone to tell me it was blood. I became scared and started
pressing my thighs, my genital region and my buttocks to feel for pain
but none was forth coming. I hurriedly took my bath before any of the
roaming infantry soldiers take me down by force as they sometimes did.
Lying down on the mat after bathing, I started crying. I was confused
as hell, what was happening to me? I thought.
Throughout
the night, I could not sleep as I rolled on the ground, contemplating
what manner of illness had befallen me that I was bleeding from my
private part. The next morning, I kept quit about it. I could not
confide in any of the girls as I was scared that their knowledge of my
secret may be shameful and embarrassing. On top of the strange
sickness, I had severe stomach ache that day. I used my other free
underwear to stuff inside me to stop the blood. While serving the
officers in the most uncomfortable condition I never understood, one of
the officers noticed my dilemma; he saw my skirt soaked red.
“How
can this stupid girl walk up and down the mess showing her
disgustness!” he shouted, his hard voice brought the attention of the
others to me as they sighed and looked sternly at me when they saw the
mess.
“Will
you get the hell out here before I kill you for making me lose my
appetite!” the officer thundered. I walked out fast, embarrassed and
very much ashamed. The cook, a short round woman, came in to know what
was happening but was scolded by the soldiers, who threatened to fire
her should she not get another maid. She rushed into the kitchen,
looking as if she was about to devour me.
“Why you no remain for house when you know say you dey menses?”, she hollered, her eyes radiating fire.
“I
don’t know what is happening to me!”, I almost screamed with tears
rolling down my cheeks, I needed to offload to someone and that was my
chance. The woman was stunned at my outburst, I could tell from the
series of expressions that dashed across her face; anger, as I had
almost made her lose her job; surprise at my revelation of ignorance; a
tiny glint of doubt which was then replaced immediately by pity; and
then understand and sympathy.
“Is
this the first time it is happening to you?” she asked in a subtle
manner, I slowly nodded my head in affirmation. The woman shook her
head and came closer to me.
“My
child, that sign shows that you are now a woman,” she said and then
went on to educate me about menstruation and the menstrual cycle. I was
grateful to her for making me realise so late and unprepared on
becoming a woman, a sigh that ordinarily my mother, Aunty Nkem or Mrs.
Okonkwo would have let me know if not for the war.
The
fighting going on at Umuahia was not appearing to be on the Biafran
favour, the town was being shelled every minute of the day and the
Biafran soldiers fought more out of pride than tactics, they did not
want the last standing capital of their country to fall, it would mean
losing the war to them. Both civilians and soldiers fought together to
defend the town but the enemy were equally determined, the war which
they thought would have taken a few months was on its third year and
the rebels were not yet willing to surrender. From the reports
filtering in on the battle for Umuahia the enemy was coming from three
different routes, they attacked from Okigwe, Afikpo and Uzuakoli which
was not so far from the capital. The visit of the British Prime
Minister to Gowon at that time was attributed to the ferocity with
which the enemies fought. It was rumoured that the Prime Minister came
with some British Royal armed forces to help their Nigerian
counterparts.
The
shelling and bombardment that the enemy deployed in the battle to
overrun Umuahia was the highest whatsoever used in the course of the
war. The
Biafraarmy
made a call for all the Biafran armed formations to send in troops for
the defense of Umuahia. The call was heed by every battalion, at the 54th
battalion people volunteered to go and fight at Umuahia. It was while
the deployment of soldiers to defend the Capital was being organised
that I met George again.
It
was a Saturday, I remember because the Red Cross officials left Owerri
the previous night. (They always left on Friday nights) throughout the
night, troops of soldiers kept reporting at the Camp for onward
movement to Umuahia. I woke up to the sounds of gunshots being fired,
fearing that the worst was about to start again, I quickly jumped
outside the window and lay low, scanning the sky for enemy Mig’s. The
sky was blue and there was no commotion as usually accompanies any
enemy raid, I looked up and saw the soldiers going about their
business, the trucks that would be used in taking them to Umuahia were
parked in the field and there was no sign of any attack.
I
came out of hiding to careful survey the atmosphere and satisfy my
curiosity. It was then I saw some group of soldiers fiddling with some
rifles at a corner, there was a wooden which I believed the guns were
packed. The instructor must have been examining the weapons. I thought
and went back to the building. My little agility performance cleared
the sleep from my eyes so I just collected my chewing stick and started
down the mess, the number of soldiers present that morning was so large
and the whole place was rowdy. On getting to the mess, I could not
enter as the whole place was filled with Military Officers. I returned
back to and stayed with some civilians under the tree and watched the
activities of the soldiers that sunny morning. It was while admiring
the brave soldiers getting ready to march to battle that I saw someone
that looked familiar.
At
first I had my doubts if it was truly him, the person was wearing a
green army uniform short on Biafran colours, the greener of the uniform
was identical to the ones the enemy soldiers wore. It was a normal
sight as soldiers captured them as loots in battle. The soldier also
tied a black scarf on his head and was holding a big rifle on one hand;
on the other hand he held a cigarette he hanged with another soldier
standing next to him. The two of them were talking casually and laughed
occasionally. All the features looked like George but the scarf just
made me not sure. I wanted to go nearer to the soldiers but restrained
myself because some of the soldiers normally do not think straight when
they were together in large numbers.
With
all my attention focused on the soldier on black scarf, I sat back on
the tree trunk to wait for the right opportunity to come.
The
chance came sooner than I had expected, the soldier started walking
away from his comrades to a nearby bush apparently to ease himself. My
guess was right, I walked as fast as I could towards him and stopped a
few metres away to give him privacy just in case I was wrong, but I
wasn’t. When I saw the shape of his back, I knew I was not far from
being right, I have held him close before, I had been dreaming and
thinking of him almost since he was drafted and prayed constantly for
his safety and then, it was clear God was listening.
“George”,
I called out from where I was standing, my anxiety could not allow me
wait for the soldier to finish. I watched his body flinch at my call,
his reaction was that of recognition and it made me surer that it was
really him, I moved closer. He took time to do his fly before turning,
it was George. I ran to him as fast as I could shouting out in
excitement and hugged him. I held to him very tight and kept muttering,
“thank God” over and over on his ears. In all my show of excitement, he
remained still, I disengaged from him to have a look at him. He was no
longer a boy but looked every inch a man. Suddenly I remembered what my
mother normally said about maturity, she told me that a girl turns into
a woman when puberty is reached and some biologically induced physical
development and changes occurs, but a boy turns into a man not from
bodily changes but from the condition he finds himself in life. In
George’s case, the war had turned him into a man.
His
face looked harder and meaner, with his cheekbones protruding, his eyes
were a little bit red and his lower lips blackened obviously due to
smoking. I also noticed his rough beards and muscular shoulders. The
way he held on to the rifle showed he was no longer afraid of being a
soldier. When he called my name, his voice was husky and deep, the
voice of a man. From the way he looked at me, I was no longer sure if
he was the same person that proposed to me in his hideout. George
looked different…and like a stranger too.
“Ngozi,
how are you?”, he asked again still look at me with a straight face, if
he was surprised at seeing me, he did not show it and it hurt me.
George was not excited at seeing me alive after four months. I felt
like crying and cursing him for being so mean, I wanted to tell him how
I hated him for not even being happy to see me, and just walk away but
at the same time I wanted to hug him again, he was now the only family
I got or rather the only person close to being called my family that I
could see in flesh and blood.
“I am
fine.” I replied with a tough voice, I pretended also that I was not so
that excited at seeing him also. He looked towards his fellow soldiers,
who had noticed us, and waved.
“I dey come now now,” he called to them indicating with his hand.
“Carry
go,” one of them yelled back. Even the pidgin English he communicated
was strange. I was expecting him to ask me about his family, about his
father, his aunt and my brothers, about us but he did not seem to
realise that.
“They are on the enemy side,” I offered to tell him when the courtesy was too long in coming.
“Let
us go over to that shade and talk,” he commanded rather than ask and
started walking off to a cashew tree in front of a bombed out building.
He equally marched like a soldier with the way he carried his weapon, I
looked at his shoulder and noticed he even wore a rank though on one
shoulder, corporal. His rising sun badge was sewn to his left shoulder.
When he reached the tree, he sat down and kept the gun by his side, I
noticed he had also lost his gentleman’s nature, he did not ask me to
sit. I sat down beside him and watched him from the side as I waited
for him to start talking, his side-burns was attractive.
“How did it happen?” he asked, still not looking at me.
“When
you left, your father was very worried and Ekene took ill,” I started
and narrated every event that happened after he was taken by the
soldiers to the time I left the house and the attacks. When I finished
I saw his jaws tighten as he gnashed his teeth, behind those acts of
bravery and manhood, he still had emotions.
“How do we know if they are alive?” he asked blinking his eyes severally to stop the tears from falling.
“I
have been praying for them and you everyday,” I replied. He shook his
head and turned to look at me for the first time since we sat down.
“I
don’t think you understand what those bastards do to people,” he said,
“they kill people as if they are animals, the Hausas wants every Ibo
person dead. They don’t care if you are man or woman, boy or girl,
child or baby. To them anything Ibo is not fit to live.” George said
with bitterness and then turned to face his front. I felt his pains and
sorrow but I did not allow his pessimism to spoil my optimism. I raised
my hand and put it on top of his.
“God
will protect them from all danger,” I said quietly still looking at
him. I watched the tears roll down from his eyes gently down through
the checks before disappearing into his bushy beards.
“You have changed,” I said gently.
“I am
now a solider,” he replied, his voice never betraying his grief, I
glanced at the gun lying by his side with a red ribbon tied on the
nozzle and also at his uniform, then his boots which has no strings.
“What happened?” I asked him, my hand still on top of his.
“I
became a solider from that day they took me away,” he replied, “I wish
I had joined them earlier.” I kept looking at him and then his
shoulder, the rank.
“They gave you a rank,” I observed, he nodded.
“I was
made a corporal the first time I killed an enemy,” I quickly withdrew
my hand from his in shock and looked questionly and differently at him.
He noticed my actions and turned to face me again.
“You
are getting away from me because I killed a bastard?” he asked putting
up a brief smile before his face distorted in anger, “you know what,
killing is like nothing to me now, I don’t even know the number of
people I have shot and I don’t regret my actions, I regret I did not
join the struggle on time. I have seen people die, I have witnessed
children being bombed, children being killed by those fucking Hausas
for nothing. My only regret is that I am fighting only their men, I
wish I could lay my hands on their children and women too. I will kill
them too and will never regret it,” He finished. It was them I
confirmed that this was another George, an evil George without
conscience, a killer without regrets.
“Killing them will not stop the war,” I volunteered.
“What will?” he bloated out, “what the fuck will?” I remained silent, he was visibly annoyed.
“God will,” I managed to reply.
“God?
Hmm, when will he come down?” George asked looking up to the sky, “What
is he still waiting for? Until those planes kills all the children in
Biafraand bomb out all of us. Maybe he will come when Papa and Aunty and Okechukwu may have been killed.”
I
burst out crying he immediately he mentioned their names, I bent my
head down and let it flow, it was truly a burden too heavy for me to
carry. George made no attempt to console me, he allowed me to cry my
fill and stop.
“What are you still doing here?” he asked as he lit another cigarette with a box of matches and expertly blowing the smoke away.
“Where?” I asked not understanding where he meant.
“In this camp?” he clarified.
“I work here, with the Red Cross,” I told him, he sucked on the cigarette and held before exhaling through his nostrils.
“I am afraid if they will survive there,” he said.
“I
pray they will survive,” I answered. He shook his head slowly as if
doubting my prayers, “this war is not a good thing at all,” he said
sighing. I glanced at his gun and he caught my eyes.
“Can
you imagine I kill people with this gun,” he asked lifting the rifle
from the floor and looking very ugly, the mouth looked deadly with the
red ribbon tied on it making it evil the more. The magazine was fitted
into the shaft and the trigger look appetizing. I glanced closely at
the base and saw the inscription, “made in
France”
such an irony that civilized countries that preached peace in the world
would still manufacture weapons of war and death. I just wondered how
many souls had been taken by the instrument of death.
“Come
and show me where you work,” George requested immediately as he got up
and finished his cigarette. I took him to the officer’s mess which was
still filled with soldiers coming and going and also showed him the
building where we slept.
“I will check you if I come back,” he said when I walked him back to where I saw him.
“If?”, I asked him confused, he looked away from my eyes to the trucks parked across the field.
“We are going to Umuahia,” he informed me. I started breathing faster, the whole place seemed to be spinning round.
“No,
no George, don’t go,” I cried, “stay here please.” He held me and
brought me close in an entrance. I remained there and cried, when I had
cried enough I looked up at him.
“Continue praying for me and for them,” he requested.
“I
will,” I replied quickly and then took out the chaplet from my neck and
held it out the chaplet from my neck and held it out to him.
“Take it with you,” I offered, “it brings luck.” He smiled at my gift and looked at it for sometime before looking again at me.
“Did you notice that it was when you took the chaplet from me that these soldiers caught me?” he pointed out. I smiled a bit.
“At least you know that it works,” I said. George collected the chaplet and hung it on his neck.
“I
believe that with this and your prayers, I will come back,” he
commented. He then held my hand and squeezed them gently, looking into
my eyes.
“Ngozi, if God wills, I will come back,” he announced.
“He will protect you,” I replied and with assurance.
“I
will come and look for you then,” he said and gently started going back
as our hands disentangled. He did not look back at me when he turned
and I knew why, soldiers don’t dwell much on what or who they were
leaving behind but what they were to meet ahead.
If
they came back, they would meet what they left but if they didn’t, they
would die not bothered at all. That evening as I watched the trucks
depart for Umuahia, I went back to my corner and cried out my heart.
The
Umuahia war was a fight to the last man, we got news from the BBC
reports on the radio at the mess and it was not the kind of news that
gladdened the heart. Umuahia was obviously going to fall. The
development made the Nigerian soldiers still trapped in between to
breech the peace agreement they reached among themselves and arrest
some Biafran soldiers that went on a mutual night party. The fraternity
practise was stopped when commanding officers learnt about it but some
rank and file soldiers still were adventurous, when the soldiers that
sneaked out into the enemy line failed to return three days later, the
unwholesome gesture was rested naturally. Every day and night, I
watched and listened for news concerning the Umuahia war but instead of
encouraging news, horrible stories were told about the situation there.
I kept praying for George, his father and Aunt and my two brothers, I
was not really including my mother and Nnamdi (who were supposed to be
endangered at Umuahia), in prayers, an incident happened one night and
changed my attitude.
I was
lying down with Kuseme on our corner late one night after we had
finished working, since the Umuahia battle started Kuseme and the other
girls flirted less as many of their partners were sent on duty to
defend the Capital. We had finished working, since the Umuahia battle
started Kuseme and the other girls flirted less as many of heir
partners were sent on duty to defend the capital. We had finished
gisting and were about sleeping when all of a sudden a chilling breeze
started blowing. The breeze brought goose pimples all over my body
where I lay facing the hallway. I cannot really tell the state of my
consciousness when the incident happened. The door to the hall suddenly
opened at the gush of wind and I heard footsteps approaching, I
wondered who could be marching with such strength when I saw a soldier
stop in front of me, the soldier had his left thighs soaked with blood,
I saw the blood clearly in that half lit room. The soldier was
undeniably Nnamdi, my brother. I looked up in surprise and tried to
call him but couldn’t instead he started talking to me.
“Ngozi,”
he called me, “I came to inform you that I will not be coming back
again. I was shot at Uzuakoli. I want you to look after our mother in
the village and take over the family. I will still return to our family
with the marks of where they shot me. I was watching his sweaty face as
he talked and I heard him audibly, I could still not talk to him as
much as I tried. When he finished giving me the message, he started
walking back through the same way he came and I watched him leave. As
he passed the door and shut it with a bang, I woke up only to discover
that truly the door was just closed at that instant. I remembered
everything that just happened and heard as well. I could well have been
in a trance or dreaming but I knew I heard and saw Nnamdi. I was still
very much confused the next morning about the whole issue and decided
to tell Kuseme about the experience. I got the shock of my life when I
was about to tell her about to tell about the dream or trance when she
asked me.
“Is it that time that soldier came to you?”, my eyes almost fell off their sockets.
“Yes, yes,” replied quickly, “Did you see him?” I asked
“Yes,
I saw him come to you and start saying something I did not hear. I
believe that was when I fell asleep. Do you know who the soldier was?”
she asked.
“Yes”, I replied now
certain it wasn’t a trance neither was it a dream, “he is my brother
and he told me he is not coming back. I told her.
“You better pray for him to come back,” Kuseme warned. I prayed throughout the day for everybody but did not pray for
Biafra, Umuahia the Biafra State Capital fell to enemy pressure that very day.
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Authors 
Posted by Robot| 18.03.2008 07:43