Tuesday 1 April 2014

Bleeding Land...

As he slowly became conscious of his surroundings, he felt a dull ache in his joints. The kind of ache that came with sleeping in a curled up position, knees drawn up as far as they could go, arms entertwined around each other or a pillow, the kind of ache that could only be eased by stretching the limbs out to their full length and then some.

He tried to ease the limbs, to bring sweet climactic relief by stretching out his full 6 foot plus, but felt hindered. Almost physically shackled. As he struggled to bring his mind round and focus his consciousness on wherever it was that had such foreboding darkness, a rank feral odour, he slowly began to realise, that something was biting into his flesh. Like a band, it wound round and round about his wrists, and then his arms... then his torso, around his middle, he felt his legs bound and trussed, and felt the same bond around his neck.

His brain sluggishly began to process his surroundings as panic began to set in...

=======================================================================================================

Yemi stood up from his seat and stretched himself out to his full length. 6 foot plus of muscly, sinewy maleness, Ola had always laughingly called him a perfect male specimen. "V shape of Life", she would tinkle in her near perfect voice and he would respond, "Bestie of Life".

By chance, they had met on social media. A silent member of a faith based group, he had never noticed her presence or participation in that group, but had increasingly grown alarmed at how doctrine and manipulation had slowly begun to creep into a group that had sounded like a refreshing escape from the "hounds in white dog collars",  life as a Nigerian "christian" had exposed him to.

Now, the group wanted to start taking offerings and tithes and it was causing an uproar among the members.

For some who had been properly indoctrinated, they felt the group answered to their spiritual cravings and as such, deserved to receive offerings and "tithes" in order to help them "propagate the gospel further", or as one of the cynical rabble rousers in the group put it, "move the ministry to the permanent site".

It was, in his opinion, a very mischievous suggestion, revealing the hidden intent of the group and just as he was about to activate the "Leave Group" button, his eye caught a comment that just popped up:

                           Omolola Aanuoluwapo: My people perish for lack of knowledge. This misguided attempt to fleece innocent Nigerians already groaning under the     weight of an inept leadership is symptomatic of the various ills we have to endure in this society. We suffer and smile daily and recourse to our belief system for the palliative benefits, however ephemeral. It is therefore preposterous that even this system should fail us in such a blatantly, neo-imperialist manner. Until we are able to cast off the shackles that hold us so firmly, both in social, traditional, religious, ethno-political and intellectual terms, we will only progress as far as beyond the starting points of our journey. I suggest this misguided post is taken down and the administrators of this group apologise to all its members for this attempt to hoodwink them into circumventing the truths inherent in the Word. Perhaps if that is done, we may consider proceeding as if this unfortunate event never occured.

Involuntarily, he let out a chuckle, and found himself "liking" the comment. Perhaps, emboldened by her fortrightness, others began to concur to her position and before long, a full drawn out battle was raging. For almost 24 hours, she held her own and even when the previously prim and proper, holier than thou administrators of the group began to fling mud and insults, she held her grounds. Insisting that the thread must be pulled down and apologies tendered and such deceitful tactics avoided in future, for the benefit of the group.

After 24 hours, the thread was taken down and a half hearted apology, blaming the "devil" for "tempting" the group admin with the lure of "filthy lucre", was put up. He did not know which caused the greater mirth, reading the silly apology, or seeing the same name pop up directly underneath.

                     Omolola Aanuoluwapo: Better. You people should think twice before attempting to pull the wool over our eyes next time. Nigerians are no longer the                        "ignorant sheeple" you take us to be. Oh, this will also be my last post on this group as I will take my leave of the group today.

He actually roared out loud with laughter before he could help himself. What a dynamo. What passion. Yes, this was what he was talking about. He had just mentioned it to his friend Edu, over a chilled bottle of "Black is Better" the other day, that what this country needed to pull it out of the doldrums was passionate youth, who were not afraid to speak up for what they believed in AND follow it through to a logical conclusion. He was still laughing to himself as he reached out and tapped the "Leave Group" button, ending his own reluctant journey with the wolves in sheeps' clothing, in an internet instant.

That was that!

Somehow, the name stuck. He was in a relationship, it was so-so, the fire their passion had managed to ignite had begun to fizzle out, I mean, there were only so many positions in which to dance the "horizontal mambo", he began to yearn for a conversationalist. Someone with whom he could also rub minds on an intellectual bases. She had begun to press for mutual exclusivity. He had begun to yearn for outright closure. She did not know he was completely faithful to her. She was okay, but he wanted more.

            "Hey honey, back from work? I made your favorite for dinner tonight". 

            "How do you want it tonight sweets, I want to blow your mind".

After that, what? It was pretty ho hum, he wanted more. His brain wanted more. He began to yearn for stimulation that had no sexual undertones. He was the world's biggest reader and longed to discuss passages from his recent readings with her. He began to tire of hearing how this "Brazilian" was better than that "Peruvian". He sincerely thought initially, she was referring to footballers, rude awakening happened thereafter. The religious near fanatical worship of war paint always fascinated him. Every time she "took down her face" before climbing into bed, he had to summon his entire will power not to run screaming into the bathroom, reaching for the toilet bowl to release the contents of whatever culinary masterpiece he had just chowed down. It was like going to bed with Denzel Washington, but stepping out of the house with Rihanna. Go figure!

She was an excellent cook though, skilled bedmatician..... he wanted more! Finis!

===========================================================================================================================================

Two months after, his relationship with Adiya was almost fully wound down now, he preferred an easier route to ending relationships. He had found out in the past that the clinical talk about how "our ways had grown apart" and we needed to "explore other options", always ended up stretching out the relationship for far longer than he intended. Because of his physical attractiveness, his financial generousity and his emotional attention, it was a task convincing them to let go and so, he would rather begin to withdraw his attention and affection, generally make himself as unavailable as possible until the girl decided to "end the relationship". Yes, it might be cruel in the final analyses, but at least, she could then brag to her friends about how she jilted that pompous Yemi Osunkiyesi. What could be better. Win-win as far as he was concerned.

He had recently joined a food group and would silently browse through the pictures and recipes they put up, once again, prefering to remain in the shadows and just appreciate the expertise and creativity than be in the centre when a picture popped up. It was an exquisitely arranged dish of fried rice, peppered chickens and cole slaw. Nothing extraordrinary about the meal, nice arrangement, same old same old, then he looked at the name - Omolola Aanuoluwapo. Same profile picture, same person apparently. He "liked" the post, and made a comment: Beauty, brains and a good cook to boot. Excuse my impertinence, but you are a rare find. Keep on being you. Thank you.

He waited.

An internet second later, an alert: Omolola Aanuoluwapo liked your comment on her post in FoodIsUs

He waited...

Five minutes later, he clicked on her picture and sent her a friend request. A minute later, she accepted the request, and just like that, he found himself in her world!

He spent the first week scanning through her old posts, looking at her pictures and marvelling that he had not bumped into her before now. Just as he was wondering how to approach her and try to find mutual grounds off LookPage, he stumbled upon an old post:

                "Dear friends, LookPage is NOT a dating site, last I checked! I accept all friend requests because I discuss issues that I believe should be of interest to all. I sometimes receive opinions that for some reasons the brain behind might be reluctant to state on my wall. I acknowledge and respect that, but I consider it the height of infantile infamy, for anyone to attempt to patronise me inbox. Going forward, I would take such inane comments as "xup", "lovely eyes", "hey beauty", and ther ilk, as an attempt to patronise me, and block such people WITHOUT further notice".

He let out a guffaw and thanked the stars for drawing him to that post and immediately began to restrategise. He wanted her, and he wanted her for keeps.

Slowly, he began to involve himself in discussions on her wall, and oh, how varied the topics always were. There was no knowing what she would come up with from day to day. He instinctively knew that she would be open to fortrightness and honesty and never hid his opinions or attempted to tailor them to match in with hers. In a non-confrontational,interactive manner, he would state his opinions exactly as he felt them and like her, not caring whose ox would be gored in the process.

Initially, she would just like his comments as she would for every other commentor on her wall.

Then she would mention his comment and give a brief response to it..

Then she would actually engage him in rapid fire discourse...

He always left each session feeling physically, psychologically and yes, sexually drained. He could not understand this hold, this pull she had on him...

So, while she planned how to take over governance from the crop of recycled politicians, he planned how their wedding day would be. While she spoke rules of law and points of order, he thought of making homes and raising children. While she plotted and strategised on how to move Nigeria forward, he strategised on how to merge his silent activism with her fiery brand IF they eventually became one...

One day, when their discussion was beginning to get extra heated, he took a chance and went inbox

                        "I know we may never see eye to eye on this issue, but I am privy to certain information I would never feel free to discuss on your wall. However, the          fact still remains that there is a need for bringing balance to every situation, irrespective of what our instinctive inclinations should be. I assure you, your passion for your country is raw and if you can ignite that fire in even half of your followers and get them to replicate that as they go, we would be halfway to fixing Nigeria. I respect your intellect and opinions, you stand out".

                        "Thank you Yemi. Since you are obviously privy to information that can not be shared, I will respect the fact that the government has to be circumspect with the release of information in order to protect itself and the citizens and end the engagement on my wall. I would however want you to note, that we would prefer sketchy information with a promise to fill us in with the details as soon as circumstances can allow, than these half truths and whole lies we are being fed on a daily bases. We are no longer as stupid as we used to be".

                       "Your point is taken, Ola. Thank you for giving me the opportunity".

                        ":-)".

From that day, they began corresponding inbox, and he began slowly, to move the conversation into the realm of personal issues. The segue from friends to "friends" was so seamless that she found herself blurting out one day:

                       "Who ARE you? I mean, I know enough details from what you have told me and from what I can get off your completely open profile, but I usually do not allow anyone breach my personal space on social media. It seems like I have known you forever, I had to check back today to confirm i just added you as a friend less than 6 months ago. Who ARE you? And what exactly ARE you trying to do?"

He chuckled to himself as he replied:

                       "Hmm, well, I can give you an opportunity to find out if you are willing to take this friendship off LookPage. Like you already know, I am not an axe murderer, if you have a few minutes to spare, you might be more comfortable coming to my office, or inviting me to yours. Coming to my turf would however assure you that I am for real and the pictures etc on my wall are not trumped up so... your call"!

She mused over it briefly and replied:

                        "I will come to you".

Appointment set, she went to the bank, requested for him by name, and was pleasantly surprised when she was ushered into the office of the Branch Manager.

From that first off line encounter, they set more dates, began to tentatively explore a relationship and within three months were officially dating. The first day she put up a picture of the two of them seated together in a park, having a picnic, he sat back and watched amused at the influx of likes, comments, queries, insinuations. She never said a word in response, but some on the thread began to make insinuations, justifications, accusations, he enjoyed every moment of it, and the wisdom and maturity that instictively told her that a picture, was indeed worth a thousand words...

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She was not beautiful in the conventional sense of beauty, but he could not imagine a better specimen of woman hood and began unconsciously to align himself to the leagues of whatshisname, you know, the husband of Oby Ezekwesili and Dora Akunyili and Joe Odumakin and the rest of them. The world could have its' definition of beauty, he was in the class of men that had found beauty beyond compare, and had been graced with their acceptance and their heartfelt and genuine love and respect reciprocated.

He was always walking on air...

One year after their first offline encounter, wedding was held as planned. They had both agreed on a low key event filled with experience, memories and symbolism. He had planned a society event, he wanted the whole world to know he had made a catch, she had allowed him spend N500,000 out of the budgeted N5m and he had watched as she had carefully spent half of the "saved" amount on charities and causes after her heart. He had indeed hit the motherlode!

Exhilarating...

They had adjusted to life together, mild disagreements, passionate make ups, emotional encounters, hilarious fails,anything and everything possible experienced within the space of 6 months and the future filled with hope for more. No, they had not waited for the wedding night to explore their passions, things had followed a normal uninterrupted and uncoerced course. It had happened when it had happened but almost like as if the gods were also smiling benevolently and giving their silent nods to the union, she had taken in almost on their wedding night.

Perfectement!

But what was he doing lying in this dark room trussed up like a goat, feeling a sticky wetness all down the side of his body that was in contact with the floor. Why did he try to scream but no words were issuing forth? What was the meaning of the cottony fullness in his mouth, almost blocking his air supply? Why could he not move a limb? Why did he feel bound, no scratch that, why was he bound?

What was going on?

As he struggled to free himself from his bonds, he slid around on the floor until he made contact with another warm heaving mass and suddenly realised, he was not alone in this.

Why was he here?

He remembered standing up from his seat in the office yesterday? Was it even yesterday? His concept of time was totally blurred. He had stretched, and walked down to the car park to pick his car. It was way past 8 pm, in characteristic fashion, he was the last to leave the office. As he got to the parking lot, he had noticed a young man in blue jeans, his tri color "Hacket shirt" with turned up collar well pressed, close cut hair stylishly wavy and cool sneakers walk up to him. The man had asked for directions to go to somewhere and as he explained and noticed the growing confusion, he had walked the man up to the gate, stepped outside and turned the corner with him on foot to point out the directions. He had noticed a Hilux van parked just around the corner, but taken no notice of it. As he was pointing out the way to go and offering to get a cab, the young man had moved in closer to him and the last thing on his mind as he felt a thud at the nape of his neck, saw a bright, blinding flash of darkness and then the lights go out abruptly, was his 6 month old pregnant wife, her last status update demanding to be given information on the shoot out that had happened in and around the Nation's seat of power the previous day, and the whatsapp message informing him that dinner tonight would be beans porridge with fried yam - his favorite.

What would be going through her mind now?

He did not know if this had happened yesterday, today or many years ago, he was that confused. As he struggled to get a grip on his emotions, the door creaked open. In the dim light that filtered in, he saw that there were at least 6 other young men and 2 women in the room, all hog tied, with the exception that the women were completely naked. One of the men was in some sort of military attire, he could not decipher what. He swivelled his head back to the door, and saw four paurs of legs clad in mid calf length baggy cotton pants, feet in slip on sandals and his heart began to thunder.

No!

They were resident in the Nation's capital. Considered a safe haven from the extremist scourge currently rocking the Northern zone.

No!

There must be some other explanation for this.

As he watched in horror, he heard whispered consultations and watched two pairs of feet walk up to him. They released the cords around his ankles and knees and cut the rope connecting them to the one around his neck and roughly dragged him to his feet. He looked down into crazed eyes, wild and unkempt beards, decaying teeth. The men looked up into his face and laughed at the terror displayed there. The wild maniacal terror immediately reset his brain and he resolved, that however this would end, he would do Ola proud. His bestie of life would know, that her man, was a MAN! Slowly, pride and indifference pushed back the fear on his face. He knew there was no going back from this point.

Some one else was chosen from the other men, the man dressed in a military uniform, while both women were loosened from their shackles completely. All four walked out of the room, herded by the four maniacs, who were wielding sub-machine guns. Along the corridor of what looked like a dilapidated, ramshackle building, the women were roughly pushed into another room and the door shut. As he and his companion were dragged into a room opening out into the corridor and made to kneel before a pile of blocks arranged into slabs on the floor, he watched as another door along the corridor opened, and four unarmed men came out, walking into the room where the women had been thrown. The door shut behind them, and few seconds later, screams were heard, followed by slaps and blows, then silence. As they waited for, he knew not what, he watched the endless stream of unkempt men, going to and from the room.

His heart bled.

Suddenly, from behind him, he heard the whirring of cameras...

Watched as his fate appointed companion's neck was laid out on the chopping block in front of him...

As someone behind him began to speak, words he could not understand, into the whirring video camera, he watched in horror as another man stepped out of the shadows, slowly honing a wicked looking knife against a file.

Without any bidding, Yemi lay his head, neck out on the chopping block in front of him, shut down his senses to all going on around him...

... and waited...

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