DAY 2
After our
yesterday escapade, we were exhilarated and curious in our state of being,
every occupant in my lodge tuned to their favorite radio station-rhythm fm, Ray
power, PRTV fm, et al. I, on my own side
was totally oblivious and lackadaisical as to the political happenings in the
state, let to talk of a low-key election as such.
I picked up my
blue rubber bucket to go fetch water at a nearby well- you don’t need a drawer
to fetch water from the well, all you have to do is to stoop and scoop the
water with your bucket without any hurdle. I fetched my water and trudge to Bola’s
lodge to get my note books, passed through a motor park that is always cramped
with travelers but the park was deserted and I was a little bit perturbed but I
shrugged it off until a woman in her 50s with a flaccid bosom and wrinkled face
walk to me and started asking some question in her native language, Anaguta ,I
smiled and told her in Hausa that I
don’t understand what she’s saying , that was when she code-switch to Hausa language,
“don’t go anywhere my son, I heard that the city is in turmoil,’’ this what she
told me in her words, trepidation crept in and I rushed back to my street as a
matter of fact, I was about to pick my bucket when a man with stab wound on his
back came rushing towards where I was standing narrating how he miraculously
escaped mob action in Zololo, a densely populated muslim street-just about
200metres to Terminus market, I was shaking, half-listening as he narrated his
ordeal, and before I could recollect my far gone memory in not less than twenty
minutes the whole place went dead, and dark smokes can be seen enveloping the
cloud from afar, I notified my good buddy, Chucks about the bizarre happenings
and rushed back to my lodge to convey
the news to my house mates and also to save my documents by carrying them
along. Fehintola and Jennifer were
already dressed and set for the day’s lecture when I shook them with the news,
that carries fire and macabre, I scurried into my room to rummage some of my
papers, before I could say the next word that was hanging on my neck the two
girls were gone, but to where? I asked
around and no one saw them. I asked for
my friend, Chucks but he’s vanished, I tried desperately to reach his phone
line but it was dead, before I know it waves had conveyed the news to my
parents without my own consent, Mum called me on phone and I declined her call,
then dad’s but this time I picked it an told him that my street was calm, again
mum called for the second time and I did same by lying- white lie though.
This was how
it started. The area boys mobilized themselves with whatever weapon they could
lay their hands on and started setting shops that were owned by Muslims alight
(they scampered and left their shops and some trucks in the park). In time of crisis even the most virgin heart
that can’t kill a rat turns into the most venomous snake, I pulled off my faded
jean trouser with my phone in it and hurled it over a house I don’t know it
occupant, picked up a long stick that has the shape of a hockey
stick-curved end, the elders in kunga1 of Naraguta village gingered us to move to the warfront and protect the village and churches that it
house, we matched forward hurling grenades, arrows and shooting age-long guns, the other opponents from Zololo are doing the same. Causalities
were recorded, death toll increased, business centers turned into debris,
houses were on fire; all from both sides. It was during this crisis that I got
to know that Jos women posses granite
heart than their men- so turgid, some of the women were supplying stones and
water for the thirsty while some are in the warfront chanting war songs, I also
get to know that size is not might, inside cultists they ‘re cultism, most able
bodied and giant students in kunga1 were nothing but chaff, they had no value
as they ‘re scared to their pants they
left us, the miniature creatures to protect them whilst they were hiding, clutch to their feeble minded
girlfriends, only few of the over 20 cultist in the area came out with their short
guns to repel the attackers. My friend, I.P lost his uncle to the fight that
lasted for over 6 hours, his uncle has already told him about his mission-to
protect a church and also pleaded with them to help pay his debtors the money
he’s being owing them. I.P’s uncle left his kunga2 residence to kunga1 where
the church’s located, he and some other men garrisoned the place but when the
situation got intense they scamper and left him with the church of which the
attackers burnt together with him. I.P swore to us when we went to commiserate
with him that he would seek retribution of which of which he did because they
were secret killings in the area in ensuing days. Jimmy and Emmanuel sustained
different degree of injuries from a swollen knee (he’s struck by a stone) to a
bullet wound on his shoulder. I was lucky to have escaped some stray bullets
flying over my head because I was crawling so low. It took almost forever
before intervention came from the Nigeria military force, and this was when
dialogue that had a nix effort began, a b-b curfew was also put in place.
Gideon offered
me a round -the -street tour where he showed me all the mess, the burning and
the lootings, we later digressed to a more entertaining discourse, hence to
divert my attention from the objects of reality. We passed a bend where shops
were looted and burnt down, egg shell scattered everywhere, tins of peak milk
that has already been used, ‘’Guy, look down, ’’Gideon said to me without any sign of panic, I looked down as he commanded
and I immediately staggered behind him.
It was a burnt man, we call him ’Aboki’ because that’s what Hausa people are
fondly called in Jos and other
Non-Hausa
speaking states. Narrating how Aboki got burned to death, Gideon told me that
when his other fellow Hausa men were running for their lives he stayed behind
in his warehouse garrisoning his raw yam and egg which he do fry to sell to us,
student favorite, when the locals noticed him, he took to his heel, when he
noticed they were coming for him.
Aboki ran to
my friends lodge, khalito momento, khalito hid him in his toilet but when the
locals came knocking at khalito’s door post, to khalito’s surprise his local
friend threatened to kill him if he don’t produce Aboki, khalito in his mid-
twenties cried like a baby and handed Aboki to them, they poured fuel on him
and set him alight, he was dying slowly until khalito’s friend finally took his
arrow, he was finally sedated. I was really an eye sore, seeing a man burnt
beyond recognition with an arrow pricked to his chest.
When the dust
settled, after two days of the comatose, I made up my mind to go home, because
I was nostalgic. During the last two days we were forced to live indoor with no
water and food except for the eggs in bags my friends loot from a full-to-beam
trailer, so we all settled for the eggs, Sometimes we fry them but when our
vegetable oil got finished we started boiling it, funny as it may sound we
couldn’t differentiate the stench oozing from our room and the farts from our
butts, I think all the eggs we ate broke down into bad air in our stomach
because everyone of us developed a bulge stomach, we couldn’t visit the lavatory.
Only farts.
News later got
to us about chucks, while he was standing and waiting for me he saw an almost
empty bus travelling to Gombe, he took that chance and boarded the bus, and it
was almost a fry pan to fire experience for him because Gombe state was wearing
a hostile face that morning.
For Fehintola
and Jennifer it was a different story altogether, funny as it may sound, it was
an escape embedded on exchange theory. They were running on their toes when
they saw a muslim Fulani woman with her two year old daughter (her husband had
fled that morning) also trying to evade the scene. Fehintola took the baby from
her as they trudge towards zololo, a haven for the Fulani woman, but what about
fehintola and Jennifer, how about their safety? The Fulani woman depicted her
benevolence by taking off her hijab and gave it to Fehintola , pulled that of
her daughter and gave it to Jennifer, Immediately they took a change of name.
Fehintola became Halimat and Jennifer transfigured to Aisha, this was how they
move freely in zololo in the guise of being a muslim, until they got to Abuja
hostel of the university of Jos.
When
everything seemed like it has cooled off, I rummaged for my belongings, and
some were intact while others has been stolen. I arranged them in a big
Ghana-must-go bag and left for the park by 4pm (Just not to catch up with the
curfew) for tomorrow early morning bus. There was nowhere for me to lodge, so I
had to sprayed cartons on the floor and use my bag as a pillow, lying there
with other folks in the middle of the night with hubbub of dogs barking, mosquitoes
producing agonizing noise in my ears and sulking blood.
This is my
story, this was how it turned sour and this was how something that was
political turned into a religious ceisis within a wink of an eye.
