Literature
We had just finished discussing the wave of armed robbery in the country when we ran into the hoodlums. I can?t recall exactly what prompted the conversation or who started it, but I do remember that it all began soon after we passed Kano, heading towards Zaria. Two of my colleagues had narrated how they narrowly escaped death in deadly robbery operations in the last few months. One of them was involved in two attacks on a single trip; from Kaduna to Lagos.
?I have never been involved in such a misfortune,? I had said, after listening to their gory tales. ?And I pray I will never experience such thing.?
?Better pray hard,? said one of them jokingly, ?because they are everywhere these days.?
At this ominous exchange an eerie silence fell upon the bus. Apparently, everyone was contemplating what course to take if my prayer turned out too weak to stop any eventuality. Some were probably already regretting embarking on such a long journey at such an ungodly hour. We had left Gombe around 3 pm, knowing we would not get to Kaduna till about 10 pm.
Why didn?t we postpone the journey till the following day? What will happen if it happens? I could almost hear the agitated thoughts of my colleagues ? the premonition, the gnawing questions, dangling overhead like a suicide victim.
Actually we had planned to leave Gombe as early as possible on that fateful Saturday, 16th June, 2012. We were to have a chat with our host, Gombe State governor, Ibrahim Hassan Dankwambo, the previous day to round off the media tour of the state, which began on Thursday, 14th. But due to some administrative exigency, we were told to tarry till Saturday morning. On Saturday we had to wait again for hours, only to be told that he could no longer grant the interview because one of his commissioners had just died in an auto accident.
The sad news dampened our spirit so much that all we thought about was leaving. No one thought about the implication of setting out so late. All of us, 20 in number, including those who came from Abuja and Lagos, hurriedly set off.
The 12-seater bus conveying the seven of us bound for Kano and Kaduna was fairly new. And the driver was really fast. But, as they say, you can?t be faster than your legs?or, in this case, than your wheels. By the time we got to Kano where one of us dropped, darkness had consumed what remained of the dusk. It was getting to 10 pm as we approached Zaria. And that was when it happened.
The driver was the first to spot him, and as he applied the brake we instinctively looked up. A man in military uniform was standing right in the middle of the road, brandishing what looked like a pistol; the next moment we saw people emerging from the bush, armed with cutlasses, daggers and sticks. Some of us whispered to the driver to reverse and beat it fast. But the driver?s heart was longer his; rather than heed to the advice he slowed down. And even before he stopped the hooligans descended on us.
?Come out!? they shouted in Hausa language. ?Come down!?
We scrambled out, falling over each other. Those who were not fast enough were roughly dragged out. They seized our belongings; mobile phones and money, and ordered us to lie down. They searched and re-searched our pockets to ensure we were completely fleeced. The two ladies were not spared; their handbags were thoroughly searched and their money and phones taken.
It was like they were under strict instructions not to take anything other than money and phones. They didn?t touch our bags. When one of them attempted to take a laptop, the gang leader ordered him to drop it.
?Drop it!? he barked, ?what are you going to do with it?? His heavy Fulani accent, as he spoke in Hausa, made him sound as if he was chewing on polythene.
Bloody nomads! Anger rose in my heart and I felt like charging at the one ransacking my pocket. But the fear of being hacked to death would not allow me. I could not even look at them in the face for fear of recognizing any of them, as that would mean certain death.
During the about 10 minute?s operation, there was no traffic on that lane. The vehicles behind us had backed up quickly on seeing what was happening; except one daredevil truck driver. The bandits attempted to stop him, but realizing that the heavy truck was determined to pass or crush them, they cleared off. Thereafter the operation became jittery and faster. They didn?t want to take chances as a military check point was just some distance ahead.
?Get up and go!? the ringleader shouted.
We got up and hurried back into the bus. And as the driver turned the ignition one of us stuck out his head through the window and let loose his pent up anger.
?Bastards! God will punish your mothers!? he cursed in Hausa.
Impulsively, we all dived under the seats anticipating deadly gunshots? Luckily, no shots came. Not even a verbal response.
?Why did you do that?? we queried, ?You want them to shoot us??
?They are bastards!? he insisted.
When we got to the military checkpoint we reported the case to the soldiers. They said they had no vehicle to go after them and suggested using our own. Some of us agreed to the suggestion while most of us disagreed. So we told them to forget it and drove off.
- Dusk Summary
Summary of Dusk It was around 6-30 in the evening of the month of March. Norman Gortsby was enjoying the twilight of dusk sitting on a bench lined with the railing inside the Hyde Park in London. In between the railing and the bench there were some bushes...
- How Mairo Escaped The Hangman?s Noose (true Life Story)
?I saw them coming, I saw them through the tiny window of the cell; the hangman and a wardress, and I thought the hour had come. But as they opened the door and came in another wardress hurried in and shouted; ?that?s not her file!?? That was Mairo,...
- Hoodlums (short Story)
Ben, the Kaduna Bureau Chief of the New Nation newspaper, sat down to write his report on the riot. But just as he picked up his pen, he heard a violent knock on the door. And before he turned, the door had caved in under the heavy bombardment of police...
- Ilema (short Story)
It was dark. The darkness was so thick that you could carve it. Dark and wet. Very wet indeed, for it had rained non-stop for over two hours, beginning from 10 p.m. But now it had ceased completely. Everywhere was quiet and still, except for the hooting...
- Seeing Red (short Story)
This story reflects a typical riot incident in a Nigerian city and the psychological effect on the innocent victims. Zabi ran to the other side of the market and abruptly turned left. He leaped over baskets of vegetables, over sacks of grains, heaps...
Literature
My encounter with armed robbers (True life story)
We had just finished discussing the wave of armed robbery in the country when we ran into the hoodlums. I can?t recall exactly what prompted the conversation or who started it, but I do remember that it all began soon after we passed Kano, heading towards Zaria. Two of my colleagues had narrated how they narrowly escaped death in deadly robbery operations in the last few months. One of them was involved in two attacks on a single trip; from Kaduna to Lagos.
?I have never been involved in such a misfortune,? I had said, after listening to their gory tales. ?And I pray I will never experience such thing.?
?Better pray hard,? said one of them jokingly, ?because they are everywhere these days.?
At this ominous exchange an eerie silence fell upon the bus. Apparently, everyone was contemplating what course to take if my prayer turned out too weak to stop any eventuality. Some were probably already regretting embarking on such a long journey at such an ungodly hour. We had left Gombe around 3 pm, knowing we would not get to Kaduna till about 10 pm.
Why didn?t we postpone the journey till the following day? What will happen if it happens? I could almost hear the agitated thoughts of my colleagues ? the premonition, the gnawing questions, dangling overhead like a suicide victim.
Actually we had planned to leave Gombe as early as possible on that fateful Saturday, 16th June, 2012. We were to have a chat with our host, Gombe State governor, Ibrahim Hassan Dankwambo, the previous day to round off the media tour of the state, which began on Thursday, 14th. But due to some administrative exigency, we were told to tarry till Saturday morning. On Saturday we had to wait again for hours, only to be told that he could no longer grant the interview because one of his commissioners had just died in an auto accident.
The sad news dampened our spirit so much that all we thought about was leaving. No one thought about the implication of setting out so late. All of us, 20 in number, including those who came from Abuja and Lagos, hurriedly set off.
The 12-seater bus conveying the seven of us bound for Kano and Kaduna was fairly new. And the driver was really fast. But, as they say, you can?t be faster than your legs?or, in this case, than your wheels. By the time we got to Kano where one of us dropped, darkness had consumed what remained of the dusk. It was getting to 10 pm as we approached Zaria. And that was when it happened.
The driver was the first to spot him, and as he applied the brake we instinctively looked up. A man in military uniform was standing right in the middle of the road, brandishing what looked like a pistol; the next moment we saw people emerging from the bush, armed with cutlasses, daggers and sticks. Some of us whispered to the driver to reverse and beat it fast. But the driver?s heart was longer his; rather than heed to the advice he slowed down. And even before he stopped the hooligans descended on us.
?Come out!? they shouted in Hausa language. ?Come down!?
We scrambled out, falling over each other. Those who were not fast enough were roughly dragged out. They seized our belongings; mobile phones and money, and ordered us to lie down. They searched and re-searched our pockets to ensure we were completely fleeced. The two ladies were not spared; their handbags were thoroughly searched and their money and phones taken.
It was like they were under strict instructions not to take anything other than money and phones. They didn?t touch our bags. When one of them attempted to take a laptop, the gang leader ordered him to drop it.
?Drop it!? he barked, ?what are you going to do with it?? His heavy Fulani accent, as he spoke in Hausa, made him sound as if he was chewing on polythene.
Bloody nomads! Anger rose in my heart and I felt like charging at the one ransacking my pocket. But the fear of being hacked to death would not allow me. I could not even look at them in the face for fear of recognizing any of them, as that would mean certain death.
During the about 10 minute?s operation, there was no traffic on that lane. The vehicles behind us had backed up quickly on seeing what was happening; except one daredevil truck driver. The bandits attempted to stop him, but realizing that the heavy truck was determined to pass or crush them, they cleared off. Thereafter the operation became jittery and faster. They didn?t want to take chances as a military check point was just some distance ahead.
?Get up and go!? the ringleader shouted.
We got up and hurried back into the bus. And as the driver turned the ignition one of us stuck out his head through the window and let loose his pent up anger.
?Bastards! God will punish your mothers!? he cursed in Hausa.
Impulsively, we all dived under the seats anticipating deadly gunshots? Luckily, no shots came. Not even a verbal response.
?Why did you do that?? we queried, ?You want them to shoot us??
?They are bastards!? he insisted.
When we got to the military checkpoint we reported the case to the soldiers. They said they had no vehicle to go after them and suggested using our own. Some of us agreed to the suggestion while most of us disagreed. So we told them to forget it and drove off.
- Dusk Summary
Summary of Dusk It was around 6-30 in the evening of the month of March. Norman Gortsby was enjoying the twilight of dusk sitting on a bench lined with the railing inside the Hyde Park in London. In between the railing and the bench there were some bushes...
- How Mairo Escaped The Hangman?s Noose (true Life Story)
?I saw them coming, I saw them through the tiny window of the cell; the hangman and a wardress, and I thought the hour had come. But as they opened the door and came in another wardress hurried in and shouted; ?that?s not her file!?? That was Mairo,...
- Hoodlums (short Story)
Ben, the Kaduna Bureau Chief of the New Nation newspaper, sat down to write his report on the riot. But just as he picked up his pen, he heard a violent knock on the door. And before he turned, the door had caved in under the heavy bombardment of police...
- Ilema (short Story)
It was dark. The darkness was so thick that you could carve it. Dark and wet. Very wet indeed, for it had rained non-stop for over two hours, beginning from 10 p.m. But now it had ceased completely. Everywhere was quiet and still, except for the hooting...
- Seeing Red (short Story)
This story reflects a typical riot incident in a Nigerian city and the psychological effect on the innocent victims. Zabi ran to the other side of the market and abruptly turned left. He leaped over baskets of vegetables, over sacks of grains, heaps...