STILL AS A GRAVEYARD (MY ELECTION DAY
EXPERIENCE) Pt 1

The dew still carpeted the green shrubs while
the sun had started opening its eyes when I
stepped out of my compound. My mission was
simple yet spiced with a dint of uncertainty.
Like most Nigerians, I wanted to exercise my
franchise.

As I stepped into the streets leading to Okpanam
Road, Asaba where I would board a 'keke', a
spiral of silence circled the once-busy area! I
could count the number of "keke"' cars and
people on the road. They could pass for the
number of trees in a desert.

Luckily for me, I saw a 'keke', flagged it down
and hopped in. While we meandered through the
roads and streets leading to Ibusa junction, the
ever-busy heart of Delta's capital left none in
doubt that a historical landmark in Nigeria, was
taking place.

The loaves of bread that could pass for the
height of Berlin wall, had suddenly collapsed. The
gala and sweating bottled drinks balanced on
hawkers' heads were no where to be seen.
Commercial vehicles and their drivers, including
the hoard of 'agberos' who jostled for passengers
like ants do to sugar and shouting louder than
the vuvuzela, were visibly absent.

STILL AS A GRAVEYARD (MY ELECTION DAY
EXPERIENCE) PT 2

I was startled, like the proverbial antelope that
entered a newly brushed farmland, when I saw
people wall up the road, waiting for vehicles. I
thought I was alone. Alone in this business. A
business that would yield dividend in new set of
leaders for my beloved country, Nigeria.
The passengers numbered about thirty. While I
inched closer I saw their faces. Desire was
written all over.

They want to exercise their civic
right but one thing is holding them back.
Vehicles. One that would take them to their
various destinations. Some were going to Ibusa
and Kwale, others to Ogwashi-Uku. Mine was
slightly different. I was heading to Ubulu-Uku, my
hometown, about 30 kilometers from Asaba.
However, the vehicles were hard to come by.

They were as few as the number of tooth on a
child's mouth. Each oncoming vehicle presented
a glimmer of hope which soon faded away when
it zooms through without stopping. "

"All this people wicked ooo, dey no even wan
help carry person. Na wao! I for kukuma siddon
for my house, but I no wan waste this vote", a
man who should be in his early thirty, said.

"I no know wetin dey do them ooo! Why dey no
do am make people fit vote anywhere sef? All
these politicians whey dey find vote suppose
arrange bus this early morning dey come carry
people sef. They no know how many people wen
sidon for house sake of say dey no see transport
go vote?", a lady replied while we waited.

At some point, it appeared that I could finally be
on my way to my home town. A vehicle could
stop after being flagged down but the driver
would say "Ibusa!" in response to "Ogwashi-
Uku?". But soon, as the sun began to scorch our
delicate skin, and with no means of movement in
sight, my hopes of voting was now deflated, like
a flat tyre.

The number of persons on the road was
depleting faster than the oxone layer. Siren was
blaring.

Military men with amoured cars hovered around
like hawks looking for a prey. We were still
waiting when one of the amoured cars with
armed men began to move towards our direction,
and before we knew it...


STILL AS A GRAVEYARD (MY ELECTION DAY
EXPERIENCE) PT.3

We were still waiting when one of the amoured
cars with armed men moved towards us, with
blaring siren. My heart skipped. And in a blink of
the eyes, the car stopped.

The screeching sound of the tyre, echoed
through the air. Immediately, they hopped down
from the car, parked at the walk way. With their
guns, they waved down and searched every
oncoming vehicle.

I saw their eyes, they burned like fire. After
waiting for ages with the chances of getting a
vehicle fading quicker than a cheap ankara, I had
no option than to consider going back.

Though, going back would not be easy, I
considered it the lesser evil. Movement was
restricted, commercial "keke" riders have
recoiled to their shells; some at home tossing on
their succulent mattress while others were busy
in their polling units, trying to vote.
There were a handful of drivers who were
making brisk business ferrying passengers to
Ibusa.

Some "keke" riders were not left out. They
charged between #200 to #400, from Asaba to
Ibusa which normally goes for less than a #100.
"If I decide to go back now, that means I would
trek the distance", I ruminated in my mind. Koka
Junction to Okpanam Road (where I stay), could
take me atleast an hour if I embark on the 'Great
Trek'.

I was still lost in the oceans of my thought when
one of those standing with me, signalled an
oncoming vehicle.

Before we could say Jack Robinson, the golf car
halted, we swarmed the vehicle and luckily for
me, the driver was heading for my home town.
As the car sped off the tarred Ibusa Road, the
passengers, four of them, smiled like one who
had just won American lottery. I was relieved
that at last, I would vote.

But after ten minutes into the journey, we saw
some policemen. They had mounted a roadblock,
between Ogwashi-Uku and Ibusa. "Make all of
una come down", came a voice, as our vehicle
drew close...


STILL AS A GRAVEYARD (MY ELECTION DAY
EXPERIENCE) PT. 4

"Make all of una come down", came a voice, as
our vehicle drew close. We came out of the car.
"Una no know say today na election, movement
no dey ?", one of the policemen asked.

One of the ladies with us, quickly replied them in
"military jargon". Soon, she told them she is a
Civil Defence officer going to exercise her right
alongside those in the vehicle.

All of us quickly dipped our hands in the pocket
and flashed our voter's cards on the hostile-
looking men. And in the mood of espirit de corp,
the security men, waved us on; told us to
continue the journey. It wasn't a smooth ride.
We were at Kwale junction, Ogwashi-Uku, when
the car started dancing. It began to jerk.

The alternator belt had cut. The driver packed
the vehicle and everyone came down. I was not
disturbed as I could take an "okada" to my place,
about fifteen minutes away. After exhausting his
options, the driver had to move the dancing car
like that.

By this time, all passengers except me, had
trotted away. I couldn't leave him behind.I felt
his pains and decided to wait for him.

"Vmmmm!", reeved the car engine and we were
back on the road. He was headed for my home
town. The car convulsed intermittently and
moved slower than a snail.

In no time, we got to Ubulu-Uku. I dashed to my
country home, dropped my bag and zoomed off
to the polling station. The polling station was the
primary school I attended, it reminded me of my
childhood.

As I went through the walk way, forest of legs
were matching to and fro the compound. I
quickly located my unit and queued to be
accredited. When it got to my turn, the "copa"
requested for my voters' card.

He placed in beneath the card reader, to capture
details. While I placed my thumb on the reader, it
couldn't recognize it. After several trials, he
directed me to another "copa" to fill the incident
form and get accredited.

Once I finished, I found my way home to take
some rest before coming back to cast my vote.
The electoral officers were shouting louder than
the trumpets that fell Jericho's walls.

They told the where to thumbprint, to make their
votes valid. People were under the sun which
shone so hot, it could boil one pot of soup.
"Ozu ge nwa nu uu, biko. Amam nye okwuú?" (It
is okay now, I don't know what he is even
saying), some of the voters shouted.

The voting started within a blink of the eyes. As
the first person came out from the makeshift
polling booth, the thumbprint was clearly drawn
between two parties.

"Ya bu, nyenine we kwuzikwo, okeini anúkwo
ne?" (Despite all they said, this man didn't
understand?), queried some from the back of the
queue, longer than the distance between Lagos
and Maiduguri.

It wasn't long before it got to my turn. I
collected the three ballot papers, and headed to
the decision booth to finally cast my vote.
It didn't take the age of Methuselah before I
dropped the papers, took some shots and logged-
out of the place. My mind was as rest. I had
done my bit, the rest for those who were
elected!

THE END!
*This is a real life experience of what transpired
in the early hours of the Presidential election. It
chronicled my quest to vote and the journey
from Okpanam Road, Asaba to my hometown,
Ubulu-Uku, Delta state.