Copyright: Ikiemoye Iniamagha
All rights to this short story reserved.

This is a fictional short story set in Bayelsa State. It is a touching tale aimed at recognising the efforts of Nigerian journalists and the hazards they face in the midst of daunting challenges.

The story is in series so keep following for new updates. Your comments are welcome. Please, follow the author on https://ikiemoyeiniamagha./


Episode One:

Honey, if you don’t go this time, will they sack you? Why don’t you just stay today?’ Ibiteinye asked her husband, feeling uneasy about this particular trip he was about embarking upon.
The Nigerian Army was going to perform one of their military exercises on the Brass River, in the Niger Delta region tagged ‘Operation Crocodile Smile’ at the weekend and Sopriala Best was planning to travel with the soldiers in one of their gunboats. He was the Bayelsa State correspondent for his media outfit and it was mandatory for him to cover it.
Sopriala was a committed reporter. He was that reporter that could take the risk to get into the most dangerous areas of conflict, just to get the meat of the story for national and international consumption. Little wonder he was nicknamed, ‘The Hound.’
Earlier, during a live programme, on national radio, the Chief of Army staff, Major Gen Sam Bello, had spoken on the necessity of the showdown.
‘Today, we are launching this exercise in the Niger Delta to send a message to the militants that we are ready and out to bring about peace and tranquility in the region. The militants in recent times have sabotaged our nation, and have caused so much loss to our economy. Their activities have resulted in a lot of pain to our nation.
‘The main aim of this operation is to provide absolute security for the people of the Niger Delta and to protect our national assets in the region which the militants have threatened and vandalised. Our troops are already in the Niger Delta and are to begin operation on the Brass River tomorrow’.
****
Sopriala was busy putting the few things he would be going with in his bag, pretending as if he didn’t hear what his wife was saying.
‘Please honey, you don’t have to go. I have a bad feeling about this dream’, she pressed on.
‘Darling, I have told you, nothing will happen to me. It is only a dream, besides I think it is just an imagination of what you were thinking before you went to bed, having heard the speech of the chief of army staff.
‘Far from that, honey! I don’t just dream like that, and you know it. But once I do, most times, it comes to pass.’
‘That is it! Most times, not all the times!’ Sopriala echoed, smiling at her.
‘This is not a joking matter o! It’s not funny. Stop trivializing it’.
‘I am not joking either, my love. I am only trying to ease your tension. You are tensed about the whole thing. I just need you to pray for me. And that reminds me, go and listen to Darey’s song, ‘Pray for Me’, again. Maybe that would motivate you to pray for your husband to have a successful trip’, Sopriala suggested, smiling wryly.
‘I can see you are not ready to listen to me. But if not for anything, think about me, your pregnant wife and your little son. We can’t afford to lose you now’.
That statement caught his attention. He stopped what he was doing immediately, and mechanically turned to give her an enraged stare.
‘Why are you this negative? How could you imagine something is going to happen to me? Where are your faith and prayer life? I thought you were a prayer warrior? Don’t tell me all the sermons about faith and the power of prayer you have been listening to in church are just a waste. Gosh!’
Ibiteinye was defeated. She could not continue arguing or pleading with her ever committed journalist husband, who wouldn’t be persuaded to stay back for any reason. As long as it was about reporting a story, he was in for it.
She hissed and left him alone in the room, sluggishly carried herself to the kitchen and helped herself with a glass of chilled apple juice from the fridge. She was exhibiting the habits most pregnant women, who would want to take all the sweet things on earth, do. Her appetite for food was increasing by the tick tock of the clock. Little Boma, their three years old son, watched as Ibiteinye gulped the juice slowly. He started disturbing and muttering to have some of the juice and he got a sip of it.
Sopriala was through with his parking and carried his little luggage to meet his wife, who was sitting in the parlour with Boma jumping in and out of the couch.
‘Honey, I am ready.’ Sopriala said
Ibiteinye didn’t respond, neither did she look at him. She was mad at him. Sopriala understood his wife a whole lot and didn’t take offence at her reaction. He went straight to his boy and lifted him up.
‘Little man, take care of mum till I come, okay?’
Boma giggled as if he understood what his father wanted him to do. Sopriala went closer to his wife and sat beside her.
‘Sweetheart, I will be fine, you’ll see. I am not going to the battlefield. As a matter of fact, I’m only accompanying them to report how the whole exercise kicked off. I won’t be in the middle of any crossfire; that is if there would be any. So please calm down. In fact, let’s pray first for my journey.’
Ibiteinye was a bit relieved. There was nothing she could do to convince him, but like he mentioned, he needed prayers for a successful trip. They prayed briefly, and Sopriala rose up and picked up his bag to leave, when Boma started crying out so loud.
‘Bom-Bom, I’ll be back soon, please don’t cry’. Sopriala carried his son and pet him, but he wouldn’t stop. Instead, he pitched when Sopriala made an effort to give him to his mother.
Boma no doubt was fond of his father and always cried anytime his father was leaving for work or going out. But this particular moment was different. It was as if his father was going forever. That was how it seemed with the way he cried uncontrollably.
‘Please, honey,’ Ibiteinye called, ‘Our son also thinks you should stay this time, can’t you see?’
‘He is missing his dad already’, Sopriala refuted. ‘Son’, he returned to Boma, ‘On my way back I shall get you chocolate, okay?’ But that wouldn’t pacify Boma.
Sopriala had to ignore his wails and leave or else he would be late to catch up with the boat that would be leaving the Jetty in 20 minutes. Ibiteinye stood at the door, carrying Boma, and watched him disappear in seconds.

Continue here: https://ikiemoyeiniamagha./2017/12/20/309/

TO BE CONTINUED...

Page 2.. Nice writing style