repogirl: Lol @ 'three nights in custody' policy. O ye of really strong faith.
Okay so you were in Liberia for less than a year? I guess this marks the end of the Liberia phase, on to the next one. Following....

well, I would not jump to conclusion yet me lady..remember this is still the beginning, "US Marine Born in Africa" does have many returns to Liberia

chinedumo: If i might ask

jake does your Memoir have a focus, theme, a lesson, a particular lesson?

Is the moral ' don't quit, keep trying' or something like that


Repo no need to hide it
i am slightly jealous of u guys
but am ok with it
see how tenderly he treats u
imagine having such an experenced, strong warrior, a man of strong faith as a lover.

thanks once again for giving it to Diefa

Dont cheat urselfs
like jake said dont waste words. Do d action!

bingo! I've been waiting for this question for a while now..answer, all encompassing--everything you mentioned-- in any given day, there are millions of young uninformed Naijas like myself willing to sacrifice everything to reach their promise land..what we never had until now was a recount-- by someone(hustler) who made it-- of the ordeals and life threatening situation typically associated with the journey..in order words: a smart man/women learns from others mistakes and not from his/hers... therefore, many shall learn from my experience..hope that answered your question; didn't want to be more obvious at the beginning of narrative on nairaland,the book is a bit different.
thx

by the way, leave me lady alone.. as we don't want a jealous hubby on our hand..what we feel or not feel is innocent at this point.

Jakemond

#28

Junior league is over..we are now entering the main season of...
may the battle of the wits begin..
and the forces remained with our noble warrior--the sprite of his ancestors and the warriors before him never left..
once again I digress, my apologies..the story:
***************************************************

I met another young traveler and convinced him to walk with me to Kenema. Since I had no watch, I lost track of time. We walked day and night, and after what seemed like two days, we arrived in Kenema, exhausted and hungry. From Kenema I was able to catch a taxi to Freetown. Before leaving Liberia I had obtained Baba Ali’s family address in Freetown, and I headed straight there.

Baba Ali’s mother, Ms. Mariam, had moved to Freetown after divorcing his father in Nigeria. His grandmother had been very prominent in Sierra Leonean politics when she was alive; she was once the mayor of Freetown. When I got to the house, I met Ms. Mariam and explained that her son was my best friend and we lived together in Liberia. I also told her that Baba Ali could be in great danger because he was living on the street and had no money to go back to Nigeria, and most importantly, that the rebels had already penetrated Monrovia. She had no idea that her son was in Monrovia; she thought Baba Ali was still at the university in Nigeria. He had been missing for a while, but no one knew he had traveled to Liberia.

She took me in and fed me. Their house was Victorian style and she had a live-in male servant who cooked and did all the maintenance in the house. One of Ms. Mariam’s brothers also lived there, while two others lived with their family elsewhere in Freetown. Ms. Mariam was a very pretty woman; too pretty for her age, I thought. She was about sixty years old, but she looked forty. She was very tall, just like her brothers; they were all well above six feet. After my first day at their house, she gave me a lot of books to read, mostly romantic novels. She was nice and we would sit and talk for hours about a variety of topics. She was very intellectual and I enjoyed conversing with her. She wanted to know about her son—how life was going for him and if he was healthy. I wondered how long she would allow me to stay at their house.

I didn’t have to wonder long, though. On the third day she let me know that she wanted to go to Liberia and get her son. By this time the media was reporting that the rebels were in Monrovia. She needed my help to go to Monrovia and I accepted, even though I knew the danger involved. Baba Ali was my best friend and his mother had been so kind to me. Besides, we would just be spending a few hours in Monrovia, just enough time to find Baba Ali and take him back with us. Since I had no money left, I assumed Baba Ali’s mother would pay for our transportation to Monrovia and back, especially since I was doing her a favor.

A week later, Ms. Mariam and I headed to Liberia. We got through the border, and I introduced the nice immigration officer to Baba Ali’s mother. Ms. Mariam liked the lady a lot and told her I was her son. I was already calling her “Mom” anyway because she had been treating me so nicely, like a mother would treat her own son. We took a taxi from Bo Waterside into Monrovia.

When we got there, I couldn’t believe what I saw. Most people had already been evacuated from the city and there was a lot of indiscriminate killing going on. The rebels had launched several attacks against the city. I went searching for Baba Ali at the port and was told that many people had been killed by the rebels the previous day. Some of the victims were people that I knew. I also tried to look for Amara and someone told me he was one of those killed. Luckily, I found a person who had information about Baba Ali. He told me that he had escaped the attack, and gave me an address where I could find him.

Baba Ali was staying with a girl at Logan Town, one of the slums of Monrovia. He was shocked to see us. He looked very haggard and a little disoriented. His mother immediately broke down and started crying, saying she had come to take him home. Baba Ali didn’t say anything because he was high on marijuana, but his expression showed that he was more than happy and ready to come with us. It was agreed that we would all leave for Freetown the next day. Baba Ali’s mother told me she wanted to spend time with her son and I should meet them at ten the next morning so we could leave for Freetown. Apparently, she hadn’t considered the fact that I didn’t have money or anywhere else to go. Suddenly, her attitude toward me changed, and I suspected it was because she now had what she wanted. I heard her whispering something to her son and I became suspicious of her. It appeared that she was scheming to abandon me there and secretly take Baba Ali back to Freetown. Indeed, if that was her plan, she did not know who she was dealing with. I left them and decided to spend the night with Elise and Bobby, thinking that by now Charles would have paid most of the guys that I owed, particularly Elise and Bobby.

As soon as Bobby saw me, he went ballistic and attacked me with a knife. He thought that I had collected money from Charles and run away. I tried explaining that was not the case, but he wouldn’t listen. I tried to talk to Elise and get him to make Bobby see reason, but that didn’t work, either. They were both mad at me and were willing to kill me that night. Thinking quickly, I came up with the only solution: taking them to Charles. I managed to convince them both, and we went to the Star Hotel, along with the other party that I owed. Luckily for me, Charles and Ngozi were in their suite. It didn’t seem like they were ready to go anywhere; rather, it looked like they were looking forward to the war. War profiteering was a very lucrative business, and those two would sell their mothers for profit.

I had them explain to my partners what had happened. Ngozi’s tone was very arrogant and she acted as though what we had given her wasn’t important. I realized we weren’t making progress, and I was ultimately responsible for these people’s money. I pulled Charles aside and begged him to promise them that he would return their money the next day. I asked him to be convincing, even though we both knew he wouldn’t pay them back. He accepted and went to talk to the guys. It was agreed that we would all meet again the next evening to settle everything.

With that, they all left me alone. I sure couldn’t sleep at Bobby’s house any longer. I couldn’t be in Monrovia after noon the next day if I wanted to stay alive. I knew those guys were desperate and would kill me without question. Even though Bobby and Elise didn’t want me to leave their sight that night, I was able to convince them that everything would be resolved the next day and that I was going to sleep at CY’s house.

I couldn’t stop thinking of how my situation had deteriorated because of my goodwill. The lady who had brought me back to Liberia to help her rescue her son now wanted to abandon me, and the people I owed wanted to kill me. I decided not to stay at any of my friends’ places, just in case Bobby and Elise decided to look for me that night. I also thought it best to stay close to where Baba Ali and his mother were staying, so they couldn’t sneak away and leave me behind. I spent the night on the street, despite the dangers all around me. At five the next morning, I made my way even closer to where Baba Ali and his mother were. At six o’clock, a taxi pulled up in front of the house, and Baba Ali and his mother emerged and walked to the taxi with the bag she had been carrying when we arrived yesterday. My fears were confirmed.
Without hesitation, I walked up to them and said, “Mother, thank God I got here in time, since I didn’t know you had decided we would leave earlier!” Her face dropped. She didn’t know how to react. We all got into the taxi and headed off toward the border.

We crossed Liberian and Sierra Leonean immigrations without incident. However, when we got to the Sierra Leonean side, Ms. Mariam pretended she didn’t have enough money to get us all back to Freetown—she only had enough for herself and her son. I told her I had no money with me, but she said that at least I was free in Sierra Leone now and should be able to manage on my own. I didn’t want to be rude to her because I planned to end up at her house—I was broke and had no place to stay. I tried to play smart without being too aggressive. I immediately went and grabbed the female immigration officer to whom she had already introduced me as her son. I introduced Baba Ali as the elder brother we had gone to find in Monrovia. I asked the officer to stay with us until we could find a taxi that would take us to Freetown, and while she made conversation with Baba Ali and his mother, I found one. Taxis usually collected fares before passengers were allowed into the vehicle, so I figured that once Ms. Mariam paid the fare for all three of us, she would no longer kick me out. I took the taxi driver to Ms. Mariam in the presence of the immigration lady so she couldn’t argue or refuse to pay my fare. The expression on her face was priceless. We all got into the taxi and started our journey back to Freetown.

To my amazement, Ms. Mariam allowed me to stay with her again. This time Baba Ali and I shared the room she had given me earlier. It was hard for me to tell whether Baba Ali appreciated what I did for him, since he never thanked me, and neither did his mother. I figured that allowing me to stay in their house was thanks enough. Some of their relatives stopped by to see Baba Ali; they were all pleased to have him back. Baba Ali and I continued to be friends, but our friendship had become one of convenience. I believed that deep down he saw me as a nuisance in his mother’s house.
After a few weeks, his mother tried to convince him to go back to Nigeria to continue with his studies, but Baba Ali wanted to travel to America, where some of his uncles lived with their families. Two of the cousins, a pair of twins the same age as Baba Ali, had just come to Freetown. The girl was very beautiful, but had a weird complexion; I suspected she must have bleached her skin. She wore designer clothes. The boy was an all-American boy; he wore the typical jeans, T-shirts, and baseball caps, and walked with a swagger. They both had Walkmans and listened to the hottest hip-hop and R&B songs. Baba Ali was taken by his cousins’ American way of life. His mother spoke to her brother, and he agreed to find a way to get Baba Ali to America.

I was so jealous. There I was, trying so hard for so long to travel abroad, but everything I had done so far toward that goal had ended up in pure disaster. Now the person I had just helped rescue from the slums of Liberia, who would have eventually died otherwise, was going to America and I was still nowhere close to leaving Africa. It was not that I expected his family to send me to America; I just felt so used and neglected. With the mission of retrieving Baba Ali completed, there was no further use for me, and it became apparent that my presence at the house was no longer welcome.
After three weeks, I decided I had to move on, but I didn’t know what to do or where to go. Then I remembered Ernest, the Nigerian shop owner who had given Elise and me money to return to Liberia after we had been thrown off from the ship River Magidon. I decided to pay him a visit.

Luckily for me, he was at the shop when I arrived and was happy to see me, especially knowing that everybody was leaving Liberia due to the war. During this visit I met a guy named Kelvin, who slept in Ernest’s shop. He was a stranded Nigerian and Ernest had taken him in until he could get back on his feet. In return, he helped Ernest run his shop. I later found out that Kelvin had brought some marijuana to Sierra Leone to sell, and it was confiscated by customs. He was lucky to have escaped arrest because the customs officers weren’t able to connect him to the marijuana packages that were seized.

While I talked with Ernest, he mentioned that he wanted to travel back to Nigeria. He had just bought a Mazda 626 car and intended to transport it by road. He was also looking for someone who could help him drive the vehicle to Nigeria. I immediately volunteered to be his co-driver. He was pleased and we decided to leave for Nigeria in the first week of July. Ernest promised to pay me after selling the vehicle. That same day I received chilling news about the River Magidon.

During my conversation with Ernest, we got on the subject of my stowaway experience, and he told me an incredible story about the River Magidon. It had been all over the news a few weeks back that the ship had sunk off the Spanish coast and everyone on board had died. Apparently, after the ship had left Africa and gone into the Mediterranean Sea, it had developed a very serious problem that caused it to sink. It was said that the crew had sent an SOS to the Spanish authorities, which was ignored. As a result, the ship, the entire crew, and the cargo had gone to the bottom of the sea.
A chill ran through my body. Had the captain not decided to kick out Elise and me in Freetown, we would have still been on the ship and would have perished with everybody on board. I couldn’t believe that God had saved me from this terrible tragedy, and I was just hearing about it. The saying that every disappointment is a blessing was very true in this case. I thanked my God for preserving my life.

For the next few days, I hung out with Ernest and the other Nigerians. Since I wasn’t getting adequate meals at Baba Ali’s house, I decided to sell the bundles of brocade I had brought with me from Liberia to sustain myself. I gave the brocade to Ernest, hoping he could find someone returning to Nigeria who could sell it for me. Luckily, the guy he found decided to pay me upfront for it. I took a portion of the proceeds and gave the rest to Ernest, telling him to invest it in his business and return the money to me when we got to Nigeria. I knew that if I kept all the money, I would end up spending it.

A few days later, Ernest suggested that I move into the shop. He must have realized that I wasn’t happy staying at Baba Ali’s house. Ernest usually stayed at his girlfriend’s house while Kelvin and a few other men—Nigerian businesspeople who didn’t want to pay for hotel rooms—slept at the shop. It was like a community of friends. I jumped at the offer.
The following day I took all my belongings and left Baba Ali’s house, thanking everyone for all they had done for me. No one made any attempt to dissuade me from leaving. The shop I would be sleeping in had two rooms: the inner room, where everyone slept, had a bed in it; the larger outer room displayed the goods for sale. At night, while some of the guys slept in the inner room, I would lie on one of the tables in the outer room. The shop closed at 7 p.m. and opened at 7 a.m., which meant that everyone had to wake up early, go to the neighboring house to shower, get dressed, and then get the shop open for business.

Staying at the shop turned out to be an exciting experience for me, especially because all the Nigerian guys would come there to hang out and share all kinds of stories. Sometimes we would play chess or checkerboard games, and everyone seemed happy. The guys who hung out at the shop were mainly those waiting to collect money for the goods they supplied to their customers. I never went hungry; there was always someone willing to buy my next meal.

I poured my heart and soul into reading books again. My whole life revolved around the characters in the books. On average I read three hundred pages a day. The books were my way of escape, and through them I was able to travel to those faraway lands that had so far eluded me. I also looked at my map frequently. I knew that I was getting close to achieving my dream of traveling abroad; it was just a matter of time. I started preparing myself for what I would do when I finally arrived at my foreign destination.

I also got plenty of exercise. I wanted to be fit in case I tried to join the armed forces. In fact, after secondary school, while I was still living with my uncle, I had tried to enlist in Nigeria—in the air force in particular. The recruitment exercise was scheduled at an army artillery base. Unlike in developed countries where people were persuaded into the service with a lot of incentives, in Nigeria it was the opposite. There were always more candidates than the number of slots available. On that particular occasion there were barely one hundred slots to be filled, yet more than two thousand people showed up to be recruited. All two thousand candidates were required to pass several physical challenges in order to be considered. The first challenge was a two-mile run. I was nowhere close to the top two hundred and went home disappointed.

Still thinking I might have the opportunity of joining the armed forces in whatever country I would end up in, I started a disciplined physical training regimen. Every morning I would run up and down the hill, lift some weights, then read my book and hang out with other Nigerians. In the evening I would join the local Freetown teams to play soccer.

Ernest’s shop was situated in a prime location in the city, and while sitting at the shop, we would admire people passing on the street. That was how I met a beautiful Jamaican girl who was born in London. We became good friends after we had chatted few times on the street. She lived with her family up on the hill at Fourah Bay College, where her mother taught. I became friends with her mainly because she was born in London. She was mixed race—her father was black and her mother was white—and she spoke with a British accent. Every evening, as she returned from town, I would walk her halfway to her house and she would tell me wonderful things about London. The other Nigerians who stayed at the shop started to make fun of me because they thought I was smitten; I thought they were just jealous of me.

Ernest’s shop was never short of drama, as could be expected whenever a group of guys lived together for a long period of time. Testosterone ran high and the equilibrium would start to unravel. A lot of times the guys would argue, fight, and make friends again. Other times, new people would arrive from other countries and end up at Ernest’s shop. There were also drug dealers in transit who would stop by on occasion. Though most of the guys who hung out at the shop had legitimate businesses, a few were drug dealers. Nigeria had a reputation for drug trafficking, so it wasn’t unusual that people would come around from time to time assuming we knew a thing or two about drugs.

On one occasion, a Nigerian had brought in a Ghanaian guy called Nicolas who lived in Las Palmas, Canary Island. He was in Freetown looking for drugs to take back with him. We were introduced, but didn’t speak for long since I wasn’t at his level of affluence. I saw him a few more times, and then he was gone. I wasn’t sure whether he had been successful in his quest.

There was also a character called Achito. He was a very funny guy; eloquent and well-spoken, always in and out of jail. Achito was stranded in Sierra Leone because he had been caught trafficking drugs........

**********

"yabis yabis yabis..no yab is too offensive, so let it rain on me my people

Yabis abi? Ow..kay, the ship sinking incident was a close cal. Surprised that didn't put the fear of God in you... And then abt Baba Ali's mother trying to play a fast one, she nor kno say Naija nor dey carry last?

You've got a really lucky star as in how many mishaps can a person jump pass? And there's still so much more to come.

As for me, I think I'm learning too, maybe your resilience is starting to rub off here. I vow to be more unrelenting from now on.
Your story is seriously inspiring someone over here, I'm sure many others will feel this way on rerading it.

repogirl: Yabis abi? Ow..kay, the ship sinking incident was a close cal. Surprised that didn't put the fear of God in you... And then abt Baba Ali's mother trying to play a fast one, she nor kno say Naija nor dey carry last?

You've got a really lucky star as in how many mishaps can a person jump pass? And there's still so much more to come.

As for me, I think I'm learning too, maybe your resilience is starting to rub off here. I vow to be more unrelenting from now on.
Your story is seriously inspiring someone over here, I'm sure many others will feel this way on rerading it.

its always very refreshing to hear from me lady..meanwhile, you force my hand again to spill the bean.. word on the street is that I have 7 lives..hint, Iraq,earthquake,plan crash..plus what i may or may not be living from next week, all which will be capture in book#3-living it and not written yet-

yabon me lady..will continue/post upon return from training later in the evening.

Jake:
I'm surprised that this spam bot has not banned u for such a long post not that i am complaining.

You sound very educated and not as your story portrays. I asked for the motive of the story so that i can recommended it to others. People will always ask why they should read it? What will they gain? What will they learn?

Lastly you can give/do something for your most faithful followers. It is all the fun.

Repo;
you just reminded me. You know Tekena was once engaged to but later on moved to Diefa. Jake is like Tekena, i think.

Note: im not matchmaking. I am the priest blessing the union.

Lol, chinedumo, you do enjoy pushing my buttons, don't you? Using my own story against me abi, nice, but be warned,hubby is not as understanding as . was fiction o, in reality...hmmm, lemme just summarize like dis, bokoharam sef neva do reach this one, and you will be first in line cos na u start am.

repogirl: Lol, chinedumo, you do enjoy pushing my buttons, don't you? Using my own story against me abi, nice, but be warned,hubby is not as understanding as . was fiction o, in reality...hmmm, lemme just summarize like dis, bokoharam sef neva do reach this one, and you will be first in line cos na u start am.

funny u say bokoharam...ur lover jake also have a piece on bokoharam..fourth generation warfare.

chinedumo: Jake:
I'm surprised that this spam bot has not banned u for such a long post not that i am complaining.

You sound very educated and not as your story portrays. I asked for the motive of the story so that i can recommended it to others. People will always ask why they should read it? What will they gain? What will they learn?

Lastly you can give/do something for your most faithful followers. It is all the fun.

Repo;
you just reminded me. You know Tekena was once engaged to but later on moved to Diefa. Jake is like Tekena, i think.

Note: im not matchmaking. I am the priest blessing the union.

i wish my brother had read this story before em begin em journey to obodo oyibooooo!

benjames:
funny u say bokoharam...ur lover jake also have a piece on bokoharam..fourth generation warfare.

Lekwa nu manya o, see trouble, benjames, u have come wit lover now. Anyway, I will enjoy the story and ignore u and chinedu.

repogirl:



Lekwa nu manya o, see trouble, benjames, u have come wit lover now. Anyway, I will enjoy the story and ignore u and chinedu.

my sis, there is no shame in fallen inlove or loving someone or what they represent even when ur married as long as u did not act on it...

benjames:

my sis, there is no shame in fallen inlove or loving someone or what they represent even when ur married as long as u did not act on it...

This by force love you guys are seeing, nawa o. Anyway we've derailed this topic enough. Let's get back to the story abeg.

I imagine this book making waves like 'dreams of my father'.

In my experence, taking nairaland for example, majority of true life stories are From males (Repogirl take note).

Is it only men's life that is intresting?
Resiilance and bravery.
I hope this will also rub off, on Repogirl.

Trust me Repogirl ur hubby has nothing on Chinedumo and jake combined.

chinedumo: I imagine this book making waves like 'dreams of my father'.

In my experence, taking nairaland for example, majority of true life stories are From males (Repogirl take note).

Is it only men's life that is intresting?
Resiilance and bravery.
I hope this will also rub off, on Repogirl.

Trust me Repogirl ur hubby has nothing on Chinedumo and jake combined.

seconded..

jake..u need to update "call me simple minded" or did you run out of ideas..that stuff is deep, maybe u should open it to other to contribute...

Double post

Repogirl, benjames and chinedumo, you guyz should quit derailing the thread jor.

Jake, you sef stop acting like you have a crush on repogirl.

Great! I see we have reached front page. Congrats Jakemond!

wots dis all about

buklan4real@yah:
wots dis all about

Go back and read you dumbhead

Foxy_Rebirth:

Go back and read you dumbhead

dnt av tym to read jor. just too much

It is a nice,interesting and exciting story. And as far as i understand it it is a story that can touch the heart of a giant as per as he listens to it,the story is also very real and natural that i wish i was there when it all started

Ishilove: Repogirl, benjames and chinedumo, you guyz should quit derailing the thread jor.

Jake, you sef stop acting like you have a crush on repogirl.

Ishilove: right on. I agree, them too should just get a room

Jake jake jake, where are u..please update. it's been 5hrs, and i can't wait anymore!!

benjames: Jake jake jake, where are u..please update. it's been 5hrs, and i can't wait anymore!!

Only 5hours and you don dey cry? Hehehe... It is well.

@JAKEMOND1: Thumbs up!! It aint easy to come up with something catchy and interesting. I only just came in. I haven't read every post but at least, I have read enough to know that I will continue. Mean while, post all the updates as I dey come from back o! I no want dulling. Lol

ekaromail:

Only 5hours and you don dey cry? Hehehe... It is well.

@JAKEMOND1: Thumbs up!! It aint easy to come up with something catchy and interesting. I only just came in. I haven't read every post but at least, I have read enough to know that I will continue. Mean while, post all the updates as I dey come from back o! I no want dulling. Lol

nna dnt blam me na..nobi every day u dey find some fine autentic writing/story..

guy U gt sum move 1. B concious of ur time frame nt 2 contradit them. 2. Dat swift responds nd acceptnc on d marriage proposal I tink it need 2 b changed s 2 quick 4 a devoutd xtain if she turely is?. 1ox jus my op' no offnce. Keep it up dude.

#29,
It's 1730 and a bright spring sunny day in DC, our gentle warrior returns from his devil dog training, hungry and exhausted from the belt way traffic. he has two option, eat/rest or open his computer....while his body aches and yawns for nourishment, his gentle soul was inexplicably captive by his beloved readers/follower...full with imagine and fantasies of a forbidden love... love supposedly hidden within the lines she uttered... she who could not be named, please take solace in the fact that thy imaginary Romey name is distance and thy husband name is closer..

He opens the computer and as usual nairyland's onezes and zeros started appearing in all its glory... the patronage and words of the readers were overwhelming...his heart worms up and his tears were unstoppable...tears from recognition that maybe and just maybe he could make a difference..maybe if he or some of his friend that died along the way had opportunity of reading a similar story before they started off, who knows,some may still be alive today...

Here I go again..getting carry away..I know..I know..by the way THANK YOU all from the bottom of my heart, and I hope you all have a take away from this story..Ok Ok, I'll stop now..the story..
**********************************************
Since his release from prison, he had been helping others bring drugs and sell them in Freetown. He seemed to be connected with the police and other influential people in Freetown. His biggest problem, though, was not that he peddled drugs, but that he was also an addict and was a big train wreck waiting to happen. He always made me laugh with his jokes.
I continued to research the possibility of selling shoes and other items in Freetown, just like CY was doing in Monrovia. It seemed like no one was doing it Freetown, and I thought it would be a brilliant idea to get it started. I decided that once Ernest and I returned to Nigeria and I got my money back from him, I would buy goods there, bring them back to Freetown, and find someone to sell them for me, just like CY did.
Ernest remained the kindhearted soul he had always been. Everyone loved him. He had being living in Sierra Leone for a long time and had not visited his family back in Nigeria. From what I heard, his family had requested that he come back home. Ernest later told me that the reason he didn’t want to return to Nigeria was his stepbrother. His father had married twice. The first wife had had a son before she died, and then his father had married Ernest’s mother. After his father died, his stepbrother took charge of all the property he had left. When Ernest eventually became old enough, he went into business with his stepbrother. After several years, Ernest was ready to move on and start his own business; however, his stepbrother refused to give him enough capital. With the little money he was given, Ernest started doing business between Nigeria and Ghana. After a while, he got into the drug trade in Sierra Leone.
On his last trip from Nigeria to Sierra Leone, he was arrested and the drugs were confiscated. After he was released, he met a young Sierra Leonean lady called Beckie. She took him in and took care of him until he got back on his feet. Though Ernest had bounced back and was doing well with his shop, he refused to return to Nigeria; instead, he invested all his money and energy in his shop. He ordered legitimate goods from Nigeria and sold them at his shop. He had being living with Beckie all these years, and other Nigerians wondered why he stayed with her for such a long time. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to hurt her after she had been kind to him, yet he did not seem to love her. Beckie was a scary woman, very possessive and jealous. She had a habit of always showing up wherever Ernest went and seemed to have this uncanny control over him. Many people suspected that she was controlling Ernest through voodoo magic because of the things she made him do—things he wouldn’t do under normal circumstances. Ernest was always sick and we suspected that she might be slowly poisoning him, perhaps so she could inherit all his property in Sierra Leone. They were not married, but their relationship had the semblance of marriage.
For this reason, everybody was pleased that Ernest was finally taking this trip to Nigeria. The hope was that it would do him some good. He would have the opportunity to reconnect with his family and clear his head.
A few days before our departure, I decided to call Ike, my secondary school friend who was now living America. He had given me his brother’s number in New York before he had left. This would be my third attempt at calling Ike. I had called him on two previous occasions while I was in Liberia.
The first time was when I returned from my misadventure to Mali. I was broke and desperate. I thought maybe if I called my old buddy, he would send me a few dollars. After all, he ate a lot of my food while we were in secondary school. But to my greatest shock and disappointment, when he got on the phone and I said who I was, he started rapping to me in an American accent. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t speak to me in Igbo; after all, he had only left Nigeria less than two years ago. I, on the other hand, could not speak to him in any other language than Igbo. I told Ike all the difficulties I was facing in Liberia and that I was broke, stranded, and in desperate need of cash. After a few moments of silence, my dearest friend said, “Listen, buddy, ain’t got no money.” He continued, “Man, you got to speak up. I can’t hear you and I got to go.” And then he hung up on me. A similar thing happened the second time I called him. As soon as he got on the phone and heard my name, he hung up. Now I wanted to give him an opportunity to redeem himself.
This time he did not hang up on me, but he made it clear that I was bothering him. He said that he was living with his brother, who did not appreciate people calling his house. I apologized and hung up the phone, more determined than ever before to travel to anywhere in Europe or America.
Everything was set for my trip to Nigeria with Ernest. The Mazda 626 had been serviced, we had bought enough food for the road, and we even had a mechanic traveling with us. He was a Cameroonian guy who had been stranded in Sierra Leone for years. Rumor had it that he was a stowaway on a ship from Cameroon to Europe. When he was discovered, he was thrown overboard in Sierra Leonean waters. Fortunately for him, he was a good swimmer, and after two days was rescued by a fishing boat and taken to Freetown. While living in Freetown he had learned to be a mechanic. He was employed in an auto repair shop, and though he was making a living, he couldn’t save enough money to travel back home to Cameroon. When he learned that Ernest and I were traveling to Nigeria, he begged Ernest to give him a ride. Since Nigeria and Cameroon have a common border, it would be easy for him to get back to Cameroon from there. For Ernest and me, this was a no-brainer. We knew that a mechanic would be useful since the journey would be long and the road would be treacherous.
We left Freetown on July 1, 1990. Since I had traveled by road before, I would lead us all the way to Guinea through the Ivory Coast and then Ghana. From Ghana it would be a straight shot to Nigeria, passing through Togo and Benin Republic, since there was only one international road leading from Ghana.
The journey went smoothly until we got into Guinea. The roads there were terrible. The Mazda 626 was a sedan and didn’t have a four-wheel drive, and the roads could only be navigated easily with an SUV or any other 4×4 vehicle. In addition, we had to deal with constant stops by the police and gendarmes. There seemed to be millions of them, and since we had a foreign license plate, they demanded all kinds of vehicle papers. It didn’t matter to them when we explained that we were only passing through. We always ended up giving them money before we would be allowed to move on.
On July 2, when we had gone midway across Guinea, we had to cross a river that had no bridge. We could not go back, and only big trucks and big SUVs could cross the river without any problem because their engines were a little higher off the ground. Our vehicle was very low, and we knew that if we tried to cross, our engine would be soaked. Our mechanic friend so far had proven to be useless to us. On several occasions since we had started the trip, he had failed to demonstrate a good understanding of various functionalities of our vehicle. He could not be trusted, but at this point it was already too late; we were stuck with him. I prayed, remembering all of the miracles that God had performed when the children of Israel were going to the land of Canaan. I remembered how the Lord, through Moses, parted the Red Sea so the Israelites could go through on dry ground, and hoped that God could do something similar for us here. After I prayed, we proceeded to drive through the river. We went across, and as soon as we got onto the other side and up the hill, the car shut down. But after a few more prayers, the vehicle started and we continued on our way. We thanked God for getting us through.
We had more car problems every now and then, and as usual, our mechanic friend wouldn’t know what to do. At times we would use roadside mechanics to solve the problem. We were almost at the border of Guinea and Ivory Coast when we ran into more trouble with the gendarmes and police. By this time we were running out of money and didn’t want to give out any more unnecessarily. Because we refused to give the bribe, our vehicle was detained, and by the time it was released, it was late and the border was closed for the night. We spent the night in the car, waiting for daybreak.
We crossed the border into the Ivory Coast on July 3. The roads in this region were still rough, and we still had to bribe the police and gendarmes when necessary. But the car was showing signs of giving up—after three days, the roads had taken their toll.
We arrived in Abidjan on the evening of July 3 and decided to spend the night there. This was my first time in the city. We were directed to a place called Biafran market, which was supposed to be a predominantly Igbo market.
During the Nigerian civil war, a large number of Igbos left Nigeria and became refugees in neighboring countries, including the Ivory Coast. Even the Biafran leader, Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, went on exile to the Ivory Coast after the war. Some of the refugees returned to Nigeria after the war, but a large number remained in diaspora and adopted their host country as their home. Being an industrious tribe, the Igbos excelled in all walks of life in the different countries where they resided. The Biafran market was a typical example. It was the biggest market in the Ivory Coast, and it was believed the excellent economic condition that the area was enjoying at that time had a lot to do with the presence of the Igbos and their ingenuity. When we reached Biafran market, we ran into many Igbo people, as we anticipated, and one was kind enough to provide us accommodations for the night at his house.
Before going to bed that night, we decided to explore Abidjan. It was indeed a beautiful city and the people were very proud of it. That night we visited an area called Le Plateau, aka “Petit Paris.” It was the most beautiful place I had ever been to. I was impressed to find such a place existed on our continent. The Ivoirians are proud people and don’t spare anything in their effort emulate their colonial master. On the way to Abidjan, we had passed a town where we saw a marvel of a church. It was said to be the largest and most beautiful Catholic church in the world. The construction cost was equivalent to the country’s total budget for a year.
The next morning, July 4, we started on our journey to Ghana. The road got better, but the irritating presence of the gendarmes and police persisted. So far we had had little use for our Cameroonian mechanic. Since he was a Cameroonian, we expected him to speak French, which would have made our interaction with the gendarmes and the police a lot easier. But he was not educated, so he only spoke Cameroonian-broken-French and Creole. Whenever we had problems with the gendarmes and police, even the simplest situation became complex because of our inability to explain ourselves in French. The Guinean and Ivorian gendarmes and police could barely understand the mechanic’s broken French.
We ran into another situation with the Ivorian gendarmes and police later that evening. They wanted us to produce the import license and documentation for the vehicle. We tried to explain that we were in transit and were heading to Ghana, but they wouldn’t listen. We spent many hours at that post, and by the time they let us go, it was getting dark. To make matters worse, the car refused to start. As we were fiddling with it, one of the custom officers who had detained us earlier was on his way home. He happened to be very good with cars and he helped us start the car. He insisted that we spend the night at his home and continue our journey the next morning. We accepted his offer.
He took us to his home and introduced us to his wife and two daughters. This man was by far the kindest we had met on the roads thus far. It was hard to see this generous man as the same monster that we had encountered earlier at the post. His family made us a delicious Ivorian meal. One of his daughters took a liking to me and we spent a lot of time chatting. It seemed the officer was pleased with his daughter’s friendship with me, because while I was talking with her, he brought me their family album and showed me all her pictures. He later pulled out two of his daughter’s personal pictures and gave them to me to keep. He invited me to come back and stay with them again sometime. We exchanged addresses and phone numbers. It was a delightful evening, and it was late when we finally went to bed that night. We woke up the next day and had a fantastic breakfast. I couldn’t believe their hospitality. We were treated like VIPs. Before we left that morning, we thanked them for their kindness. I promised that I would return someday, and also that I would write to their daughter and perhaps send her a picture of myself.
With that, we continued on our journey to Accra. The sound coming from the engine was ominous, and we weren’t sure the car would make it to Accra, much less Nigeria. We hoped and prayed, but as soon as we got to Accra late that afternoon, the engine died. We thanked God Almighty for three things: 1) that this happened in an English-speaking country; 2) that Ernest had friends in Accra; and 3) that it was just six to eight hours away from our final destination, Nigeria.
Ernest contacted one of his friends, a Lebanese guy to whom he supplied spare car parts when he was doing business in Ghana. His friend allowed us to stay at his house. Meanwhile, he and Ernest reached an agreement that Ernest would go to Nigeria and bring him some goods, and when he returned, he would help replace our car engine, which was completely dead.
The Lebanese guy could only accommodate one guest in his house. With Ernest about to leave, there were still two of us. So before Ernest departed, we borrowed money from the Lebanese guy to send the Cameroonian all the way to Aba. I gave the Cameroonian my uncle’s address in Aba, and instructed him to go to him and tell him that I sent him. I asked him to explain his situation to my uncle and ask him for money to transport himself to Cameroon. From what I was told later, he did stop at Aba and my uncle did give him money to travel back to his home in Cameroon.
Ernest took off for Nigeria and would be gone for three days. For me, it was no big deal; I could afford to wait for a few days. But after one week, Ernest still hadn’t shown up. The Lebanese host was getting nervous because he had given Ernest money for the goods. Even though they had been doing business for a long time and must have trusted each other, he was still worried. However, as long as I was in the house, he was okay because I kept telling him that Ernest would return to Ghana.
The truth was that I was worried, too.
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please don't forget to opine opine...yabis yabis, and remember no yab is too good or too bad, so go ahead and throw you best yab at me.
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nelxsantos: guy U gt sum move 1. B concious of ur time frame nt 2 contradit them. 2. Dat swift responds nd acceptnc on d marriage proposal I tink it need 2 b changed s 2 quick 4 a devoutd xtain if she turely is?. 1ox jus my op' no offnce. Keep it up dude.

thanks my bother.. your honesty is breath of fresh air..i see you just join us. obviously you're still on the prologue, so indulge me a little. read some more and hit me back later.

Jake

nice write up here,am followin.tanx

vanagon: nice write up here,am followin.tanx

VG: no! thanks to you my brother.