A brief visit...
Nigeria which way forward!!!!
My brother and I are really close. We’ve always
been close. Maybe it’s because I am a tomboy
and
he’s the only boy. Maybe it’s because I’m the
only
one who makes the most effort to understand
him.
Maybe… I don’t know why. But we’re the closest
of
the four of us. He is six years older but you’ll
never
know unless we tell you. My brother is my best
friend. Even his girlfriend knows it.
My brother has always had a bad temper. He
doesn’t get angry easily but when he does, he
literally hits the roof. The day my brother heard
that
some guy beat me up, my brother slashed his
arm
with a knife. It’s not exactly something we’re
proud
of. But it’s just one of those things.
My brother is fiercely protective of the people he
loves. Our father is late, so it’s just mum, my two
sisters, my brother and myself. My brother will
go
to the ends of the earth for us. That’s just how
important we are to him. And then his girlfriend
too.
They’ve been together for three years and even
though he’s mostly away, she remains loyal to
him.
She visits every weekend, even when he is out of
town.
More than anything else, my brother hates
injustice.
He cannot stand people being mean to other
people.
He really can’t stand people being unfair or nasty.
It
gets him really angry and when that happens he
errr, tends to go a bit overboard.
My brother is a soldier in the Nigerian Army and I
haven’t seen my brother in almost a year. The
last
time he was home, he spent only about a week
and
then he was deployed to Maiduguri to fight the
Boko
Haram insurgency.
I remember one of our many late night
conversations that week. He shared stories of the
guys in his battalion who had become his second
family. He spoke of the thrill that came with being
in
a life-threatening situation and I shook my head.
How would that thrill or excite anyone? He spoke
of
the nights spent drinking with his guys, spoke of
the
chain of women most of his friends kept and how
he
thought it was really amusing.
I asked if he kept a string of girlfriends like his
friends and he shook his head. There was no
need,
he said. And then he revealed to me his plans to
propose to his girlfriend on his next return home.
That information warmed my heart. I really like
her.
She’s cool. He made me promise to keep it a
secret
and I agreed.
The following morning, just before he left, my
brother told me to pray for him. The Boko Haram
insurgence was getting intense and several
soldiers
had been deployed to fight them. He told me to
pray
for his safety and with tears in my eyes and a
bright smile in his, I said a short prayer for him
and
made him promise that no matter how bad things
got, he would find a means of staying in touch. He
laughed and said
“Don’t worry, I’ll call you in the heat of battle to
tell
you how many of them bad guys I’m taking out.”
We both laughed but my laughter did not stem
from
anywhere other than my lips.
You see, the thing about being related to someone
in the armed forces in times of crisis is that, you
are constantly on edge, living in the fear that you
could get a message any minute informing you
that
your loved one would not be returning home. I
stopped reading or listening to the news a long
time
ago. Mum said I was silly to not be aware of
things
going on around me but I told her life was sad
enough as it were. I did not need more of that.
My brother kept communicating with me. He
sounded light and hopeful each time we spoke
and
even though I knew things were really bad, it was
somewhat of a relief to not hear the tension in his
voice.
Sometime in May however, I began to notice a
change in his tone. I knew something was wrong.
He sounded distant and somewhat reserved. And
it
did not get better in the months that followed. He
sounded like something had died inside of him.
Like
he had given up and that frightened me terribly.
Several times, I asked what was wrong and
always,
he said
“We’re at war sis, how should I sound?”
“I want you to sound hopeful. One day, all this will
be over.
You’ve got a woman to come home to and marry.
Don’t forget that. Even if you won’t return for my
sake, ensure you return for hers.”
That was the last thing I said to him.
It was almost a month and I had not heard from
my
brother. The tension at home was palpable. You
could feel it crushing everyone in the house. Mum
snapped at us for the silliest reasons. The
girlfriend
kept visiting and would stay for up to three or four
days. I could sense she was hurting and worried
but so was everyone else. Every time my phone
rang around her she would look at me
expectantly,
willing the caller to be my brother. Everyone was
going crazy with worry.
The phone call came at night. I did not recognize
the
number but even before I picked, somehow I
could
sense it had something to do with my brother. The
voice at the other end was gruff and cold. He first
confirmed my identity- my brother had used me
as
next of kin- then he went on to say my brother
had
been charged with mutiny and sentenced to death
by firing squad.
I was dizzy.
“Wha… what?”
The person at the other end repeated himself and
said he was sorry.
I did not hear anything afterwards. The phone
dropped to the floor and I let out a scream that
was
sure to shatter all the glasses in the house.
Everyone came running. I could almost see their
hearts pop out of their chests. My eyes were
round
and my breathing too fast for me to measure. One
of my sisters grabbed me and shook me.
“Is he dead?!”
I shook my head but the tears were already
pouring
from my eyes.
It took me a while to gather myself together and
make a coherent statement. My house that night
was a garden of emotions. All sorts. All forms. All
shades. Pure madness.
The following morning, I surfed the net for news.
This was the story.
My brother and his battalion were sent on a
special
operation to some local government in Borno
state,
part of the fight against Boko Haram. When they
were done, their GOC insisted they return to
Maiduguri even though it was late at night. The
soldiers pleaded because it was risky but their
GOC
was adamant. My brother and his battalion
embarked on the road trip and halfway into their
journey, they were ambushed by Boko Haram.
More
than 10 of them were killed and the following
morning, my brother and some other soldiers
rebelled and fired shots at the GOC. They blamed
him for the deaths of their friends. The soldiers
were tried and found guilty of mutiny and
attempted
murder and were sentenced to death by firing
squad.
Just like that.
And what was their crime again?
They lost friends and brothers in a manner that
could have been avoided. Human as they were,
they
went crazy and rebelled. They took out their
frustrations on the person responsible for the
deaths of their colleagues and now they would be
killed. Simply for venting their anger.
My heart was shattered into a million fragments.
There would never be a piecing back together.
The GOC did not die, just so you know.
Maybe if the GOC had died, I would try to
understand. A life for a life. Or 12 lives for a life?
That would not add up. But I could try to make
sense of it. However my brother and 11 others
have
been sentenced to death for trying to avenge the
deaths of their colleagues.
My brother is fiercely protective of the ones he
loves. He lost friends that night. Their deaths
could
have been avoided. But some commanding officer
sent them to their death. I wasn’t surprised that
my
brother went on a shooting spree. He is fiercely
protective of people he loves.
The commanding officer has walked free, yet my
brother and other officers have been sentenced to
death.
I’m still trying to make sense of it all. Boko Haram
did not kill my brother. But the Nigerian Army
wants
to kill him. Like the number of dead soldiers are
not
sufficient.
My eyes are red and swollen. I have been crying
for
three days. Mum is in the hospital. My brother’s
girlfriend is home with me and my sisters. We
have
cried together and we are tired. Our voices are
broken, just like our hearts. No one says anything
anymore. There is nothing left to say.
So I sit here and think about the sound of his
voice,
the sound of his laughter, the way his eyes
narrow
in concentration when we’re having a serious
conversation, the way his eyes twinkle when he
gets up to some mischief. I think of how much he
loves his girlfriend. I think of how I promised him I
would be the coolest aunt to his children…
My only brother. My best friend. He is everything
to
me. He is the light of my life
The light is about to be taken from our lives. Our
symbol of strength, might and bravery. My
brother
is about to be taken away from us.
Can I send a plea to the Nigerian Army? Can they
please not take the light out of my life?
# in honour of the agrieved families of soldiers
charged for MUTINY....




source..... unknown

I feel yor pain, but truth is,....every soldier knows what he signed up for.
They wont be killed, but seriously I see dem spending serious tym in prison.
Another angle to the bizarre story of what truly transpired dt fateful day; can 12 soldiers honest take aim at their in a car and not completely obliterate him, his driver, his adc, and d car itself?
In all honesty, I think d most those 12 soldiers did was to shot into the air in protest (mutiny!!!).
Are we seriously going to kill 12 soldiers 4 shooting into d air?

I am really fighting back tears! This is so, so pathetic. Just as the first comment, I do not think your brother will be killed but may have a long-term sentence in prison. This is not good either. How would someone in prison get married and bears the nieces that you promised to be the coolest aunt to? Why would the officer insist his men should travel that night even when he is very much aware of the high level of risk involved?

The situation may seem hopeless but there is no mountain that God can not move through prayers. Please, all of you should commit this into prayers and see how God will handle it. I pray that testimonies will definitely follow!