₦airaland Forum

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I transfer my rifle to my left shoulder. I rub my eyes wearily. The golden rays from the setting sun casts a glow on the dusty town of X. I like the evenings. So cool, so quiet. The curfew starts from 6pm, it's 4pm.I consider enduring the urge to urinate till duty is over.

I change my mind. It's not good to hold urine too much. I always forget where I heard that. It also causes diabetes I heard, I leave my station - the heap of sand bags which partially blocks the road. I walk towards Sgt Ojo, the funny duty officer. He's not a bad oga, he'll surely permit my urine break. I have afterall stood for four hours.

After some banter, I'm permitted to 'rush it'. I take my time going to the makeshift toilet. I wonder why Oga Ojo won't just permit our using the bushes. He insists on the policeman being a role model. I snigger. Our wood-enclosed, zinc - roofed toilet isn't much of a model anyway.

Awhile later, am done. It's 4.30pm. I should go back to my post. Oga Ojo is already manning my post. Waving the cars and tricycle riders past. He's too tired to search again. It's mainly workers going home now anyway. I light a cigarette.

The motorcycle rider seems to be too impatient. He snakes towards the checkpoint, weaving through the congestion caused by our stop - search post. I consider going to slap some patience into him, I stop myself, it's a young boy. Probably in the 16-17 range. Youths and their exuberance though. I suspect nothing, I should have. I was too tired to recognise the lifeless eyes, those dark eyes that hold such hate. I might have saved him.

Oga Ojo noticing the motorcycle waves the other cars past. He flags the rider down. The rider just keeps coming. I hear his safety catch released. He never raises his rifle in time.

I see it all. The rider whom is now some feet away is suddenly jerked backward. His chest seems to explode into little bits of red. The motorcycle erupts in flames. There's no need rushing towards oga Ojo. He's lying far from where he just stood. His neck twisted in a very unusual angle. I feel bile sneak up my throat.


It's been four months since then. I no longer take urine breaks. I don't laugh so much again either. There's no joy to be had here. Just sorrow, suffocating sadness. Squadron A arrives in its hilux vehicle. They've captured suspected members of the sect. 4 young boys no older than 15,an aged man in his late sixties. They're to be interrogated.

They'll be interrogated for days. I know. They'd refuse to say anything. They'd curse the interrogators, spit in their faces. They'll be set free after a week. It's the routine. Another group will be captured again. We're aware they have information. They just hate us too much to share. They just sit in the sand, head bowed, awaiting the 'usual'

I realise am walking towards them, few feet away. I don't remember realising my safety catch. I know when my fingers find the trigger. I feel exhilaration as my rifle spits seeds of death into their chests. I let the tears slither down my face. A musical tune plays in my head. Something about jungle justice and guns.

The tricycle i am sitted in crawls slowly in the evening traffic. I almost close my eyes to succumb to the fatigue built up in my bones.

The two males sitting beside me chatter endlessly. They talk about the stifling heat, the rising dollar, the very absent electricity in the city, our nomadic president and his corruption campaign. I'm too bored to want in on the gist. I just stare at the faces in the cars stuck with us in traffic.


The congestion isn't easing up. One of the males calls the orange seller, who has been weaving between the vehicles, hawking his sunshine fortified orange. They haggle about price, our tricycle moves some feet ahead, orange boy chases us . Male A asks why the price of orange has risen,orange boy indicated he would sell at 5 balls for a hundred naira. Orange boy smiles, 'dollar don rise'. Male B guffaws. They launch into a discussion about how hawkers can be incredulous with their prices. Orange boy shifts from one leg to another. His eyes scan for any interested buyers.

After thirty minutes of wasting the boy's time ,they wave him off. A makes another rude remark about the unpleasant body odour of orange boy.

I can't place my finger on what annoys  me, the way they rudely addressed orange boy or the amount of his time they wasted, or the sad look on his face when they made jokes about him

For the thirty minutes till i got to my stop, i ranted. I let them have  a dose of their medicine. They apologise at some point ,I promptly remind them to be sorry for themselves.


And when i get off the tricycle? The driver refuses to take my fare. 'God bless you boy ' he said before driving off.


It's a hard life. For many people, they got the raw end of the deal . No money ,no hope of incoming fund's. Taking up a honest, peanut paying job is commendable. You shouldn't be rude (unnecessarily )when you relate with them . If they took up arms ,you'd not sleep at night.


And when your meet any of these frustrated people who get the high from talking down these ones, it's your civic duty to call them to order. Your president  (who is globetrotting )will commend you, whenever he's in the country.


God bless us.

It haf teey papa died oh, so mama become our breadwinner. Mama is fery strict and strong, one day she cash me talking with ngozi in dark corner. She flog me well well and put pepper inside my eye and buttock. Mama say I must become successful person, so I can fit build her upstairs. I am mama only pickin so her eye always red for me.

Anytime my big brother dem come our house, mama use to tear eye and be observing things. I have 3 big brother that use to visit - brother Caleb, chibueze and Sean. Mama like only brother Sean, she say the others use to smoke igbo and pursue gehls too mush. One day she come house and catch Bro Chibueze with our landlord daughter inside, she say they commiting big sin.

Bro Sean is in unifasitee. He studying doctor. He like bukuru too mush, everytime he drag me to go and Sidon in library for plenty time. Mama say I should make him my mentor, that he teash me how to be voice in my generation. So I always be following him to church. Did I tell you brother is assistant pastor? He use to wear fine cloth and fry his hair. When I try to fry my own, mama nearly kill me with slap.

One day brother come back from school for church programme. He buy big bread. Mama rush to carry his bag and be smiling
like stock fish. We now enter inside house. He buy fine things for us, he give mama wrapper oh, we no get fuel so he tell mama to collect money from his wallet and buy. I thief the chewing gum I see inside his pocket.

Mama is searching the wallet and go find another thing. I look and see mama holding three small packet wey dem write gold circle. Mama start asking wharris the meaning of this. Brother cannot talk, he start stammering.