₦airaland Forum

Ada wrapped her arms round herself; the night’s usual cold chilly wind now sharpened by the harmattan had sent a shiver down her spine following a moment's burst. She fixed her gaze on the peaceful distant sky, so darkened with grey the moon seemed white. Everywhere Ada went she seemed to see a new moon, "there are lots of them in the sky" she concluded. Ada returned her gaze to her mum’s shop, where her mum attended to her customer. The customer's familiarity had shortened the bargain, the pleasure of color choice was his new worry. The shop was where Ada stayed with her mom after school till her father returned from work. Their house just behind the shop was the apartment on the first storey of the storey building, which faced the express road.

"Gbam!" She heard; she was shocked and turned at the angle of interest. A motorbike skidded off the express road and tumbled over the road divider into the service lane. The motorbike screeched for a long stretch of seconds as it swerved towards the concrete kerb on the right of the service lane to give an impact loud enough to draw sympathy for both the rider and the bike. The machine's wheels rolled with loud shrieks for a while before halting, with its headlamp awkwardly placing its final rest facing Ada’s mother's shop which was a stone throw, as if to call their attention and spotlight responsibility on them. Instantly blood gushed out and flowed unrestrained down the neck of the rider, who was sprawled on the floor unconscious, without a helmet, but shielded in the now powerless body gear. He gave a faint cry.

By now activity on the street which used to be a continuous clash of human cymbals was now a ghost of its daytime rush hour. All the dying man got was a set of looks from the few around, and the usual regret filled exclamations. No one moved an inch closer to get a better view, save their neck's stretch and narrowed vision. By now her mum's customer had paid for his goods and predictably taken the other way.

Two men rushed to the scene, and despite the need for an intervention, their urge seemed superfluous. Ada watched.

“Oh boy you sure say this watch go sell?” the vertically challenged of the two asked as he quickly loosened the object from the suffering owner. His voice was coarse; Ada knew their type were the main actors on Lagos’ bus stops.

“No time, guy no time, at all at all na him bad” the one who seemed to be the leader responded sharply. Kneeling, he troubled the dying man with a search. Sensing a rare remorse in his crime partner whose eagerness had recoiled, he warned “Guy, look nobody send you o, nobody send you at all at all, if we no take these things another person go take am o. make you give yourself brain.” He raised the head of the victim to remove the gold chain and left it to a fatal fall to its default position with a "gbum".

Ada looked puzzled, unaware if the robbers made the best of the accident, or it was part of a robbery attempt. The shocking watch at the inhumane response primed her motion and she walked towards the men until her mum pulled her back with a strong grip. Her mum closed shop immediately before the robbers were inspired to extend their services to her day’s financial turnover. Curious, Ada rushed upstairs straight to her father's bedroom to have a good view of the tragic actions and inactions, by then the two men were gone. Her eyes moistened, the dying man was now in a worse condition. A new guilt troubled her, but why her, was she the most responsible? Did her mum and her customer feel the same pain yet turned a blind eye? Were they alone in the street? Couldn’t the crash call any attention? Was it the increasing returns on the historical accidents that seared their hearts or the kerb was a natural habitat for dying fellows?

In a moment, Ada saw two people walk down the path. It was her Sunday school teacher and his wife, and she could tell they were going for their usual night vigil. Here was help in time.

"My God! have mercy” Her teacher exclaimed placing his two hands on his head,” what could have happened to this young man” he said now lowering his voice and staring at the living corpse. His wife came towards him, leaned on his back and peeped over his shoulders.

“Ahhh he is dead o” she spoke unnecessarily loud.

“Shhhhh. Mama Johnpaul no spoil my ear drums o. I don’t know if he don die, but even if he is not, he might soon be” he replied bluntly. He attempted to stoop but quickly rose up, shook his head and concluded. “This one pass first aid, he needs urgent medical attention now now". He turned and looked round him as if he sought something; clenching his fist, he grinned and turned back at the man. “I pity him, I don’t have a car, no taxi driver would pick him up in this condition, what I have left with me is just my tithe. We are already late”. His wife nodded in agreement behind him

He noticed a bottle of gin slightly popped out from the man’s Jeans pocket. “God have mercy on this man’s soul” He said shaking his head and pointing at the dying man. “You see these young men of nowadays who live life like tomorrow no dey. You see the reward of recklessness and irresponsible living. How can he drink and drive without ending in this manner, we don’t love ourselves at all at all honestly." He looked at his watch and back at the man. "Only God can save him. God dey” He prayed. Satisfied he had done his best he simply walked away without looking back.

Ada's mouth was wide agape, was that all, just prayers and judgments, and only last Sunday he had taught her class agape love. The man, who was best known for teaching his lessons like he was a pauline era Christian, fluffed the practice of his lessons so effortlessly. He left the man to die while he saved his time and tithe. She had expected more from him. "God Dey" Ada muttered in disappointment, she too was now caught in the web of reactivity.

The answer seemed momentous; a car drove down the side of the road and slowed down when it got close to the dying man. The driver was careful not to roll to a halt for fear it could be a decoy, since crime rate swelled at night.
“Comrade is he dead” the one on the passenger side asked the driver. The driver peeped through the window and observed the dying man.

“Barrister, Blood is still flowing and seems his hands are wriggling”

The lawyer reached for his phone in his pocket and dialed a number. Several times he would look at his phone's screen and dial again until he got frustrated and yelled. “But why did he also take this road, the governor has told them to stop taking this route, it is againt the law, see how he messed up his life now. Like people, like government. So pathetic"

The Comrade shook his head “you see I am tired of this go-vern-ment people, weren’t these the same emergency lines they used while campaigning during the elections. Election is over and so is response to emergency situations, now see people dying as a result of negligence. I am going to take up this issue publicly first thing tommorrow morning. This government is ridiculously insensitive. In advanced countries all the parameters for adequate and urgent response would have been put in place” He replied annoyed. He shrugged and drove away immediately.

At least they should have been kind enough to step down Ada thought when they left. Why take it up with the government tomorrow when you can save his life today and have all other days to challenge the government. To her their response seemed too casual, it had little feelings. Ada wondered why she saw things differently, was it because she was young? Would she also grow up to be compassion blind and with an attitude of telescopic responsibility?

The lights on the street poles went off. "Oh God, I guess that is it" Ada muttered, knowing it meant electricity supply which had been cut would be a good opportunity for passersby to ignore the dying man, if he wasn’t dead already. She sank into to the bed she had stood upon since and looked at the ceilings. A flash of light typical of a car's flickered into the roof of the bedroom. Ada sprung up without a moment’s hesitation and returned to her window gazing adventure, but the car whose curves were carved with class gave her little hope of help. It didnt even look like it belonged to the area. She turned her back and leaned against the wall; no one with such car of luxury would bother carrying a man soaked in blood. For a while the reflection on the ceiling stood still, Ada rose back up and by now the car was almost beside the scene. She prayed silently that the driver’s attention would be caught by the situation. A man in White Babariga with a white cap seated in the owner’s corner observed the man as his window wound down graciously.

“Alhaji, he is dead” the driver told him. Alhaji hissed at the sight, but as he wound up his window he noticed a knee jerk in the dying man. Quickly he opened his door and stepped down. His driver too stepped down immediately.

"He is alive" he exclaimed throwing his arms in the air, and before his driver could dissuade him he had begun to remove his Babariga.
His driver was frightened, and advised "Oga nobody will treat him, you know dem don ban Okada for this road"

"Dem ban am for Okada, but dem no ban am for love. If you were the one on the ground, what would you want me to do for you? Ehhn." Alhaji said

"But we will be late for the flight Oga" His driver begged

"Yes I understand" Alhaji replied, he looked at his watch and turned to the dying man. "But I can always catch another flight; this man here doesn’t have another life". He looked at his driver again and sensing the next question "even if he dies before we get to the hospital, we will know we did our own best"

They quickly rolled their sleeves, lifted up the man and put him on the back seat, and drove off with the urgency of an ambulance.

Ada’s heart was touched, her tears dropped finally. Alhaji's action was like sleeping on the cold side of a pillow, love had been rehopened. She wept continuosly; glad it was out of the show of love than the flow of blood. How was she to imagine that it would be a man of Alhaji's class that would make the difference?

I have enjoyed the poems posted here. Here is a poem I wrote in 2011 about Nigeria, it still seems relevant though


Unveiling the oppression wrapped in hope



If I cannot see through the wall then it is my flaw;

I alone may fall but someone might raise me up.

If we all cannot see beyond the wall then we all may fall;

Into the mud caused by the flood we allowed to flow.


If we see a snake and say it is a fake,

And hope (though in vain) that fake becomes vague,

Then rouges would remain in vogue,

Destiny mowers in the corridors of power,

Having their way while we debate our stake.



Why have we decided to wait till sons of men awake?

While they bloom from their selfish and unending stream of dreams.

Oh! They said we should not blow the whistle;

Yes! So we don’t burst the bubble;

Yet they blow their own trumpet,

Of puppet acclaimed success.



The one who stole our goods has now become our lord,

Brodas and Sistas, what have we been taken for?

Very intelligent morons led by mumus?

Ceasing to rebel even though we have a reason;

Waiting for the right time to say the truth,

As though truth like fruits now has its season.



Could it be because of God we fear? No,

Even the merciful God at his worst remains a righteous judge.

Then whom do we resemble that so easily we tremble?

Lily livered yet heavily built.

Our driver only knows the road to Egypt;

If we must reach Canaan we must take it personal.



With a pen, a gun, and our God; what else do we need to fight our cause?

A graph of opportunity versus convenience might never have a slope;

Neither do we need a telescope to know where to go.

Our pilgrimage to victory might not start so soon,

Until we embrace the truth even in our hood,

And with thistles burst all bubbles that have given us troubles.