THE WORLD WAS SILENT.
A day before the Jos crisis erupt, When Pa Uchendu arrived home that gloomy evening, he was all drenched with blood.
It was sunset already when the riot began. Pa Uchendu was wounded; he smelled of dust and dried blood. He was bare footed, his clothes torn and his favorite face-cap was nowhere to be found. He was panting heavily, his face pale and he made that irking cry suppressed by pains and the uncertainty of a wounded man.
It was sunset and the Grayish dark cloud moved slowly, hovering over our heads as though it would befall us. Mama made soup, she didn't eat and papa was not hungry. He stood at the threshold of Pa Uchendu's room and watched his wife and two sons nurse his wound. He stood transfixed without a word as though he derived pleasure from the moans and cries of pain his friend went through that night. He then rushed to the room, brought his dagger and summoned all the men in the compound:
"We shall not sleep in our comfort while our enemy is about to strike. "
That night we all stayed awake until We woke up from our sleepless night to the uproarious cries and wails in the street.
" Dem don start Oh!" someone shouted. As though we were waiting for a signal, Mama gripped me while Papa had Nnamdi my younger brother on his back with his dagger. Everyone stormed out of the compound, Pa Uchendu and his sons sneaked from the backyard while papa sneaked us through the back window.
We got to Dada Street and St. Peter Catholic Church was already on fire. The street smelt of dank woods, lives and the smoke hovering the air didn't let us see the bodies littered in the street. Here and there, people ran. Everywhere was desolated. A group of hausa men appeared at one corner, armed with matchets , Dane guns and battered the young man running with a little girl. They staked, stabbed and thrusted him until he lay lifeless on the ground. His blood dripped iridescently on the ground.
Mama dragged me closely as we ran while papa was behind us with little Nnamdi. I was scared. The crackling sounds of burnt houses, cries and the body littered on the ground ached my spine. My legs were heavy and numb, my heart thumped heavily as though it was bulging out of my chest. The tightness of mama's grip was excruciating;she held me tightly as though my bones were crushing. She was not letting me go. We ran towards the Army barrack, at least, we could be safe. Pa Uchendu talked about going to the barrack before sneaking from the compound.
Suddenly, when we turned back, papa and Nnamdi was nowhere to be found!
Mama let a loud shrill cry lost in the echoes of noises in the street. She let go my hand as her wrapper fell on the ground. Mama cried all night in the barrack. The next morning mama insisted we look for papa. We couldn't find him until we went back home; papa lay on the ground. He was stabbed. The thick black blood that drip on the floor was already condensed. Mama fell to her knees, crying.
"Nna.. aa Nnam... " he stretched out to the big cupboard in the room, struggling for words."Your brother is in the cupboard," he managed to say, his breath sniffling through his nostrils. "Do not die in a battle you did not call."
After Nnamdi was brought out of the big cupboard, Papa was already dead. Mama cried, aloud but the world was silent.
Do you want more of Missa's story? Use the comment box to tell us.
*FRANKLIN MISSA* ✍✍✍
A day before the Jos crisis erupt, When Pa Uchendu arrived home that gloomy evening, he was all drenched with blood.
It was sunset already when the riot began. Pa Uchendu was wounded; he smelled of dust and dried blood. He was bare footed, his clothes torn and his favorite face-cap was nowhere to be found. He was panting heavily, his face pale and he made that irking cry suppressed by pains and the uncertainty of a wounded man.
It was sunset and the Grayish dark cloud moved slowly, hovering over our heads as though it would befall us. Mama made soup, she didn't eat and papa was not hungry. He stood at the threshold of Pa Uchendu's room and watched his wife and two sons nurse his wound. He stood transfixed without a word as though he derived pleasure from the moans and cries of pain his friend went through that night. He then rushed to the room, brought his dagger and summoned all the men in the compound:
"We shall not sleep in our comfort while our enemy is about to strike. "
That night we all stayed awake until We woke up from our sleepless night to the uproarious cries and wails in the street.
" Dem don start Oh!" someone shouted. As though we were waiting for a signal, Mama gripped me while Papa had Nnamdi my younger brother on his back with his dagger. Everyone stormed out of the compound, Pa Uchendu and his sons sneaked from the backyard while papa sneaked us through the back window.
We got to Dada Street and St. Peter Catholic Church was already on fire. The street smelt of dank woods, lives and the smoke hovering the air didn't let us see the bodies littered in the street. Here and there, people ran. Everywhere was desolated. A group of hausa men appeared at one corner, armed with matchets , Dane guns and battered the young man running with a little girl. They staked, stabbed and thrusted him until he lay lifeless on the ground. His blood dripped iridescently on the ground.
Mama dragged me closely as we ran while papa was behind us with little Nnamdi. I was scared. The crackling sounds of burnt houses, cries and the body littered on the ground ached my spine. My legs were heavy and numb, my heart thumped heavily as though it was bulging out of my chest. The tightness of mama's grip was excruciating;she held me tightly as though my bones were crushing. She was not letting me go. We ran towards the Army barrack, at least, we could be safe. Pa Uchendu talked about going to the barrack before sneaking from the compound.
Suddenly, when we turned back, papa and Nnamdi was nowhere to be found!
Mama let a loud shrill cry lost in the echoes of noises in the street. She let go my hand as her wrapper fell on the ground. Mama cried all night in the barrack. The next morning mama insisted we look for papa. We couldn't find him until we went back home; papa lay on the ground. He was stabbed. The thick black blood that drip on the floor was already condensed. Mama fell to her knees, crying.
"Nna.. aa Nnam... " he stretched out to the big cupboard in the room, struggling for words."Your brother is in the cupboard," he managed to say, his breath sniffling through his nostrils. "Do not die in a battle you did not call."
After Nnamdi was brought out of the big cupboard, Papa was already dead. Mama cried, aloud but the world was silent.
Do you want more of Missa's story? Use the comment box to tell us.
*FRANKLIN MISSA* ✍✍✍
