To the North Again

by Ezenwa Obumneme Ugochukwu

Two weeks after the family buried our mother, and the letter of resignation sent to the Cam’ Herald was approved; I got another manila envelope besides the one whose content wished me well in my career ahead.  The letter came from Miriam querying why I decided to quit my job. She was disappointed and was the only colleague of mine who wrote to me from my former workplace. Candidly I wasn’t surprised, given that the moment I wrote my address on the upper right side of my resignation I knew she was going to write back.

“Merde!”

 “Nothing happens in this outfit without her busy-self knowing.” I remember hearing a frustrated worker complain of Miriam’s energy.

Neither did her letters which came for weeks and Days of long persuasions, intimidation and invitation by family members do anything to alter my resolve about returning to work, again weakening the family’s conjecture that I was recalcitrant and nothing would change my mold-heart.

“Perhaps you’ll for once do away with these ornamental ears and demonstrate obedience for your dead mother’s sake.” An uncle of mine vented his frustration.

“After all said and done I was determined to seek a new life and travel north.” I remember saying to the group comprising of my brothers and a few men I knew shared common bloodline with me, three women tried to make the meeting appealing by putting the paltry remains the house could afford as refreshment to our faces.

“The north is not safe for anyone from here” my elder brother said, though he had a week ago attended a screening to be reabsorbed into the army. I must have been very provoking when I asked him why he had to go for the exercise if he never believed in the peace extended to those of them that defected into the ‘sunrise army’ during the war.

Chima maintained a disturbing silence, one that could be interpreted as the reverence he had for both of us- his older brothers. He had been through a lot with our mother during the war; her death took a toll on him. He was her pet and  last son; It was affirmed by neighbours that it was for her own  protection that he joined the hurriedly put-together last defense when federal troops were two miles from our village. 

“An Emir was in Onitsha only two days ago, and has assured our people in trade that it was safe to return. He is touched by our plight and have demonstrated in no little way that he is a great friend of ours” I made all diversions and excuses to make them see reasons to consent my accepting to work for the People’s Journal in Kaduna. An opening I secured from meeting the Chief-Editor of the newspaper during the Onitsha visit of the Emir.

“You can never be too sure…our people are just tired of the fighting and as much as the federal government wants, we desire peace” Chima broke his worrying silence; he was a good kid and a favourite amongst family members since childhood. The position he ascended into in his brief action during the fighting helped put squabbles to the intense affairs starvation had with the entire clan; dissonances with poverty, hunger and worst of all fear were however similar to the dividends the community enjoyed from having a son who worked with a high ranking officer in the military, two other boys we were told worked in Relief Centre in the neighbouring village close to the enclaves’ airports.  

Months later when the division Chima was in, went out on a full assault on federal troop, he was feared dead when some of its units retreated back into our village. Mother and our sister had to move into the Red Cross post in the community elementary school, six days before strange soldiers reached our village headed by a well-fed Major with a funny looking thick moustache which lined the upper lip of his handsome face.

He was as I investigated one of the officers that occupied one of the top floor rooms in Ikoyi lodge: the hotel I stayed in when I first arrived from Cameroun with the other press delegate.

Providentially he was in my village by the time I settled after mother’s burial, occupying one of the carved-in shambles in a heavily guarded refuge which his Lieutenants had turned into temporary barrack and a capitulation centre for rebels. He was sure going to be a big story for me, so I came to the military camp of about two hectares partially fenced with heavy military trucks and armed men. His office which served as both his division’s provisional headquarters and his bedroom was jerrybuilt with tarpaulin roof and where the walls of the bullet ridden structure had fallen off was lined with azana.

After many turn downs and persistence, I finally met with the camera-shy gentleman: asked a few questions and few photo shots. I was short staffed and had asked a sergeant to snap us. That officer who took our photos was simply an idiot. No offences: I asked him if he knew how to handle a camera and he affirmed with a smile that touched both ears, and two quick nods. The pictures came out ‘bad’: out of the three shots he took; none had me and the Major. I was either without him or he was without me. And the third was deliberate; he took up two privates smiling mischievously behind us. Worst of all, the camera became a shadow of its former self after his handling. It never worked again.  The damaged camera was one of the reasons why I had to quit my job: I had no proof that I was working while I was in the country, that gadget was expensive and the only leverage on my job with the ‘Cam Herald’. It might have been the Major’s orders for me to lose that camera. I can’t tell. One would never know the fiddles khaki men are used to.

“Press people say untrue things with photos…” The Major had initially protested when I held the camera against him.

“…Give it to him,” he poked his walking stick to the sergeant.

“Sir, our papers do always report objectively from every side” I protested.

“President Ahmadou Ahidjo was instrumental to the end of the war, and I think that is why you’re getting attention from me…honestly! I tell you!!” he said to me after our meeting.

 I simply smiled, admiring his straightforwardness.

“Did you fire a gun in the war?” I noticed the question was meant to remind me that I was somewhat in a military barrack and a civilian, and not push the freeness I was enjoying. It came from another officer, who I suspected was the second major or probably a captain, he was by all joviality close to the major, he didn’t wear his camo and wasn’t chided.

“I was in Cameroun all the time of the war” I said for the umpteenth time.

“right now, I’m just imagined you in the war among the rebels wielding guns and coming against my troop…”, the Major busted into a hearty laughter, all the toughness he had shown initially in our talk washed out of him in those seconds his hilarity lasted.

“Ol’boy, you for suffer”, you would have suffered. He mocked.

I laughed too.

“Thank your God, you were in Cameroun”, his commanding officer ventured, as my eyes consumed him in one quick sweep with hatred.

Although he might have been joking, but it was far-too-much a joke for a man whose mother he hadn’t seen for eleven years had suffered and died, his sister too and his race hardly surviving on account of a civil war. And he had tried to intimidate me earlier.

“you might want to consider coming to the north, maybe you can build your career from either of the two new newspaper house that opened there during the war” I heard a voice behind me when I approached the exit gate, it was that of Mallam  Abdulkadir yassim, we had met in Onitsha during the Emir’s visit, he was the Chief- Editor of the ‘Northern people Journal’. He said that if I wanted I could travel with him in the company official car.

“I have to discuss with my family,” I said to his disappointment, he had expected me to make a conclusion on our next meeting.

 I promised him to be in Kaduna in a few days.

“We’ll be expecting you, the service of a young man like you will be appreciated.” Abdulkadir said, as he climbed the wooden steps that led into the office of the Major.

...to be continued.

Ezenwa Obumneme Ugochukwu is a Writer and Author of The Land is an Orphan. He tweets @EzenwaUgochukwu