My 'Wukari' experience!

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The journey was not as pleasurable as I thought it would be; the roads are still very bad as they’ve always been. But going back to the North was like a stole away for me, so I savoured it despite the stress. The open deserted lands are gearing up for the raining season and the baobabs still stand in surveillance over its vast expanse. I love the North, I can’t totally say with a passion.

The change in scenery, weather and topography has always mirror life for me; life is good wherever it places you. As I took in the almost empty but beautiful sight, I saw a herd of cow and instantly felt ‘nunu’ in my mouth. The thought of 'fura da nunu' in a big bowl with kankara and my ‘abokis’ seated in a semi-circle on a mat thrilled me and I wished the driver would throttle harder as we approached the city.

The weathered sign that welcomed us to the ancient town doesn’t look familiar anymore, the road however does; they are as thick as the Petroleum Trust Fund. The people I see around do not look very familiar. I had known almost everybody in town when I was here for almost 5years, they are my people. Except for few, most of the people I saw do not spark any memory. Time changes yesterday, the new governor must have fulfilled his electoral promises, the roundabout had gone even further into town, it was about 5 minutes drive from arrival to the town, but we've drove for about 20 minutes and it was not in sight. Then I realised something was amiss! 

There appeared to be an accident or something chaotic happening in the town, our driver matched the break suddenly and made frantic effort to turn the vehicle around like other commuters.

 "What's happening?" we all asked simultaneously and my heart began to race. 

One of the commuters coming from the city centre urged us on saying "go back, they are killing people". 

"who, why, where?" I asked all to myself as I became aware of people around me in the bus. Could the fight be religious? if yes which religion will I claim? I am a christian but my abokis call me Abdul. If sectorial, I'm doomed because my Hausa is grossly inefficient and is laden with heavy Yoruba accent. And Lagos is about 1000 km away. Mo gbe!

As we were trying to navigate through town, off the main road, I started noticing smoke rising from not too far away and people running and screaming for help. All the environment looked very unfamiliar, I must have boarded a wrong bus... other passengers in the bus kept urging the driver to keep driving to safety, but the more we go the dangerous it tended to become, we started hearing gun shots as more houses went up in flames. 

We came across a little road block and I knew the end was almost near. A young man with several matchet cut rushed into the street and fell down bleeding, his afflictors were close-by chasing with matchets and guns. A man from our bus jumped down and ran into one of the houses, I was transfixed and scared and joined the call for the driver to run faster but the pits on the road wouldn't allow for a faster speed. I wanted to pee, I could smell death and I was scared.

As we were about leaving the street and negotiating a bend that led to an adjoining street we had a gunshot too loud not to have hit me. The shot was aimed at our vehicle and it shattered the glass beside me and the bullet sank silently into the head of the Mallam seated beside me next to the glass. His prayer bead hung loosely on his index finger as his bloodied head dropped on my shoulder. 

The driver made the turn just in time to avoid the second shot and we were on a deserted road. The women in the bus were wailing and some of the men were screaming at the driver to stop, some were enraged and others, including me, were scared to death. I've never been that close to dieing. 

I wanted to ascertain where I was so I could call my people. I looked around for a signpost and saw a dilapidated wall with the inscription "LEA Wukar". I was not sure whether the last letter was 'r' or 'n'. But, before I could decipher which, we arrived at a roadblock manned by some youth dressed for war with guns, machete, and charms. At the sight, my pants went cold. They stopped our vehicle and asked us to file out.

"He's one of them" one of the youth shouted pointing at the man before me. 

A big blow to his head with the butt of the gun and the accused laid sprawled on the road, dead. 

I fainted!

I heard the familiar whistle of my Samsung phone and I woke up sweating. I laid still for a while trying to take in my surrounding and I realised I was on my bed alone. I reached for the phone and checked the message, it was from my editor.

"Yinka will you be willing to go to Wukari in Taraba state to cover the story there? The cost will be covered"

Then everything fell into place, I was in Wukari in my dream. I've not replied his e-mail till today. I'm still sundrying my matress, it must have been too much of sweat or could I have peed?