"I used to pride myself on my travels and the experience I got on those journeys. So during the loooooooooooooong holidays, no thanks to one of those ineffective, indefinite ASUU strikes, I decided to pay my friend a visit. And go I went. To a place where I would meet my end.
Unbeknownst to me, there had been a robbery in that neighbourhood a few days prior to my, what I can now call, ill-advised visit - - and agitated folks were on the lookout for strange faces. So I tried to locate the address I had with me, as the bloody network wouldn't let my call through.
Before I could ask for directions however, I was accosted by two hefty, indigenous guys who aggressively tried to snatch my bag to purportedly search it. Civilians like myself fa. I stated my mission in the area and showed them that I only had a laptop and two pieces of clothing in there. Then they started asking absurd questions like could they be sure it wasn't stolen.
One of them, for no apparent reason at all, decides to bless me with the unfortunate approbative thief. As if on standby, a throng of angry-looking bastards appear with pseudo weapons, with clear intent to pounce on me in seconds. I pleaded with them to let me explain myself - - a gesture that they took as a stonewall admission of guilt on my part.
One of those big, burly guys attempted to strike me across the face. I blocked it but did not retaliate. Instead I resolutely tried to make my point. If only I'd known! They thought the blocking was a sign of disrespect towards a 'strong man' in their neighbourhood. So they conveniently chose to ignore the pertinent question of me being/not being a thief...and they decided to 'teach him a lesson'.
Fighting with one person is one thing, getting beat by a mob is another. Blows rained on me from clubs and various pieces of remorseless metal. At that point, young educated chaps like myself tried out moves they'd only seen in movies and video-games. They struck me.
They poked me. My skin was pierced.
My soul; the very essence of my being, was weakened as I became blinded in one eye.
What housed my teeth was by then, a masticated bloodied gum of bone and sinew. I couldn't speak, I could only make gestures in my head.
I wanted to tell them that the poor network wouldn't let my call through. I wanted to tell them that I'm the first child of my parents. I wanted to tell them that I was gonna return home to help my little sister draw a skeleton in her cardboard. I wanted to tell them that I was gonna dry-clean my mama's clothes. I was going to tell them that...that..
I wanted to scream that I was one of them. I did. I wanted to scream that I'm Nigerian too. I wanted to tell them that being young isn't a function of one's propensity to perpetrate a crime. I wanted to tell them that I wasn't a thief. I wanted to tell them that I had dreams of building a library in my village. I wanted to tell them that I had no problem dying -- I just didn't want to be killed like a sewer rat.
A lingering last look at the women, and men, beating, and watching, informed me of the vanity of trying...not that I could anyway. Blood trickled into my eyes and i couldn't even scratch . I looked up one last time to see a thick metal rod making its way to my head.
Just like that...I became dead. My soul fled to a world beyond this one; to get a panoramic view of things from above. To watch how perverts with blood-filled fetishes who could've opted to not partake, to stop the madness, instead stood there -- with glee; recording the event -- with glee. I watched as some cringed at the gory sight of my once fresh body, and as some spewed 'serves him right' while talking business at a fly-ridden bar.
I could only wonder why I was born in the first place if that's how I had to go. My part is played though, and when all is said and done; I feel sorry for the lot of you."
And it was ever thus.
--->>>@Captaincue
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