Ok, let me tell you how it all happened. I needed to do something that'll make me have an encounter with a soldier and it has to be something daring, so I decided it's best I wear an army camouflage shirt and move on to the road. So that was how I started wearing the camo and it seemed I was not going to meet military men but alas! My luck came a week later, precisely on a Friday. It was a day where worshippers flocked in their numbers to the RCCG Holy Ghost Night, and as expected there was traffic jam along the Lagos/Ibadan expressway. Ahead were the soldiers on patrol controlling the traffic. And there I sat patiently in the cab I boarded with my camo, ready to face the devil.
I poked my head out the cab and leaned out without fear. In fact, I almost stuck my whole body out of the cab window. Luckily, one of then spotted me.
'Hey you!', he said pointing to me.
'Shut up!', I answered bluntly.
'Ehn, me shut up? You get liver o. Oya come down', he said furiously.
This was my opportunity. I came down and for a second felt blood rushing in my head. He tried to drag me, but I resisted and then with all boldness, vigour and alacrity, my arm swung and my palm collided with his bony face at a high velocity. Heads turned. Eyes rolled. Tongues wagged. Goosebumps covered my body. I was unsure if I was elated or I was scared. "Is this me?"
The man's face transformed in a flash. He looked at me as an Israeli soldier would look at an Iranian soldier stranded in an Israeli camp. He quickly swung his gun to the back and with his two metallic hands, he clapped on my ears twice."Kpoka Kpoka" was what I heard. 'What is your name?', he asked.
'My name is ...'
Before I could answer, I heard "Kpoka Kpoka" again. It was another round of his double slaps (it's actually clapping).
I shouted and I saw his mouth move. He said something but his voice was drowned in the thousands of bells ringing in my head. If that's the way they slap in the barracks, I don't think any soldier should be hearing by now.
'Errr?....', I managed to voice out.
He quickly signalled other men who stumped down there and dragged me into their van.
I was driven to the barracks and dragged like an exceptionally stubborn goat to the guardroom. It is better to step on your father's iPhone X and receive beating than to be dragged under such conditions. After what seemed like hours of dragging, kicking with iron clad boots and flogging with wires, we finally reached the guardroom. On reaching there, I saw a large warehouse with heavy gates like the size of gates that should prevent a nuclear attack from one of the inmates.
They opened the door and I saw what could be described as hungry lions very happy to find prey. I had heard a lot of stories about how stronger prison inmates treat the weaker ones. Oh, my heart sank. Flashes of scenes from Prison Break clouded my mind. I could literally see T-Bag cheering for these hungry lions to pounce on me. More so, I began remembering all the times I said unkind words and how my pastor used to preach seriously against them. I remembered how the pastor used to sweat when preaching about hell fire.
'My friend move!', a soldier said as he generously gave me a resetting slap.
'Blood of Nebuchadnezzar...", I yelled out out in pain. 'Shut up!', he replied. 'Nebuchadnezzar dey fight army man? Abi the guy die for your sins?' he continued. 'Oya move!', he shouted.
I started confessing my sins because the way I saw it, the probability of returning alive is fluctuating from around zero to minus ten percent. Oh, and I forgot to tell you that I was stripped to my boxers. Well, I can tell you that is not the nicest thing especially when you're going to receive some flogging.
Inside the guardroom, I started to pray with more fervency. The odour oozing out is enough to destroy your nasal cavity. As a matter of fact, anybody who stays there for some time gets accustomed to the smell in such a way that you start to obtain nutrients from it. In there was an epic collection of dead rats and lizards most of which were half-rotten. It seems that's what the inmates hunt for leisure. The floor was concrete floored, dirty and muddy. One side of the room was lined with buckets for urinating and defaecating. Here, insects and human beings took turns to torture us.
Suddenly I heard a soldier shouted: 'Number one! Do your work!'. I wondered what work the guy was going to do. Was he going to add to the rat collection?
'Number two!', shouted one of the inmates
'Number three!', said another and another, 'Number four!'
Seriously, is this really happening? Looks like they also crack jokes in the guardroom? If this is how guardrooms are, I wouldn't mind slapping a few more officers, I thought to myself.
The calling of numbers continued till the ninth person. Being the eleventh inmate, I was expecting the tenth inmate to say 'Number eleven' so I can join in the weird joke by saying "number twelve". To my surprise, I received a slap instead. A bloody one. I was still filled with confusion when he ordered me to hang my feet on the wall and stand on my hands. I looked at a soldier and he gave me that kind of look that says, 'Are you not listening?'
I quickly obeyed and the next thing that followed was a spank on my back. It felt like it was done with logs of wood. I screamed as my hands quivered bashing my forehead on the concrete floor. My vision became blurry. I began to hear strange sounds. I saw death smiling and beckoning me. 'Welcome man', he said when I finally recovered. His tone was so friendly that one would never think he was the one torturing me. Another inmate immediately ordered me to hang again. This time, he had a pressing iron on his hands. As he moved closer to me with the hot iron, I ran for my life, but it was useless: the cable of the iron was so long that no matter how far you ran, it would always reach the other end of the cell. I couldn't imagine the iron touching my body, so I fought back, but I was restrained by the other inmates. I cried for the soldiers to help me, but they just stood aside laughing and enjoying the whole show.
Suddenly, the hot iron landed on my back. I screamed so loud and woke up sweating profusely. So it was only a dream? I searched the whole room for the soldiers and the inmates, but couldn't find any one of them. It wasn't until my roommate ran to the room that reality finally dawned on me. Oh, it was only a dream. A bad dream. Thank goodness it was a nightmare.
Guys, don't pull stunts with military men, especially the ones in Nigeria. Trust me when I say those guys are brutal. Lol
#FlashFiction
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