A SEASON I WAS BRAVE

A SEASON I WAS BRAVE By Elvis Arthur Eghosa

Ade lay on the tarred road of Ojodu Berger, almost motionless, barely able to move or speak. Blood covered the ground underneath him and more, slowly flowed out of the multiple machete cuts on his head and upper arm.

With the last ounce of strength in him and with eyes almost fully closed, he turned to take a look at the young girl that lay motionless beside him. She lay still on the bare ground as she fought to remain on this side of the thin line between life and death.
The same fight I fought.

Her breath was thin and wearing out.
Just then, a loud scream pierced through the deserted Ojodu Berger like metal scratching on glass!
“Someone help!” And then another and another and in a matter of minutes, passersby and motorists, started to gather in their numbers.

Storried A Season I was brave

“Ritualists! I saw them! They were on a bike!” She screamed!
Even as he laid on the cold bare Ojodu Beger ground in his thick pool of blood, battling for life, he could hear the onrushing sounds of footsteps; the screeching sounds of tyres as vehicles made abrupt stops.
“They were kidnappers! I saw everything.”
Waves after waves of phone camera lights flashed through his slightly parted eye lids; shutter sounds from the camera filled his ears like cargo trains on tracks as the gory scene became a paparazzi contest with Ade and the young girl the celebrities.
Voices chorused; like a swarm of bees humming, the voices found their way into his ears.

The number of onlookers grew, the flashes and shutter sound increased, the chorus of voices got louder, blood still poured out of the open cuts. Ade, in pains, muttered silent prayers. For himself and the young girl that laid beside him.
“Someone should please call 112 now, Haba!” A passerby thundered, his words powering through, dividing every sound around.
Everywhere became silent. It was as if everyone came to their senses.
Just then, from the crowd came a murmur, “And I don’t have credit o, I would have called. Someone that has credit should call now.”
Someone argued besides him, “Oga, it is free. I’m not with my phone at the moment, I would have called.”
“Haba; Oga! The one you were using to snap just a few seconds ago, is it a torchlight? Nigerians ehn.”

“Hello! Is anyone there? Can you hear me?” A feminine voice in the crowd said, with her phone on one side of her face.
“There is an emergency!”
“Yes!”
“I think ritualists.”
“Two of them; a young girl and a man of average age.”
“I don’t know if they are still alive but they aren’t moving and there is a lot of blood.”
“Ojodu Berger, beside Mr. Biggs.”
There was a long pause.
“Okay. Thank you,” she ended the call.

As Ade lay there, he imagined how the events in the last hour had unfolded.
He could have decided to do nothing. But the screams as she struggled on the bike as the two fierce looking men tried carting away with her; they were hard to ignore.
He had made a darting run, determined to give it everything he got. He was able to pull her off the bike, but not without three severe machete cuts to his head and upper arm.
How they had managed to get away.
How he has managed to stay alive till this moment.
The deafening sound of sirens was the last thing Ade heard before he passed out.
My name is Adeoluwa Ibukun; a season I was brave.

image source: The Guardian Nigeria

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A SEASON I WAS BRAVE

By Elvis Arthur Eghosa

Ade lay on the tarred road of Ojodu Berger, almost motionless, barely able to move or speak. Blood covered the ground underneath him and more, slowly flowed out of the multiple machete cuts on his head and upper arm.

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