By
YINKA FABOWALE
Instantly,
the inside of the bus became a bedlam as everyone scrambled to escape. The
first few to get out ran into the bush, but were hotly pursued by the bandits
who dragged them back dripping with blood from machete cuts and sword blows inflicted
by their captors. A middle- aged man, a nursing mother a girl, about 12 years
old, and I occupied the back seat and were the last to alight from the
ill-fated bus. I stepped into the waiting hands of two of the hoodlums who
repeatedly growled at each passenger as he disembarked: “Where’s the money,
where’s the money?”
By the time
it was my turn, I was no longer afraid as I was when the terrible drama began.
Waiting to disembark has afforded me a respite to come to terms with the
reality of the situation and cure me of my terror. Nevertheless, I was still a bit jittery and found myself stuttering
before the robbers: “Yes, yes, I get am for money, I go give you money” emptying
my pockets of the little cash on me and silently
praying that it satisfies them.
One of the
brutes greedily snatched the money with his grubby paws and roughly shoved me aside
to join those who went before me including the young girl and the nursing
mother, where they were made to sit on the bare floor by the roadside. While in
this position, I watched the gang ruthlessly beat up some of the caught male
passengers who had attempted to escape. The men begged and cried like babies as
their tormentors mercilessly and persistently hit them with cutlasses and
‘sanda’ (rods used by herdsmen), while dispossessing them of their money and
valuables.
Respite
came, only when there was nothing left to take from the victims.
Meanwhile,
some of the robbers went for our luggage in the booth of the vehicle, threw
them on the ground and busied themselves ransacking the bags and containers.
Where I sat
watching the pillage, I could see from their looks, mode of dressing and discussions
that our attackers were Fulani, some of whose less wild and itinerant kindred one
frequently encountered in urban markets or roving the rural parts of Oke Ogun.
I silently
prayed that I and other victims would not end getting killed or harmed by this
rapacious horde.
Shortly, we
heard the sound of a vehicle heading from the direction we came. Immediately,
the robbers retreated into the bush, but only few steps inward close to the
road enough to afforded them ample view of oncoming vehicles.
The vehicle drew
in sight. It was a private car with about three men inside. The robbers allowed
it to drive into the middle of the ambush before they struck. As was customary
in these parts, the travellers in the car, seeing only us (dejected victims)
beside the stationary bus, assumed it must have broken down and so slowed down
to inquire what was amiss and if they could help.
It was one
instance when playing the Good Samaritan could prove fatal! Like Coyotes, the
savages leapt out from hiding and attacked their latest preys with ferocity. One
of the men managed to escaped, but his two partners were not so lucky. The
hoodlums pounced on them, dealing them machete cuts and severe blows with the
rods, until they too ran in our direction to join us all the while shivering, crying
and bemoaning their misfortune.
As they took
their place beside those of us still whimpering and unsure of our next fate.
the flicker
of hope that had begun to glow in me that their arrival might somehow alter the
balance of power in this ‘detention camp’ in our favour died, giving way to
gloom and despair.
I resigned
to the looming prospect spending a long, lonely and uncertain night with the armed
robbers, who have in the meantime detailed some of their comrades-in-arms, to
stand guard over us, captives.
Shortly
after, we again heard in the distance an approaching scooter heading towards
Saki. As before, the hoodlums tactically hopped back inside the bush
strategically positioning themselves in such a way that foreclosed any chance
of escape by their unwary targets. In spite of my sorry strait, I couldn’t help
thinking what a horrendous waste these men were making of their skills and
talents. These could surely have earned them honour if deployed for soldiery
and defence of their fellow citizens instead of hunting them down like animals.
The
motorbike rider and his passenger, oblivious of lurking danger, were having a
lively chat as they rode towards the spot. They were already in the centre of
the trap, when one of them realised they were in danger and shouted: “Ha! Wo n
dana ni o (Ha! It’s highway robbery)”. But it was too late! Before he could
finish speaking the robbers had encircled them.
However, the
heartless bandits got what they did not bargain for. It so happened that one of
the two men on the Okada was a police officer and had a gun. A quick report
from his revolver shattered the stillness of the night forcing the hoodlums to
scamper in various directions, shouting some undecipherable words in their
language as they fled. The bullet hit one of the gangsters, who, staggered and
fell, groaning like a coward, as the cop aimed again and tried to shoot a second
time.
Unfortunately,
the gun failed to fire this time, making mere clicking sounds.
Noticing
this, the mob returned and assaulted the hapless policeman and his mate,
inflicting grievous bodily harm on them with their weapons. Some of the
ruffians went to lift their wounded colleague from where he lay. Blood dripped
from his hands and his crimson-drenched white robe as they gently led him
towards the bush for care.
While this
was going on, one of them walked up and ordered the little girl who sat next to
me to get up and follow him. I’d noticed he had been leering at this budding
flower of womanhood moments after he and a few others were detailed to monitor
and prevent our escape.
The
frightened girl, probably still a virgin, immediately went on her knees crying
and pleading with the beast to perish his obviously evil intention. Even in the
dim-lit night, I could see the part of his trousers about the groin bulging!
“Kam, kam
here!” he impatiently and menacingly called to the girl. Still sobbing, the
girl rose and obeyed as the robber led her a few distance away from us to
defile her.
It was the
most horrible part of my experience that night. Indignation filled me as I
watched the rogue unzip, roughly pushed the girl down to the bare floor and
tried to rape her right before us. I felt like taking on the bastard in a
fight, which, even if I could not win, could at least frustrate his heinous
plan. He was only slightly taller than me, although also much more muscular.
However, looking at other gang members reminded me daring such chivalry would
be suicidal. I sat, sullen and seething with impotent rage!
But just in
that moment a fully-loaded Peugeot 504 commercial station-wagon showed up on
the scene. It had almost reached the robbery scene before the armed robbers,
apparently distraught or distracted attending to their wounded colleague, could
muster a coordinated and tactical response to the new opportunity.
However, with
the full headlights of his ride on, the wagon driver was quick to survey the
situation and apprehend the immediate danger. Judging that suffering possible damage
to his car was better than the risk of being caught by the robbers, he pressed hard
on the throttle, sending the Peugeot racing forward like a devil and in the
process, dismantling the high stack of woods and stones used to block the road.
Another pall
of gloom enveloped the ‘camp’ as the rear lights of the vehicle disappeared
into the night. For us, victims, it was to mourn another chance of freedom slip,
but for the Fulani rogues, it was a quit notice! The escape of the motorist and
his passengers apparently upset their calculations and expectation of having a free
rein on the road all-night. They rightly feared that the escapees would alert
the town of their racket and mobilise a counter-attack.
In a jiffy
the scoundrels started to peel off their masks, calling out to one another as
they prepared to close shop. It was this unexpected development that
interrupted and saved the poor little girl from the randy devil before he had a
chance to satisfy his lust.
I didn’t
know how many of them there were, but I must have counted about eight of the
robbers as they hastily packed the loot and then congregated to plan their
escape. Although I didn’t understand a jot of what they were saying, their movements
and gestures, pointed at, to my great relief, an impending end to this horrific
ordeal.
Then the
nagging questions assaulted my peace: What would happen to us (the victims)
now? Would the robbers risk having us point their trail to our expected saviours
and security agents and suffer us watch as they go? The answers to the
questions which I stridently fought off my mind were ominous.
But, my
worries were soon addressed. Crowding towards us in a semi-circle formation,
the robbers unleased fresh terror, which, I suspected, might be to scare and disperse
or finish us off. I was the first to taste of this renewed cruelty and it came
from the man with the unrequited libidinous urge. The ogre detached from the
ring of his gang members, pulled his mask back on his face, raised a sturdy
‘sanda’ and landed a vicious blow on my skull. Instantly I saw millions of
twinkling, twinkling little stars in a meteoric rush. Then, they suddenly
disappeared into a dark void in a whirl! Just as I imagined I detected their glows gradually
making a come-back through a chink, the rod landed with a more devastating
impact. Feeling my head must have cracked, I heard a quiet voice bid me get up
on my feet. As I struggled to obey, I faintly saw the third blow rushing towards
me like Mighty Thor’s hammer and barely managed to fend it off with my two
arms.
The wailings
of my fellow victims who had come under similar cruel treatment by other
members of the syndicate told me to run.
I tried, but
could not get too far. The sky and the earth surfaces both rushed at me at the
same time, threatening to collapse into one and make me into a burger! Weak and
dizzy, I collapsed right there in the middle of the road, a short distance from
the armed robbers. But fearing that I would be killed by the bandits should
they meet me lying on their path and in the open I feebly rolled and crawled out
of the road a little inside the roadside bush, with my legs sticking out at the
edge, such that any passer-by could easily have noticed them.
When moments
later I heard the approaching footfalls of the hoodlums, it didn’t seem to
matter if they saw and killed me, as I felt moving another inch would equally have
achieved the same end.
But as luck
would have it, they merely hastened past, engrossed in agitated discussion and
oblivious of my “Judas’ feet”.
When they
were out of earshot, I turned on my back and faced the night sky. Its vast grey
sheet was puckered by some stars here and there. Many of their peers had,
probably scandalized or afraid to witness the horrible happening of the night, withdrawn
and hidden their faces. But some fireflies flitting or nestling on the plants
around me provided a luscent glow amid an orchestra of shrieking crickets that
intermittently broke the eerie silence of the night.
Again I felt
as if my head was being ripped apart as excruciating pains coursed through the
cranium to the neck region. I gingerly felt the centre and discovered there was
a swollen gash. Blood oozed from it. The smell and sight of the crimson moistened
fingers sent me into deep sentimental reflection.
I began to
worry: Was this where and how I would end it all? Like a video clip, memories
of my childhood, years of struggles to get educated up to post graduate level
and arduous efforts to build a career and make impact, my other aspirations and
beautiful promises of life, flashed before my gaze. Are all this going to be
wasted by the greed and inhumanity of some scoundrels? How about my family, my
mother, my wife? Would help ever come? Tears filled and glazed my eyes. I
allowed them roll freely as time kept ticking heightening the sense of
loneliness and abandonment in the middle of this jungle.
About 20
minutes in this state, I heard noises of people arriving in a convoy of
vehicles from the Saki end of road. They were members of the town’s vigilante
and National Union of Road and Transport Workers (NURTW), mobilised to confront
the marauders! I could hear them dismantle the barricade erected by the raiders
amid shouts of slogans and war songs. They called out to us victims to come out
of hiding. Some of us did, including those who escaped into the bush and were
never caught by the robbers. Our battle-ready ‘liberators’ obviously pining for
a showdown were disappointed at being deprived the chance of a clash with the
robbers on the spot. Some of them drove through the newly reopened road towards
Ago Are in chase of the invaders, intermittently asking: “Where are they? Where
did they go? Show us how they went?”
TO BE CONTINUED
