#behind the scenes - 1

            I woke up with a throbbing headache on the 12th of October 2020. It was 4am in the morning, the crescent moon was still visible under the fluffy clouds. A shy glowing orb, a twilight shade. I had this premonitory feeling it was about to rain soon, but I wasn’t sure. Something stirred me up, I was uncertain about what woke me, but I knew something did. I reached for my phone, knocking down few contents on the bed counter, before getting it. I dabbed softly on the screen twice, and the screen’s luminous surfaced glowed duly on my face. I had two missed call from my friend, Ebuka. The phone call must have been what had woken me up. Isn’t it a bit early for this? What could Ebuka possibly want, I thought inwardly to myself. Somewhere across the street, I heard shouts and screams, bottles rolling off the pavement, metals clanking against metal. I sat up lazily in bed, the frame squeaking in protest under my weight. I rubbed my eyes absent-mindedly, stiffed a yawn and was starting to redial Ebuka’s number when I heard a gunshot. It was vague, indistinct, but I know what a gunshot sounds like. In the streets of Port-Harcourt, you hear these things very often.

            Is this protest still ongoing? These youths are resilient. I chuckled. Very resilient during tribulations. And for what cause? I grinned foolishly. As you have noticed, I am one of the people who believed that standing in the street, under the sultry sun, and waving a banner in a senseless parade, yelling ingloriously without a positive result is for a lost cause. What is the point if our voices won’t be listened to, or even heard? We are fighting for a lost cause, the government won’t end SARS, the brutalities won’t stop, the reformation of the police unit is an obvious sham. We have been on this since lord knows when, why is now any different? Little did I know I was about to get a waking call. I was about to discover the power, unity and voice of the youth.

            Ebuka’s phone rang for the fourth time that day without him picking up. What is going on? Did something happen to Ebuka? It was so unlike Ebuka to leave his phone unattended to. Deciding to fight the urge of checking social media platforms, and being informed, I went back to bed. After-all what was I going to find online? A couple of clowns dressed up to stand under the sun, shouting for a reformation they know might never be. I chuckled again, and with that thought floating in limbo in my mind, I went to bed, a stupid smile engraved on my face.

            I woke up to wails and cries from people outside my doorstep. Another dead person? Probably yes. That happened very much. I went outside, and sure enough a crowd stood before me, they seem to be concentrated on someone sprawled awkwardly on the floor. Bottles and shards of broken glasses littered the street. I couldn’t get a clear view, but I saw a jet-stream of blood, trailing its way to a drainage system. A tap on my shoulder made me jolt around in a frantic manner. It was Aisha, an old friend of mine. Aisha was an eyesore. She had a face full of contusions. Her left eye was barely open, the swelling under it concealed it. Aisha was sobbing softly. Her clothes were stained with what looked like blood and tore in several places. I noticed she was bleeding slightly in-between her thighs.

            Aisha, what happened, are you okay?’ She sobbed even more, crying and shaking her head to and fro, emphasizing her point. ‘What happened I questioned again?’ Although I had a hint about what might have happened, but I was too scared to even think about it. I didn’t want to conclude, it was too early, and uncertain. Was she raped? I thought. ‘They killed Ebuka’, she said in-between sobs, cutting my thoughts off. ‘He was harmless and unarmed, yet they opened fire on us.’ She sobbed heavily now, trembling as she did. ‘We ran for safety, I had Ebuka’s phone with me, I tried calling you twice, but you did not pick up.’ ‘I had the whole thing on camera, so they chased me down the street, caught up with me and raped me.’ I winced as she narrated her ordeal to me painfully, and amidst tears. She stopped several times, sniffing, and coughing. I could not even start to think the pain she must be going through right now, the traumatic feeling she was going to have afterwards. Anger I have never felt before caught up with me like a tidal wave. I felt hate in my chest. It bored its way through my veins, eating away any love I had for the police and SARS and replacing in its place loathe for federal bodies.

            I quickly strutted to where Ebuka’s body lay cold on the floor. Trepidation hung on my throat like the Adam’s apple. I was too afraid of what I might see. Upon arrival, I saw Ebuka in a puddle on his own blood, his blood now congealed from exposure to air.

            Staring down at him, I held back the tears trying to force their way through my eyes, or the feeling of throwing up. A neat hole could be seen at the center of Ebuka eyes, and two more could seen at the lower side of his abdomen. Ebuka eyes were open. They looked shocked, sad and cold. The bullet must have caught him unaware. I dropped down to him, crying, asking God to intervene and help my friend, but he did not sprung to life, or gasped for breath. His body still felt cold on my hands, the formidable smell of copper was still drifting above him. The pungent stench of death. The smell of blood.

            Oga, you sabi am?’ A voice said behind me. I ignored at first. ‘Bros, you dey hear me?’ I turned back to the voice behind me, it was a middle-aged man, probably in his late twenties. ‘Yes, I know him.’ I managed to rasp out. ‘He was my friend.’ ‘No vex chairman, call his parents, make them know of he situation.’ He continued. ‘Very soon his body will be deposited in the mortuary.’ I nodded. He walked away, yelling, ‘ENDSARS! ENDSARS! ENDSARS! ENDSARS!’ His voice fading into oblivion.

            Seated there on the floor, I reached for my phone and called Ebuka’s mother. The phone rang twice, then she picked up on the third ring.

‘Samuel, how are you?’ I braced myself for impact, cleared my throat and answered her coolly. ‘I am fine, ma, how is everything?’ My voice was shaking slightly, but she couldn’t discern it.

‘Everything is fine, Sam. Sam have you heard from Ebuka today?’

I suppressed the urge to cry out. I didn’t want to surprise her with any sudden emotional outburst, she might pass out from the shock.

‘Sam are you there? Ebuka didn’t come home last night, he was out protesting. Did he call you, he told me he was going to sleep at your side, is all well?’

‘Mummy, mummy I am sorry ma..’ I started out weakly, ‘Ebuka was murdered yesterday night while protesting, he was shot several times.’


What followed next came as a quick blur to me. She screamed loudly, her voice stabbing my heart sorrowfully, I tried to comfort her, but I couldn’t. I heard other voices in the background, inquiring what happened, but then the call was disconnected abruptly. The sorrow in her voice was still a constant resonance inside of my head. The agony she felt. Her son deprived from her by a law enforcement body that was suppose to protect him.

Sitting beside his body, my eyes travelled across the street, taking in an aerial view of unfortunate events, and misfortune. Aisha was hunkered down beside a semi-truck, a melancholic look frozen on her face, a woman walking beside her was crying, a deep laceration on her temple. I could still see dry blood on the floor, flies buzzing ferociously around it. The whole scene was an eyesore. The aftermath of police brutality! How could all this happen in a single night and I wasn’t aware? If I had joined the protest, maybe, just maybe I could have made a little difference. Maybe Ebuka would still be alive today. I sighed. Perhaps the only way to make sure Ebuka’s death wasn’t in vain was to protest and make my voice heard. Stand for my right, and do the right thing. Seek justice in an unjust world.
Nobody knows who is next. 
Could be you.
Could be your brother.
Could be your friend.
The only way through this tribulation is to be strong and united.
I learnt that the hard way, and I don't want that mistake to repeat itself.
Fight for your right.

#FIGHTFORYOUR RIGHT.

#ENDPOLICEBRUTALITY.

#ENDSARS.

#ENDSWAT.