Scathed

War was something that I had never experienced but read in novels and textbooks. I had read about wars like The Vietnam War, US Independence War, The World Wars(I and II) and other wars that had earlier occurred in countries of the world. War had always sounded alien to me and like things that were not pertinent to my country and a thing only practised in other countries. I saw my country as being a country that would never for anything engage in bad blood which will result to her going into a war or anything that looked like war.

Not until someday, a section of the country seceeded and declared themselves an ‘Independent Country Of Their Own’. Not until then, the bad blood began to simmer. That section of the country that seceeded happened to be my region alongside some other section of the country who were in line with the ideas and clamour we sought through our secession.

My people, alongside the other section of the country who joined us in the secession had come under a “name” and saw themselves as being ‘sovereign’. These section of the country who joined us in the secession happened to be our neighbours who had values, tradition and clamours akin to ours. This came as a joy expectant of since. For years my people had longed for the day they will be declared a sovereign country. My people had claimed they had “no say” in the way the government of the country was run and needed to break away and form a ‘Sovereign country’ of theirs. The declaration of our independence on Ozurumba TV by our leader put everyone bristling in joy. My relatives and other villagers of Umuchukwu — my hometown were all agog in joy. Persons blew the drums, children ran around in the frenzy—even though they didn’t actually know what was happening. Fathers merried as they rallied in the Obi of Nwakamma the village head drinking to the popular palm wine of Obidike the popular palm wine tapper freshly tapped the day before. The women were not left out of the merriment as they danced to the Atilogwu dance in merriment of the news. I was barely 13 years at this time and I was a bit confused amidst the joy that was written on my kith and kin faces and actions. Phone calls had began to come in on the phone-in programme on Ozurumba Fm. The persons who called couldn’t hold their joy as they “thanked” our leader for actualizing this “dream”. A woman who called in the Phone-in Programme couldn’t help in her joy as she burst into tears of joy. The day was filled with merriment throughout the ‘secessive regions’ and most especially Umuchukwu my village which happens to be the richest but yet smallest of the 12 clans of Umuirinabuo. Most families killed their fattest fowls and goats in celebration of the news. Mazi Anyanwu, the richest man and the biggest yam farmer in Umuchukwu killed five goats and ten fowls to celebrate the news. My daddy had ordered my mother Nwanyi Uju, to kill and roast the biggest goat — he preferred roasted meat; and bring it to where him, Mazi Okeke, Mazi Ochiedike, and Ejiriji— the man known for his drinking pedigree, sat drinking Obidike’s palmwine at his Obi. This was how agog in merriment everyone was.

Our leader Major Gen. Ifeanyi Emeka had declared the State as the ‘Federal Republic Of Bassam’. It was to stay sovereign from the ‘Federal Republic Of Nisara’. The flag of Bassam was hoisted half in the air in celebration of the Independence.
No sooner after the declaration of Independence than the Head of state of Nisara declared a war against our nascent independent country of Bassam. No sooner after the declaration by the Head of State, the unseen, the unfathomable, unprecedented and unheard began to happen. Pogrom was meted out on the people of Bassam who stayed in the northern part of Nisara. Most of them had their heads chopped off, had their chest riddled by bullets and some had their eyes plucked out from it’s socket with machete. Pregnant women were raped and disemboweled before being killed. Mazi Anyanwu’s eldest son who was schooling at the Northern part of Nisara had his manhood sliced into tiny parts and his two hands cut before they ran their knives into him. They kept being killed in their hundreds and thousands and were railed to the capital city of Bassam in their dead bodies.

Thiscame as a shock to our leader which piqued him to the very marrow. The first step by him was to draft all male from 12 years above to the Army to fight and protect the territorial space of Bassam amidst the war. My dad, my uncles and my two brothers, Ifeanyi and Nnamdi were all drafted because they were above the age of 12 years. Mothers and girls and the younger males were to stay at home praying to their ‘Chi’ for the protection of their husbands, fathers, sons and uncles. The night before they were to move to their war camps, was filled with mixed feelings and reactions. Some men had called their wives and children to admonish them, some had gone into their wives that night, whereas some were rather indifferent. My father had called my mother to his Obi and told her to watch over the house and make sure she takes care of Nnaemeka, the youngest of the house and I as she can see him, Ifeanyi and Nnamdi have been drafted to the Army, and that she should also reserve a part in her heart for the worse — he was a very pragmatic person who saw things the way they were.

The militiamen of Nisara had began to gain entry into every region of Bassam. Thousands of our men had already lost their lives. It was 18 months already into the war. As a little girl of 14 at then, I watched fat and plumpy children turn skeletal. Hunger feasted on we all. People became cannibalistic in order to survive. Lives were lost each and everyday. Fusillade of gunshots and bombs were thrown at our people which charred their bodies in pieces.

Most parts of Bassam was taken already and decimated to a level ground. Most of these soldiers will rape the women and girls of the area before driving their bullets into them. Everyday and day while listening to the news on my Dad’s radio, the number of deaths of people of Bassam surged dramatically. The military men of Nisara had began to come closer and closer towards Umuchukwu. They had desolated Umuokrika and Nta — two villages out of the 12 clans of Umuirinabuo.

We remaining left in Umuchukwu, lived each day in trepidation amidst chattering gunshots. We could barely sleep with two eyes closed. No news was heard of my dad, brothers, uncles and other men of Umuchukwu drafted to the Army. Were they dead? This was the thought that rang in my mind.

One night as my mother, Nnaemeka and I slept in our hut, in the mid of the night, we got awakened by sporadic nearby shootings. We all fled out of our hut running helter-skelter. The military men had invaded Umuchukwu! That night they shot like they’ve never done before and totally decimated Umuchukwu. My mother was raped by 6 military men before they shot her in her vagina. My brother had ran somewhere I didn’t know up till today. I don’t know if he was killed that night; but his body was never seen. I watched helplessly from beside a nearby hut, as they raped and killed my mother. As I watched from thereon, I felt a hand touch me at my back and I cringed in fear and turned back to see who it was and next, I was on the ground being violated without recourse and left lying there crying in pains. That day, we lost all but just 10 persons with all our huts raised down and our farms destroyed.

Thirty months into the heat of the war, Lt.Colonel Igbibia Okedumia, the second to Major Gen. Ifeanyi Emeka, seeing the people of Bassam were powerless finally surrendered to the government of the Federal Republic of Nisara. Our leader had ran to a neighbouring country to seek refuge in the heat of the war. Over three million had died and over five hundred thousand in skeletal state out of hunger. The whole Bassam was a desolate!
This day, I sit beneath this mango tree, scribbling this story with a 5-year old son beside me from the ordeal of that fateful night. No news has been heard about my father and brothers. Probably they were killed during the war. Even Okonta Ezeilo, the only returnee of the war from Umuchukwu drafted to the Army couldn’t proffer news on my father and brothers. Nnaemeka my younger brother is still not seen till this day. My mum was buried after she was killed that fateful night. I write this story with tears dropping from my eyes to the paper and with loneliness, as I try to pick my pieces from the ruins.

© Amaefule, Uchechukwu Ernest