Journeying Round the Country
Ifèsinàchi Nwàdike
darkness is a deep-black pitch
the colour of silence, nirvana, uncertainty –
amalgam of peace & fear
as you journey through Nigerian roads
the roads speak in lonely parables
easing out of the cosmetic darkness of Lagos
with dotted lights like a sparkle of fireflies
& face Ibadan: a corroding blackness that wraps Nigeria up:
no streetlights to guide travelers on the highways
“that tree looks like a crucified man”, said a co-passenger
in a flush of despair, reliving the horrors of a night travel
in a haunted nation, plagued by herdsmen,
bandits, Boko Haram, kidnappers, unknown gunmen, politicians –
ruffians of the night
terrors of the day
killers on the way
towards Ore, Satan's bush path, another passenger cried out:
“driver abeg I wan shit”
“if I stop make I die,” the driver retorts
we gasp in laughter & the pain of knowing,
knowing we signed the ruffians’ writ of life or death…
“hollam o, I warn una for park” added the assistant driver
“I no fit hollam reach Abuja o, stop o” she cried out
“eh? stop where?” chorused other passengers in fright
as if she had announced an imminent doom
“e be like say you be their agent” cried an old man
his face contorted at the thoughts of dying unfortunately on the road
after more than 70 years of surviving Nigeria
II
the face of the night is black with rage
oncoming cars return lights here & there
save for the scattered passage of stubborn civilization
the road sings a song of desertion
& betrayal of human use by day
the silence in the bus screams of our dance with danger
a dance that must be danced, so we go hard into the night
with windows shut, to keep Satan from reaching into aisle
& grabbing a handful for a feast in his kingdom
a Nollywood film is on the screen
but nobody pays heed to the poor actors
for vigilance on this path is perpetual
ruffians walk this road
ruffians run this road
my stomach rumbles in protest
I am shocked at the failed fortifications
of a 400mg of flagyl & tetracycline
I turn to the other pressed lady, my comrade-in-shit
she's quiet now, & I felt the guilt of experiencing her burden
off Auchi road, facing Akure
the shrubs brush the body of the machine
the quick ruffles & snatches & scratches
alert me to her speed
sleep began to knock heads about
snores begin their ascents like wild crackles of fire
the rotund man beside me is gone. he’s not snoring yet
but his bogus breadbasket bequeathed him the striking pose of a politician –
politicians are ruffians, ruffians are rogues
rogues are bandits, bandits are killers
there could be bandits on the way
there are bandits on the way
III
Uncertainty is the child this night gestates
the bus burrows into the blackness
Akure is wet with rains
the croak of frogs fill our ears
the chirp of roosting birds, crickets & other denizens of the night call to us
the bus is jerking and swerving to the dictates of the potholes
a youngster is watching Cocomelon on YouTube
with her mother's iPad, unaware of the tension
that garrisons her mother's heavy breathing
& our constant attention to the bushes
like white tourists in Kenya
marveling at the rustic beauty of African villages
It's 11:13pm, Naza calls from Enugu
“fine,” I tell her, but she was unconvinced
because a night’s journey here
is like making a death wish,
like pre-informing your loved ones of your death
& going ahead to die
“okay, we are negotiating with kidnappers”
I say. we laugh & wish it away
she blows me a kiss & hangs up
her silent supplications for my safety hanging in the air
a man is covering his face with a sweat shirt
to shield his eyes from the television lights
he’s sleeping, but he strikes the pose of a jihadist, a bandit –
bandits are boko haram
boko haram are known gunmen
known gunmen are unknown gunmen
there could be gunmen on these paths
there are gunmen on these paths
IV
the night holds a thousand secrets
& the trees know them by names
when the wind makes the branches nod
it is to shake them off the burden
trapped in the silence of their failure at verbal communication
if the trees could talk
the night would reveal the monsters
dawn looks like night
but it wears a lighter face
as Akure opens into the tail of Kogi
& we are vomited into the greens of Lokoja
so we behold dawn in fullness
but the roads are empty of feet & tyres
the town is still asleep
& we can hear our tyres against the tarmac
the throttling, gear change & humming
& the engine revving
humidity is fading behind the mountains like love growing weak
& heaven appears to perch on them –
the assuredness of a big, watchful eyes
compensate for the insecurity
“you people play too much in Africa,” my mind mocks me
the pressed lady is fast asleep
my stomach is calm
our oppressors sympathized with us: embarrassment
is not an option, it realized
“Welcome to Abuja,” the sign says.
Ifèsinàchi Nwàdiké holds a BA and MA in English & Literature from Imo State University and University of Ibadan respectively. He is a rapper, singer, actor, presenter, essayist, playwright, and poet. His debut poetry collection, How Morning Remembers the Night was First Runner Up, Association of Nigerian Authors Poetry Prize, 2020 and was Longlisted for the inaugural Pan-African Writers Association Poetry Prize, 2022. His essay “The Ludicrousness of Ungodly Things” (Kalahari 2021) was listed in Afrocritik’s 20 Remarkable Essays of 2021.