Reference to war
"You're under my charge now," the stranger said.
I nodded, watching the guard as he unlocked the monitor from my ankle. It felt strange to have that infernal device off. It has been three years wearing the monitor. Three years, leaving with the worry of the police banging at my door if the alarm went off. My wife hated it.
I had served six years of a sixteen years sentence before I was released on parole for good behaviour. I had stolen some pain killers from a pharmacy for my wife, who was recovering from surgery. Because it was a controlled substance, I was slammed with stealing and attempt to distribute. Six years of my life gone. But it was worth it. My wife is well and over that pain.
I was still turning over what the removal of the monitor meant in my mind when the stranger brought out a black case from the suitcase he had placed on the table. He opened it and from inside, he took out a syringe. I stepped back in surprise. The man smiled.
"This is an innovative product from one of the defence contractors. It is a nano agent which when introduced into your system will function in the same way as the ankle monitor with some extra benefits." The man said, smiling, his glasses gleaming as he stared at the colourless liquid glinting in the soft yellow light of my sitting room.
"I am not a guinea pig for your insane experiments. I have rights," I replied, shifting away from the table.
My wife walked into the sitting room, carrying a tray of biscuits and cold drinks. I looked at her and saw the fear in her eyes and behind it, resignation. I guess she knew better than me that I'll never be truly free again. I still believed then.
"This is not a question. This is being implemented nationwide. Every prisoner eligible for parole or not will have this agent in them before the end of this month. You will either accept this or face something worse. And for your information, this is not all. In the continuation of your rehabilitation, you've been conscripted into the Nigerian military. You will serve until your remaining time is complete," the stranger added with a satisfied smack of his lips.
My wife fainted, the tray falling from her heavy arms. The sound of the tray crashing to the floor shook me from my stupor and I rushed to her side. I helped her to the sofa and sat beside her as her eyes fluttered open.
"I am not a soldier. Why will you force me to fight in a war that I want no part of," I asked. I hated that my voice shook.
"The two thousand years war with the people from across the great sea has stretched thin the continent's military resources. Every kingdom in Africa is doing the best they can to take back our lands and drive the invaders back to the sea. Do you understand? We are desperately in need of manpower and we will take what we can get even if it is a thief or a drug dealer," the man replied.
"I'm not a drug dealer!" I yelled.
"I don't care!" the man yelled back. "There are worse things than your small time criminal enterprise out there. Killers of all stripes are being recruited and their thirst assuaged with enemies at the war front. No one cares what crime you've committed. You will fight for your continent," the man added.
He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Suddenly, the man looked tired and old. I looked at my wife and I could see the tears in her eyes. I had just returned after six years. Now I have to live another ten years away from her, fighting demons from across the sea. I will not return back to this woman whole. I will not return.
We were staring at each other when the prick of a needle pierced through my neck and I spasmed and fell to the ground, almost dragging the man with me. I laid there, unable to move, my eyes open, staring at my wife as she sobbed and tried to get to me. The guard just held her, his face turned away from our pain. I did not blame the man. He had his job to do. He was probably thanking whatever god he served that he was not the one on the floor. The door opened and as I passed out, I heard the wheels of a gurney, rolling towards me. My mind went to sleep.
I woke up, feeling groggy and disoriented. My head hurt and there was a metallic taste in my mouth. I struggled to a sitting position and looking around blearily, I realised I was in some kind of medical facility. Many beds lined the large space and between them, men and women in scrubs moved, checking monitors and raising eyelids. A hand grabbed my wrist and I almost jumped out of my skin. A small man smiled at me as he checked his wristwatch. I watched him write something on a piece of papyrus then walk away. Suddenly I felt weary and sluggish and my eyes began to close, right then I saw the drip attached to my body and then, I slept.
When I woke again, I was in a regular bed in another large room. I raised myself and found some strength to throw my legs over the side and sit on the edge of my bed. The window beside me was open and sunlight flooded the room. I could hear the voices of men and women and it sounded as if harsh commands were being given. I peered through the window and I saw that I was correct; I was in a military base. I was far from my wife. I was now a soldier.
As these realizations dumped into me like sour food, a man in uniform stepped into the room and another followed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Bayelsa base. This is one of the six bases where operation AWOL will launch. You will receive a proper briefing tomorrow but it is important you know this. The nano agent in your body, apart from acting as a locator in case of disappearance has another function. We can remote detonate it and you will become a bomb, a rather powerful bomb. So if you choose to run to your loved ones or to your shrines or disappear into the hills, just know that you will not only die but you will be taking innocent persons with you. I know this may mean nothing to you as convicts but be sure that you will not escape us alive. Good morning," the soldier said, then he turned and with the other soldier behind him, left.
I tried to grasp the implications of a bomb in my body. I was a dead man. I was not leaving this place alive. I could feel the complete breaking of my will at that moment. I held the edge of my bed and vomited on the floor until there was nothing left but dry heaves. Someone chuckled as I threw up. I did not bother to look up. I just cleaned my mouth with my hands and laid back on the bed.
Some minutes later, six soldiers came in and ushered all of us out. I was assigned to transportation and the rudiments of handling a truck was force fed me through an intralink calibrator. Next, I learnt how to handle a high powered rifle and a scope. I also learnt the jargon for the different equipments and tools a soldier must carry. By evening, I could make a bomb, diffuse a bomb, skin a rabbit and live on little in the jungle for weeks. All of this was good but nothing prepared me for pain or fear or the simple gut wrenching reluctance to kill another human being. They could not force feed that into me. They tried using motivation tapes. It did not work but they did not care. The next day, we were mobilized. I was on my way to war.
From an ordinary man, trying to save his wife's life, I was turned into a soldier with abilities that I hated and it hurt me so much. I was not the only one. I saw men and women throw up as they fought, weep in their sleep and I saw the insane laughter of those who broke, and even the cruel smile of those who seemed to enjoy the scene. The full range of human futility was before me. I was a part of our failed enterprise, the human enterprise. As bomb blew and people died, it felt as if we sought deliberately the extermination of our race. What were we fighting for? Many did not know? For fatherland? For oil? For water? For our children? For the rich? Everybody had an opinion except the dead and dying and they were many.
Ten years ran like water through my fingers. I did not speak or hear from my wife in that time. I was completely cut off from the real world. I was lost in the shadows and after a time, the only language I knew was the sound of guns going off, the soft squeeze of the trigger became the only gentle thing in my life and gradually death became normal.
In the ninth year, I was stationed in a ship harassing the fleets of the enemy when a torpedo carrying the chemical STX4 was launched from my ship. I did not know. I'm not sure the captain of my ship knew what he carried. We stood at the bridge and watched the sea burn. When the fires eased up after four days of burning, the war for us was over. There was nothing left to see. We had seen it all and finally after two thousand years of fighting, the enemy turned their ships and left our shores forever. At that moment, I realised that there is no morality to war. There are no rules. People killed and people die, that is all. The winner is the one who has the capacity to kill better and more. That final knowledge broke something inside me.
My time as a parolee of the federal government ended just before the peace we've been fighting for began. The poison in my blood was removed, I was discharged and given a medal for distinguished service as well as a chip containing one million naira, then I was sent home. I did not know what to do. It has been ten years since I last saw my wife. I don't know what or where she could be. I was afraid of what I would look like to her. So after submitting myself at my parole officer's office and sorting out the paper work—the stranger was retired and living somewhere no one was willing to say—I said what the heck and decided to look for my wife.
She wasn't at our old place. I checked. I asked around but those who knew her and myself together had either moved away or were dead. I was a stranger, a dangerous looking stranger to everyone and they all avoided me. For three years I searched for her both online and offline but it seemed as if she never existed. There was nothing. Not even a photograph. So, with no other option left, I went back to the military base and found work as an instructor teaching recruits how to become soldiers.
Last week, I was jogging from the base, following an old abandoned trail that led to an old hill where a shrine to Sango used to be. There's a shop where trinkets, wood carvings and the likes are sold along the trail. I sometimes stopped there to get necklaces or wristlets. As I jogged pass, the old woman who owned the shop, Damilola—she claimed to descend from priestesses—called out to me;
"Segun, come and meet these couple and their children. They are from your place," she said.
I stopped but was reluctant to see anyone. I have learnt to accept the fear in people's faces whenever they saw the scars on my face but i still found it difficult to interact with people one on one apart from recruits who as soldiers had a misplaced awe for the old AWOL soldier. I liked Damilola. She always had fun stories and didn't care about my scars. So I walked down to her door and inside the dimly lit shop, sipping from a cup was my wife, a man and two little girls I did not recognize.
She screamed when she saw me and the man jumped, frightened. Damilola laughed. At first, I thought her scream was because of the scars on my face but then she said;
"You're alive?"
I nodded and walked out of the shop. I heard them calling out to me but I didn't stop. I walked until I was in my room and mindlessly, I packed a small bag and left the base. I never looked back. They may search for me or not. I have served. I am a convict and I know the rules of engagement for those who find themselves on the other side of the law. I know what it means to use the gun and what it means to lose the woman you love. I am not alive. I died the day that needle touched my skin. Did I not tell you?