BEFORE ARMAGEDDON

By BOB EJIKE

                Port Harcourt had done something sinister and incomprehensible to Boniface. I was sure of it, I had known from the long hours of silent brooding, the sudden extreme changes in his mood, the inaudible grunting below his breath and violent fights with the neighbors servants.

                One morning he returned from the waterside, having gone fishing very early. Fishing was very fashionable in Port Harcourt, more for its economic utility than sporting value. Boniface had brought home a basketful of colourful crabs, fish and periwinkles. The sight of these exotic creatures still jumping about inside the basket ignited my curiosity, so I tiptoed to the platform of the general tap where he had left the basket, having gone inside briefly to answer a call from Mama.

When Boniface saw me bemusedly fingering the dark periwinkles shells, he flared up and charged furiously towards me. In one horrifying second he grabbed the heavy basket and poured the content into the open gutter. Mama who was going to the kitchen was shocked to a standstill. She watched the strange episode, arms akimbo, shaking with silent outrage.

Later that evening the entire compound was thrown into confusion with neighbours taking sides in cursing, shouting, shrieking, screaming, spitting, kicking and punching. I ran to the spot when I heard Papa’s raised voice counseling for peace. The wailing and pushing refused to stop for an awful while. By the time it eventually subsided, I had gathered enough from the bust of voices to know that a neighbour’s housemaid had accidentally poured hot water on Boniface, and Boniface had deliberately boiled water in a kettle and poured all over her back, instantly ripping off most the of the skin

‘Boniface, you know how much I hate Pork! Pigs are dirty and they are allowed to run around in worm-infested gutters, this is a time of war, we are land-locked and we have no means of importing medicine or manufacturing sufficient drugs.’ This was barely a week after the free-for all fight. Boniface was silent and this made Papa more nervous.

‘Boniface, since your father put you in my care, I have treated you like a son making no distinction between you and my own children, but in recent times your mind has gone somewhere else, don’t think I am so blind to see, now tell me, what’s your problem?'
  Boniface took on Papa eye ball to eye ball ‘I want to join the army.’ Papa jerked tremulously as if a bullet had hit him. Eventually he got hold of himself. “Why do you want to join the army Boniface?’

Boniface’s voice rose rapidly as he spoke. ‘Because I want revenge, I want revenge, look at what they have done to us, look what they have done to my people, see how they slaughter women and children, somebody must stop them, I want revenge, I want revenge!' Papa motioned him to bring down his voice.

‘Boniface, Boniface, I understand your feelings and believe me almost all Easterners feel like you, however the desire for revenge must be controlled by common sense, look at the way the war is going, how many towns have we captured? We are continually losing ground and we are being surrounded and strangled by enemies. The right thing to seek now isn’t vengeance. We have made our position clear and the world has heard us even though economic interest will not permit them to support us, the right thing to seek now is negotiated settlement, dialogue, discussion that will lead to a cease-fire, and a respectable peace, that’s what we need. This is a civil war, a war between brothers, although the Northerners are going about it as if they are fighting a foreign army but this is still a domestic struggle within one family and an eye for an eye is making everybody blind, let us open our eyes and see that at the end of this madness we will still be one nation.'

Boniface spat out disdainfully. ‘ I will never be one nation with the Northerners, I want to join the army’. There was a fiery glint in Boniface’s eyes, and his entire body trembled uncontrollably. His words and disposition had smashing impact, like hammer-blows.

‘Boniface, I know you are attracted by the smart uniform of the soldiers, but in the war-front the situation is different. Those in the army are trying to get out, Biafran soldiers are fighting a modern army without ammunition and our boys are dying everyday not only from bullets but from hunger, disease, cold, shock, Boniface you’ve been like son to me I won’t deceive you, forget this crazy idea of joining the army.'

Boniface started crying, ‘I must join the army'. Papa tried to hold his shoulder but Boniface pulled away repeating that he wanted to enroll in the army.

'Well give me time to locate your father, when I hand you back to him, you can join the army from his house, because if something happens to you now I won’t be able to explain it to your parents’. With that Papa entered his bedroom, gesturing dismissal. The end of the discussion.

Later I went to play buttons with Boma. As my thumb struck the buttons victoriously into the tiny goal post drawn with charcoal on the floor I forgot the Boniface incident. It was an unusual evening for Papa allowed us to watch television into the middle of the night. His generosity owed to the fact that Boniface had not come home since he left the house in the afternoon, following their heated argument. Papa had paced up and down the sitting room, peeping out of the window at the slightest noise with Mama repeatedly telling him to calm down. An impromptu visit from his friend Mr. Oraedu, who was also from our village, helped him relax, for Oraedu was funny and optimistic. On television Dick Tiger the Biafran boxing champion was slugging it out with a white opponent. This brought Papa back to his seat. After Oraedu left, the fight was followed by an extraordinary display of strength by superman Kiliwe and a sparkling performance by an acrobatic dancer called Blue Heaven.

When Blue Heaven finished her marvelous act, Mama beat the table in the typical manner that wordlessly announced bedtime. She carried Ebele and we all went to our positions. We must have been asleep for a few hours when a thunderous bang, like the explosion of a bomb woke us up. I jumped up with a start and immediately ran towards my parent’s room, but I stopped dead at the sitting room. It was full of heavily armed soldiers. Papa came out followed closely by Mama who was a bundle of fear. ‘Are you Mr. Ejikeme?' A fierce-looking officer asked icily.
'It is him Boniface said, coming into the sitting room. We stood aghast and dumbfounded. My parents’ eyes glowed with unnamed terror and utter astonishment.

I am captain Okoye expounded the officer. Mr. Ejikeme did you declare yesterday that Biafran  has not captured any town since the war began? That we are losing the war, that Nigerians will strangle us, that we should stop fighting and start talking with the enemy that the Northerners and the Southerners belong to one family that at the end the North and the East will be one nation?

‘Let me explain please’. Papa found his voice with difficulty, but the captain’s voice rang in the half-darkness.

Did you declare that the government of Biafra is giving a wrong impression to the people that the soldiers are deserting the battle fields, that Biafra has no ammunition, that the soldiers are starving, shocked diseased and over-exposed? If you are not a saboteur Mr. Ejikeme, why did you prevent this gallant young man from fighting for his nation? Cold sweat fell off Papa’s face as he mumbled with tremendous unease. Officer I explain all that if only…’

‘ I never trust a man who doesn’t eat pork, too Northern! You will explain at the barracks bloody saboteur! Come with us! Captain Okoye barked, shaking his rifle menacingly. I made to go quietly with them two soldiers surged forward, grabbed him by the hands and pushed him roughly through the door into the cold street. We rushed after them. The house was surrounded by armed soldiers.

‘Wait please wait.’ Mama cried, trembling convulsively like one of the fish in Boniface’s basket. A soldier shoved her back with the butt of his gun and as Mama fell on the ground her eyes met Boniface’s hardened look.

‘Boniface! Boniface…. you’ve killed us! We took you like a son, Boniface! We treated you well Boniface and this is how you pay us back Boniface, you’ve destroyed us. Boniface, you’ve killed my husband you’ve murdered him in cold blood, because he tried to save your life, you’ve killed us!

Boma’s parents and other neighbor who had gathered round by now ran forward and lifted Mama from the ground I watched Boniface with sudden loathing as he walked off with the soldiers.

The soldiers pushed Papa into one of the two military jeeps that were parked in the street. Six officers sat with him while the rest of them jumped into the other vehicle.

'Papa! Papa!' I screamed, tears rolling down my face and chilling in the night cold. As they drove away I saw a helpless look in his haunted face, there was an inexplicable expression in his eyes. My sisters opened up and ruptured the gloomy night with their shrill cries.

Two months had passed since Papa was taken away. Mama had gone to the military jail in which he was being held several times and they did not let her see him. Poor mama whose health was on the verge of recovery was plunged back into the deploring state of crying in pair every night. We continued to attend school but my mind was far away from the lessons, I could never get rid of the faces of the neighbours who came to our house to express their condolence. Once they knew what the charges against my father were they kept silent, maintaining that heavy facial expression reminiscent of funerals. The only encouraging face was that of Oredu, Papa’s friend. I had lost my father and a brother. Boniface was like an elder brother to me. Traditionally our people distinguished quite clearly between their children and their servants in dressing and duties, even in feeding. My parents never practiced this petty discrimination. Although Boniface had hidden it cleverly, he never was one of us and never wanted to become part of our family, that was why he handed my father over the authorities, when papa was only trying to protect him from the uncertainty of the battleground. The flow of my thought was broken by knocks on the door.

                ‘Open the door’, Mama said. As I turned the handle and opened the door, Rex Lawson crooning greeted my ears from a neighbours gramophone. It was Mama Boma at the door. The Prophet’s wife had been very helpful since Papa was taken away, sometimes spending the day with Mama and even cooking rich reverine soup for us when Mama was too weak to do anything. A sweet-smelling perfume swam around her gorgeous blouse and wrapper.

                'How are you today Beati? She asked Mama rather fondly, try as usual to be reassuring to her.

                'A little better than yesterday, make yourself comfortable Yingi,' Mama had a distant look in her face, it was clear that her mind was far from the sitting room. I had seen that expression of loss several times since Papa’s incarceration Mama Boma settled in the cushion opposite Mama

                ‘Beati, rumours have it that Mrs. Ikokwu is your aunty your auntie’s husband is one f the richest and most powerful people in this town, is that true? There was strange glint in Mama Boma’s eyes that smacked of surprise. Yes my auntie’s quite successful’. Mama replied, amazed at how fast news flew.

                ‘That’s too modest of you Beati, from what I heard your auntie’s husband has estates, filling stations, oil tankers and businesses scattered all over the region and contacts at all levels.

                ‘ I know what you are tying to suggest Yingi, but I promised myself a long time ago never to turn to relations for the solution of my personal problems. It it is the will of the Lord my husband will come back’. Tears started clouding Mama’s eyes.

                Mama Boma plunged into the depth of the problem. ‘I share your faith in the Lord Beati, but even my husband who is a prophet tells me that God has given us the brain to think, the hands to work and the feet to run, we cannot therefore expect the Lord to think, work and run for us, even though he has the power to do so, Look Beati a terrible evil has taken over our country not only on the Biafran side but also in Nigeria. The famous poet and dramatist, Wole Soyika is languishing in jail because he spoke out against the folly of fighting a war. Over here we have left the real enemy and started another war with saboteurs. We are ruled by a group of fanatics, and ever intelligent person must keep calm and let this storm pass, you must go to your relations and ask for their help in getting your husband released if you ever want to see him again.’

                ‘ I didn’t want to bother anybody with my problems’. The misty tears in Mama’s eyes broke lose in tides. Mama Boma shifted over to Mama’s seat and sat beside her, she wiped Mama’s tears with the end of her wrapper. Just then three knocks sounded on the door, the door crept open, the curtain make way in the doorway Papa stood still, gazing with bearded face at us. He had lost most of his weight and his eyes were red, his clothes threadbare. With a sharp cry Mama jumped in his arms. I ran to embrace Papa. Our exclamation brought my sisters and the rest of our neighbors into sitting room, all staring at him as if he had returned from the dead.

                ‘ How are you all? Papa asked in an emotional voice, touching each of us. Chinyelu replied cheerfully. We are all fine Papa, we were asking when will he come back? When will he come back? Its alright now, I am back. Papa carried Ebele on his laps, he seemed to have increased in height or rather reduced weight.

                ‘How did you get out? Mama asked, wide-eyed.

Papa shook his head sadly. Mama ‘They locked me away in the cell, interrogated me every other day and put me through different forms of torture trying to get me to confess that I was a saboteur, an agent spying for the Nigerians, that I was a Federal informer. I swore to myself that the last thing I would do was to confess to a crime I did not commit, so with faith in God, I resisted their torment. Eventually they presented me to a kind of military court. Would you believe that the presiding officer was Okafor, my old school friend, with whom I had been communicating until the war broke out. Immediately he saw me he said, “ that’s my friend Stephen! I know him, I know his position on our struggle and he is definitely not a saboteur, set him free, it’s an order let him go and Stephen, watch your mouth next time, we are in a state of war…” That’s how I got here.

                Papa regarded the increasingly crowding neighbors and they glared down patronizingly at him. The parlour reverberated with ceaseless flow of murmurs, mumbled monologues, whispered conversations, sign speeches and gaping bewildered eyes.

                ‘Listen my brethren, my dear brethren.’ The prophet’s voice suddenly sailed above the stream of chatter. This is a miracle of the Lord, there is no other tangible explanation for this wonderful and joyful event, rather than mourning in a funeral, my brothers and sisters, that it is not out of the power of man but by the divine mercy of the Lord, who has looked upon the faces of these innocent children, and this kind lady, that our neighbor Stephen is here today’. The crowd listened to the prophet more out of curiosity than belief and some of the bolder ones started walking out. A hub of chatter struck up again. The prophet, unhindered, prattled on. Therefore I say unto you m brothers and sisters in Christ, for God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in him may not perish but have everlasting life. Repent; repent now for the Kingdom of heaven is at hand. It is coming! Coming, coming! The fire next time! And the evil ones shall be consumed in a burning flame of fire. There is no escape, no escape. On the last day, every one of us will face the final judgment the sea shall be boiling, the hill shall be burning the mountain shall be melting, nowhere to hide! Beware! Beware! Beware of Armageddon! The remaining neighbors eyed the prophet with reservation, sidling out of the parlor.

                ‘Welcome home’, echoed in the parlor as the sympathizers filled out. Somewhere a beautiful harmony of singing voices soared in with an Igbo chant that had become famous since Ifeajuna and his co-conspirators were executed.

Ewo! My brother and I went to battle

The greedy Ifeajuna gave us away

Ewo! My brother and I went to battle

The greedy Ifeajuna sold his brother.

                The prophet shook hands with Papa and strode out, his white gown flowing widely behind him long after he had gone. His bell jangled and we could still hear his testimony of the eternal inferno of Armageddon.

BOB EJIKE
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