The train that took tomorrow (II)

BY TOYIN AKANNI

The evening sun had started to give way to darkness, but Mama kept her gaze on its lingering rays. I observed as they responded by highlighting the weariness on her face. I placed my hands over hers, and she smiled back wryly. Was it worry, nerves or fear? It was hard to tell. Years of struggle had given her a mask that hid her true feelings.

I looked out of the train window and caught the fast-moving brittle greens of the Sahel. We were a long way from Kwali, but my heart was already set in Kaduna. Soon I’ll be at the university’s grounds, and life, as I wanted, will finally begin. 

“Amina, it is two hours na?”

“Yes, Mama, we will reach Rigasa station by 8pm.” 

 “That’s good oo. If na car, it go take more than five hours.”

“That’s true, Mama. Especially with the bad roads and kidnappers, it’s not safe.”

She let out a deep breath. “When you get break from school, abeg come home with the train.” 

“Ok, Mama.”

“E better abeg. With this one, I fit take the first train tomorrow and reach house before Ahmed start to dey look for me.” 

“That one is your handbag.”

“Na my only handbag, my small husband. Abeg, leave your brother,” she replied with a genuine smile.

Mama appeared more at ease, so I relaxed and glanced around the packed carriage. It wasn’t surprising that people were willing to try the newly launched train system. Using the train seemed the most logical option with the rising cost of petrol and safety concerns in Nigeria. 

Suddenly, a loud bang shoved me out of my thoughts. In its wake was the piercing sound of metals clashing from a precipitous explosion. Everyone was confused till we heard gunshots. We knew then that chaos had descended on us.

“Get down!” the man sitting next to us whispered.  

“Kidnappers are here.”

My heart started racing as we lay with our mouths kissing the ground. We heard screams that were silenced by the sound of the rifle.

“They are in the first-class carriage now,” he continued.

Mama nudged me and said, “Amina  make we move.”

“Mama, but they may notice us and shoot.”

 “If we no move now, they go meet us for here.”

It wasn’t easy to move. Feet were on faces, and bodies were crammed. Some found hiding places, and others crawled on the ground. Just as we crossed to the next carriage, one of the kidnappers busted in.

“Stop!” He commanded and started shooting. 

“No movement!” 

Everyone stood still. 

Satisfied he had put us in order, he turned to ransack suitcases for valuables.

I looked at Mama. Her blouse was getting drenched in blood.

 Our eyes met. “Please hang on”, I tried to say without uttering the words. 

 She nodded. I felt helpless. Our fate had begun to succumb to the impending doom. 

We stayed still as the vultures continued to salvage their lot. The one in our carriage clung tightly to the gun strapped across his shoulder. I could tell he was young from his frame—no slouch or pot belly in sight.

With each passing moment, Mama got worse. She kept her eyes closed and stayed in her pool of blood. After a while, two more kidnappers came to speak to the one in our carriage. They said something  I couldn’t quite decipher in Fula, and all three rushed back to the first-class carriage. 

“Mama! Mama!” I whispered.

 She opened her eyes, and I noticed they were pale.

 “Dey don go?” she asked.

“Not really, it looks like they left for now, but they will return soon,” I replied.

“Amina now is your chance.”

“My chance for what?”

“Open that window and run. Don’t look back.” 

“But Mama, I can’t leave you here. I need to take you to the hospital.”

“Listen, this no bi time to argue,” she winced.  

“You must go back to Latifa and Ahmed.”

 I hesitated, staring blankly.

 She reached out her hands and squeezed mine tightly.

“Two of us no fit die for here. You must survive.”

At that moment, darkness had overshadowed us. I crept up slowly and tried to open the stiff glass windows. The man next to us stood up to help. I jumped out just as the insurgents noticed us and started shooting. Unfortunately, one of the bullets went straight to the head of the man who helped me. 

I ran as fast as my feet would carry me, pushing past brittle shrubs. Someone was following me, so I couldn’t stop to catch my breath. I had no idea if  I would make it out alive, especially as despair and hopelessness clung to my feet. I knew I couldn’t go back. I had to do everything to beat the odds against me. Terrorists have made thousands of children orphans; I am no different.

 Mama’s last words to me were: “Two of us no fit die for here. You must survive.” 

A part of me died that day. The other part is lost, trying to find her way back home.

Toyin Akanni is a freelance writer with the PSJ UK team of Nigerians in diaspora advocating against the killings and insecurity in Nigeria www.psjuk.org