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Nairaland Forum / Entertainment / Literature / SOPRIALA (A Journalist's plight): Episode Four (455 Views)
Be Healed In Jesus Name, A Short Story By Gift Olupinla (episode Four) / The Plight Of Doubra / A Story by Ikiemoye Iniamagha---SOPRIALA (A journalist's plight): Episode One (2) (3) (4)
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SOPRIALA (A Journalist's plight): Episode Four by Iniamagha(m): 1:30pm On Jan 06, 2018 |
About one hundred metres away from their boat, they saw something fly into the sky with jet speed and exploded. The explosion of the object resulted in an illumination of the entire area that they could see virtually all the fishing boats at sea. Just when they could figure out the reason for the illumination, they heard machine guns firing at their boat. ‘Enemies!’ the commander shouted. ‘Everybody stay d...’, he had not finished saying, ‘down’, when he got a bullet on his chest. ‘Captain!, another soldier shouted and galloped his way to the front to help his captain, but his bravery was cut short as he fell on one of his compatriots, after being hit by a bullet on the head. A rain of bullets transpired between the two boats. The few soldiers held on for more than fifteen minutes. By this time, Uche had messed up himself and held tightly unto Sopriala, who was at this point reflecting on his wife’s plea for him to forgo this trip. ‘I should have listened to her’. he thought aloud, his regretful voice defying the rain of bullets that had engulfed the air. There was another illumination, and this time, the enemy boats were now very visible. There were four big boats with at least twenty fighters on board. It was now glaring that they were not just ordinary sea pirates. ‘Aru tein bilemo!’ the gun men’s commander, ordered. ‘What? Sink the boat? They want to sink our boat!’ Sopriala, screaming, interpreted what their commander had said in the simplest way he could. There was uproar, but the soldiers who were almost out of ammunition kept fighting back. The gun battle was intense. Sorpriala struggled to release himself from Uche, but Uche wouldn’t let go. Instead, he intensified his grip. Sopriala sprayed several punches on him, but Uche was resilient. It was as if holding unto Sopriala would save him from the death that was imminent. With Uche still holding unto him, Sopriala dived into the water. The boat rocked and almost capsized with that move. In despair, some soldiers jumped into the water as well. The gun men had come with grenades and launchers that would take down the boat with just a blow. It wasn’t long after Sopriala and a few had jumped into the sea that the boat went up in flames. All in it, the resilient and brave soldiers perished. The gun men didn’t stop there. They took time to shoot at the water to ensure everyone that was struggling to survive, some already drowning, was finished. Sopriala when he went in, with Uche clutching firmly on him, fought and fought to free himself, but the grip of the drowning man was too firm that both men went down. As they went down to the bottom of the sea, still struggling for their lives, the very last thing Sopriala saw was bullets whizzing past his head—bullets from the machine guns of the unrelenting gun men who were making sure no one was spared. **** …Reports just reaching us indicate that one of the gun boats of the Nigerian Army, who were due for a military exercise on the Brass River today, was attacked last night by gun men on their way to Brass. Everyone in the crew, including two journalists whose names have not been confirmed is feared dead… Ibiteinye, who was now used to listening to the news at dawn, because of her husband, stood up immediately the newscaster broke the news somberly. ‘No! This can’t be true.’ Ibiteinye panicked. She expected Sopriala to call her immediately he arrived Brass, but his call never came. She tried his line several times, but it remained unavailable. She stayed awake all night, which wasn’t good for her, as an expectant mother. Boma on his part, for the first time didn’t sleep. He kept coming to her asking after his dad. She would take him back to bed, and lull him to sleep after convincing him that his dad would be back soon. This became the routine all through the night. Boma would sleep for thirty minutes and say he wanted to have a piss, and thereafter, mutter in his sleepy eyes, ‘ Mummy, where is daddy? I want to see my daddy’. At a point, Ibiteinye became fed up, and spanked him a little and forcefully pulled him to bed. Boma cried so loud and uncontrollably that if Ibiteinye had not tried to pet him, he wouldn’t have stopped and neighbours would have been forced to knock at their door that night. ‘God forbid! My husband can’t be one of the victims.’ She said, shivering like someone bathed with ice water. She resumed dialing his number. The same voice, the number you are calling is not reachable at the moment. Please try again later, kept coming on. Her heart was now pounding and a serious headache pounded her. Instantaneously, she started feeling dizzy and the world seemed like it was spinning. Little Boma was now up, but didn’t understand what his mother was going through. He stared at his mother, eyes partially closed, holding her head and her waist, groping for something to hold unto. Ibiteinye was saying faintly to him, ‘Please Boma go and call someone for me’, but he couldn’t have heard nor understood her. Before long, Ibiteinye collapsed on the floor, helpless. Boma shrilled. His shrill this time didn’t stop, until a few neighbours who heard his voice in the night, but didn’t come out since it stopped almost immediately, were forced to come and know why the little boy was screaming again this time. They knocked, no one opened, but Boma kept on crying. One of the neighbours went round to peep through the window if he could see what was happening inside. ‘Make una come o!’ He shouted. ‘Na mama Boma o!’ Before other neighbours could come out, he had destroyed the door and barged in. There she lay on the floor, unconscious. He looked around, but didn’t find Sopriala in the house. Boma was calm now since he had seen some persons in the house. Something told him they were coming to help his mother. Without much ado, one of the neighbours volunteered his vehicle and took her to the hospital, while their next door neighbour took Boma in. **** It was her second day in the hospital, though she was revived immediately the doctors attended to her. The doctor advised she rested at least for two days, before she would be discharged. The kind neighbour who volunteered his car paid for everything. It was confirmed she had a minor heart attack, but she was lucky it didn’t cause her more damage in spite of her condition. She was interrogated on the cause of the heart attack, and she narrated it vividly. Sopriala still had not shown up to the house, and the news had finally confirmed the names of all the soldiers who died including the two journalists—Sopriala Best and Uche Nwaneri. Ibiteinye was finally discharged having been certified by the doctor as fit to leave. Since she arrived, she had not tuned in to the radio or television, because she couldn’t stand to hear her husband being named as one of the victims. That same evening, some neighbours came to see her. They wore sad and consolatory faces, but none was courageous enough to speak to her about the devastating news. She knew their sad faces were about her husband. ‘I told my husband not to go, but he didn’t listen to me’ she broke the silence, with a trembling voice. ‘I can’t be a widow o. Not now and not any time soon!’ No one said anything to her. They just watched her speak to herself. It was only usual for bereaved people to encourage themselves in times like this, and it was best to allow them talk till they came to face the reality. Boma came to his mother, who was still saying she was not going to be a widow. ‘Mummy, where is my daddy?’ Boma asked so calmly. ‘Daddy is coming.’ She said weakly. Everyone became even more emotional when they listened to the dialogue between mother and son. ‘Sopriala, you better come now o!’ She screamed and broke down in tears for the first time. Reality had finally dawned on her. She wasn’t going to see her husband anymore. Boma joined, not knowing why she was crying. She was still wailing when the door handle squeaked and turned. For sure, they assumed it was another sympathiser, coming to pay her a condolence visit, only for them to hear a voice. ‘Sopri-erebo!’ Only one person called her that in the whole world. Guess who?. THE END. Thanks for following this story. I would wish you follow me on my zone: https://ikiemoyeiniamagha./about/ Episode 1---https://ikiemoyeiniamagha./2017/12/20/309/ Episode 2---https://ikiemoyeiniamagha./2017/12/21/sopriala-continuation-2/ Episode 3---https://ikiemoyeiniamagha./2017/12/22/sopriala-continuation-3/ Episode 4---https://ikiemoyeiniamagha./2017/12/25/sopriala-continuation-4/
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