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/

The strong tide had taken the boat to some distance and they were beginning to sight from a distance, tiny things that looked like lanterns of fishing boats. Sopriala was quick to recognize the lights. He was conversant with such because it was what he grew up with.
‘Look!’ Sopriala shouted excitedly. Everyone who was brooding was awakened from their misery.
‘I see lights from fishing boats!’ he said again. ‘I think we are close to a fishing settlement.’
‘How do you know?’ a fidgety voice asked from the dark. It was Uche. He sounded like someone who would pass out in 30 seconds. He was not himself anymore; his mind was prepared for the worst. His only regret, though, was not having the opportunity to say his last goodbyes to his family and friends as well as tell them how much he loved them.
‘Of course, I know when I see one at night. They are fishing boats I can’t be mistaken’, he sounded very assuring.
‘So what do we do?’ the commanding officer asked.
‘Nothing! We wait to see if they will get closer or perhaps the tide could take us to them’.
No other person asked him further questions. They respected Sopriala for his experience so far. He has been very proactive since they got into this situation.
Sopriala was right yet again. The lights from the boats, in a matter of minutes, seemed to be closer and more visible.
‘Please, don’t put on the touch and nobody should say a word until we are very close’. Sopriala instructed and everyone obeyed. He automatically became the commanding officer for the moment. No one had the courage to lead, not even the commander.
Just when their gunboat was almost getting to a throwing distance from one of the fishing boats, the moon gradually revealed itself and illuminated the sea, making their gunboat visible. They also saw a small canoe with two men in it.
‘Hello, ehmm…good morning, a voice came from the gunboat. ‘Please, we need your help.’
****
It was Uche that spoke. He was too scared to have adhered to Sopriala’s instruction. Sopriala and the others tried stopping him, but he wouldn’t. He kept on,
‘Our boat has a problem. Is there anywhere we can anchor till tomorrow?’
The fishermen didn’t utter a word. The gunboat was getting closer to them, and they heard the fishermen mutter. Immediately, they heard their paddles splash in the water and the fishermen’s boat seemed to be apparently distancing from theirs. The fishermen were going away.
Sopriala noticed this quickly and guessed they were around the Nembe territory. So he spoke his Kalabari dialect, hoping they would understand him, since both languages just had a few dialectical differences.
‘Minapu, pasisi balafama. Barasua wanapre!’
Brothers, please, don’t be afraid. We need your help. This was what he said to them, but the fishermen’s paddles splashed even faster. The lights from their lanterns immediately went off and in minutes they were gone.
‘Where are they?’ One of the soldiers asked.
‘I guess they are gone.’ Sopriala said
‘Gone? Why? What did you say to them that scared them away?’ he asked in a disappointed tone.
‘I only told them not to be scared, that we want their help. That’s all.’
‘And they just left? Hmm…Nawa o.’
‘I guess they were not ready to take chances owing to the numerous attacks on vulnerable people on the rivers these days. Pirates, ritualists, militants are just everywhere. You can’t tell who is who. If these fishermen had other choices, they wouldn’t have come out for fishing. That’s the truth.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘We have to keep trying to see if we could arrive at a creek and anchor by the mangrove till morning’.
That sounded a bit encouraging, even though people like Uche had given up. They chorused their support and they took turns to paddle the gunboat.
‘We are grounded!’ Sopriala shouted after ten minutes of energy sapping paddling. ‘We just ran aground on a shallow part of the sea. Let’s quickly get out of this area before the waves become intense. Any strong wave landing on us might cause damage to the boat.’
Instantly, some of the brave soldiers jumped down and began to push the boat out of the sand. It was a difficult task, but they had to save their boat. This they did for about ten minutes.
‘I think we all have to come down.’ Sopriala suggested. The soldiers had tried all they could in vain, because the weight of those still on board deterred it from moving.
‘Oya, everybody come down.’ The commander ordered.
‘I won’t come down o’ Uche retorted. ‘Me, come down here? Never!’
Everyone began raining insults on Uche, but he gave deaf ears, until one soldier bawled at him.
‘Hey, you, Mr. Journalist, you better move now, before I move you. You dey krase? Na krase dey worry you? See dis bloody civilian o?
Uche obeyed reluctantly. He envisaged what the soldier would do if he didn’t.
‘You get luck say I no come meet you there. You for hear am’, the soldier said.
It was easy for them to push it out now. One after the other, everyone was on board and the paddle and search for a nearby creek began again.
Not later than five minutes, someone picked up the humming sound of an engine in the still quiet night, often distorted by the intermittent splash of paddles and the chilly night breeze that whistled passed their ears. Sopriala strained his ear to confirm the noise and they were thrown into different thoughts. Who could they be?
‘Stop the paddling! Everyone keep quiet as the boat approaches’, the commander instructed.
‘Especially you that krase man’ he directed that to Uche. ‘If you try that thing you did before…na me go personally deal with you’.
Everyone was quiet as they waited for the suspense to climax.

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/

It was about 8:36 p.m. and they were in the middle of the sea, still far away from Brass. The engine stopped abruptly and had refused to start. The driver had tried all he could for the past one hour, but to no avail. Ninety five per cent of the soldiers on board have never had any good swimming experience. If any had, maybe in small shallow streams and pools, but not the one they were on. The worst about this experience was it was dark and the tide was gradually becoming turbulent. The sea breeze was blowing really hard and their gunboat was being tossed about by the tumultuous waves. The boat was floating to no direction, even as the driver kept trying his best to start the 120 horse power engine.
Sopriala and one other journalist, Uche, from another media outfit were the only media personnel that travelled with the soldiers. Uche was scared to death. It was his first time to travel by sea and this was happening.
Uche and Sopriala were made to sit in the middle of the boat before they departed. The journey had been interesting from the point of departure to this moment. It was supposed to be a two hour journey, but they had spent four hours floating around. Both journalists, when the journey started, chatted and shared their journalistic tales with each other, laughing so loud at intervals, and attracting the attention of nervous soldiers who were not used to such sea journeys. Since the engine broke down, the story had been different. Uche had been very quiet and nervous. He was fidgeting like a virgin who was about to be defiled. He held Sopriala so tight that if the boat had gone down that moment, Sopriala was sure of drowning as well.
As a riverine man, Sopriala was a fish. He learnt how to swim in deep waters. He was born in Kula, a coastal community in Akuku-Toru Local Government Area, Rivers State, which was bounded by the Atlantic Ocean. Finding himself in this scenario wasn’t that scary to him. He had had experiences of his boat capsizing and getting lost at sea a couple of times while growing up. The first was with his father when they went out to toil all night. His father was a renowned fisherman who used the resources thereof to see him through school. He always joined his father to sea anytime he was back for holidays. That fateful night, the catch was great and they were sure of making a fortune from it. But the story changed as their boat sunk after a huge wave hit them. They lost everything. That night, father and son swam all night and tried staying afloat; hoping by dawn help would come from other fishing boats. It was an experience of a lifetime because none came to their rescue till almost the evening time. By the time help came, their bodies where numb from cold. His father almost passed out as his heart was near stopping from a cardiac arrest.
With this experience and others, the moment he was in didn’t bother him that much.
****
‘Driver!’ one of the soldiers shouted, ‘How could you embark on the journey without ensuring all was okay with your engine. Now we are in the middle of nowhere.’
‘O boy, me sef I no know say e go be like dis o. We service the engine this morning o. Me sef I no come understand’, the driver responded, sounding very weak and confused, having battled with the engine for the past one hour.
There was pandemonium. Some were raining insults on the driver for his inefficiency; a few were calm, saying prayers to whatever they paid allegiance to; others were arguing on what next to do, since the engine wasn’t responding.
Uche was more or less dead. Sopriala tapped him to assure him all would be well, but he was too scared to utter a word. There was nothing he could say, because the situation was beyond him. He had never travelled by water before; this was his first time on the sea, so what could he have contributed to this kind of situation?
It was a few minutes to 9.30 p.m. and Sopriala was thinking of his next move should anything happen. He was prepared for the worst. He reminisced on his childhood experience with his father and summoned the courage of a survivor.
‘Everyone stop!’ Sopriala shouted.
He got the attention of everyone, even those deep in prayers were distracted and drawn to the call.
‘My name is Sopriala. Let’s stop the argument and think of what to do. The driver isn’t to blame in a moment like this. These things happen, so let’s stop apportioning blames and seek for a way out.’
‘So what do you suggest we do mister Sopri…whatever?’ one of the soldiers asked.
‘We have to paddle this boat to a nearby creek and anchor there till morning. I doubt if any boat would come this way tonight.’
It sounded like a brilliant idea, but some began to murmur within themselves. His suggestion raised another round of arguments, but Sopriala halted them again.
‘Sharap you bloody civilian!’ One other soldier howled at Sopriala. ‘How dare you command us in our boat?’
‘Sorry, but I was only trying to suggest a way out.’ Sopriala responded sharply. His tone angered the soldier, but another intervened.
‘Emm…Mr Reporter, you said we should paddle our way to a nearby creek. How do we find our way to any creek? We seem to be floating in the middle of nowhere, and it is dark. We can’t sight any mangrove forest from here. Do you know your way around here? Where are we precisely?’
‘This is my first time travelling this route. Maybe the driver might know, but I know if we follow the tide, we would berth at a creek anyhow.’ Sopriala sounded so sure. ‘Driver, do you know where we are?’
The driver who had a big touch pointing at different directions to ascertain where they were confirmed that they were about an hour away from Brass.
‘Which direction do we paddle to get to a creek?’ Sopriala asked
‘That way!’, the driver pointed.
‘Alright, how many paddles do you have on the boat?’
‘Four!’
‘Bring them on! You use one at the back, while I’ll go to the front. Any other two persons can grab the others and let’s see how far we can go.’
The driver concurred, and they began. They paddled the big gunboat, but the tide was flowing against them. It was indeed a difficult task. The more they paddled, the more they felt the tide against them. A few of the soldiers on board volunteered and took turns to assist, while the rest who were too afraid to try, because of phobia for water, watched in frustration how their effort went down in shambles. Uche also watched in awe how his new friend struggled to save the day. From that moment, Sopriala won his respect.
After several attempts they gave up and allowed the strong tide take them to nowhere. That was how they floated around into the middle of the night—ten hours from the showdown.

Episode 1--https://ikiemoyeiniamagha./2017/12/20/309/

Episode 2--https://ikiemoyeiniamagha./2017/12/21/sopriala-continuation-2/

Book Title: THE DAY HEAVEN SLEPT
Author: IKIEMOYE INIAMAGHA
Genre: PROSE FICTION
Price: N600
Word count: 87570

Book Description:

Fafa Margaret Nutsukpo, Lecturer, Department of English Studies, University of Port Harcourt, Nigeria said: ‘The mysterious pregnancy of Powei, in The Day Heaven Slept, launches the reader into the intriguing plot of a story that promises to hold readers spellbound from its very beginning to the end. With characters that are larger than life and dialogue that is as exciting as it is realistic, Ikiemoye Iniamagha, in this debut novel, digs deep into life in contemporary Nigeria, and with genuine wit, explores the intrigues and intricacies of relationships embroiled in a web of love, lust, lies and deceit in a tone that is honest, introspective and true.'

Frankly, THE DAY HEAVEN SLEPT is a story that captures the interplay and intricacies of crime politics and power, relationship, love, lust, lies and deceit and their aftermath. It speaks powerfully to every individual in contemporary Africa and the world at large, who in one way or the other is caught in these webs.

See the link here: https://okadabooks.com/book/about/the_day_heaven_slept/16673

Copyright: Ikiemoye Iniamagha
All rights to this short story reserved.

This is a fictional short story set in Bayelsa State. It is a touching tale aimed at recognising the efforts of Nigerian journalists and the hazards they face in the midst of daunting challenges.

The story is in series so keep following for new updates. Your comments are welcome. Please, follow the author on https://ikiemoyeiniamagha./


Episode One:

Honey, if you don’t go this time, will they sack you? Why don’t you just stay today?’ Ibiteinye asked her husband, feeling uneasy about this particular trip he was about embarking upon.
The Nigerian Army was going to perform one of their military exercises on the Brass River, in the Niger Delta region tagged ‘Operation Crocodile Smile’ at the weekend and Sopriala Best was planning to travel with the soldiers in one of their gunboats. He was the Bayelsa State correspondent for his media outfit and it was mandatory for him to cover it.
Sopriala was a committed reporter. He was that reporter that could take the risk to get into the most dangerous areas of conflict, just to get the meat of the story for national and international consumption. Little wonder he was nicknamed, ‘The Hound.’
Earlier, during a live programme, on national radio, the Chief of Army staff, Major Gen Sam Bello, had spoken on the necessity of the showdown.
‘Today, we are launching this exercise in the Niger Delta to send a message to the militants that we are ready and out to bring about peace and tranquility in the region. The militants in recent times have sabotaged our nation, and have caused so much loss to our economy. Their activities have resulted in a lot of pain to our nation.
‘The main aim of this operation is to provide absolute security for the people of the Niger Delta and to protect our national assets in the region which the militants have threatened and vandalised. Our troops are already in the Niger Delta and are to begin operation on the Brass River tomorrow’.
****
Sopriala was busy putting the few things he would be going with in his bag, pretending as if he didn’t hear what his wife was saying.
‘Please honey, you don’t have to go. I have a bad feeling about this dream’, she pressed on.
‘Darling, I have told you, nothing will happen to me. It is only a dream, besides I think it is just an imagination of what you were thinking before you went to bed, having heard the speech of the chief of army staff.
‘Far from that, honey! I don’t just dream like that, and you know it. But once I do, most times, it comes to pass.’
‘That is it! Most times, not all the times!’ Sopriala echoed, smiling at her.
‘This is not a joking matter o! It’s not funny. Stop trivializing it’.
‘I am not joking either, my love. I am only trying to ease your tension. You are tensed about the whole thing. I just need you to pray for me. And that reminds me, go and listen to Darey’s song, ‘Pray for Me’, again. Maybe that would motivate you to pray for your husband to have a successful trip’, Sopriala suggested, smiling wryly.
‘I can see you are not ready to listen to me. But if not for anything, think about me, your pregnant wife and your little son. We can’t afford to lose you now’.
That statement caught his attention. He stopped what he was doing immediately, and mechanically turned to give her an enraged stare.
‘Why are you this negative? How could you imagine something is going to happen to me? Where are your faith and prayer life? I thought you were a prayer warrior? Don’t tell me all the sermons about faith and the power of prayer you have been listening to in church are just a waste. Gosh!’
Ibiteinye was defeated. She could not continue arguing or pleading with her ever committed journalist husband, who wouldn’t be persuaded to stay back for any reason. As long as it was about reporting a story, he was in for it.
She hissed and left him alone in the room, sluggishly carried herself to the kitchen and helped herself with a glass of chilled apple juice from the fridge. She was exhibiting the habits most pregnant women, who would want to take all the sweet things on earth, do. Her appetite for food was increasing by the tick tock of the clock. Little Boma, their three years old son, watched as Ibiteinye gulped the juice slowly. He started disturbing and muttering to have some of the juice and he got a sip of it.
Sopriala was through with his parking and carried his little luggage to meet his wife, who was sitting in the parlour with Boma jumping in and out of the couch.
‘Honey, I am ready.’ Sopriala said
Ibiteinye didn’t respond, neither did she look at him. She was mad at him. Sopriala understood his wife a whole lot and didn’t take offence at her reaction. He went straight to his boy and lifted him up.
‘Little man, take care of mum till I come, okay?’
Boma giggled as if he understood what his father wanted him to do. Sopriala went closer to his wife and sat beside her.
‘Sweetheart, I will be fine, you’ll see. I am not going to the battlefield. As a matter of fact, I’m only accompanying them to report how the whole exercise kicked off. I won’t be in the middle of any crossfire; that is if there would be any. So please calm down. In fact, let’s pray first for my journey.’
Ibiteinye was a bit relieved. There was nothing she could do to convince him, but like he mentioned, he needed prayers for a successful trip. They prayed briefly, and Sopriala rose up and picked up his bag to leave, when Boma started crying out so loud.
‘Bom-Bom, I’ll be back soon, please don’t cry’. Sopriala carried his son and pet him, but he wouldn’t stop. Instead, he pitched when Sopriala made an effort to give him to his mother.
Boma no doubt was fond of his father and always cried anytime his father was leaving for work or going out. But this particular moment was different. It was as if his father was going forever. That was how it seemed with the way he cried uncontrollably.
‘Please, honey,’ Ibiteinye called, ‘Our son also thinks you should stay this time, can’t you see?’
‘He is missing his dad already’, Sopriala refuted. ‘Son’, he returned to Boma, ‘On my way back I shall get you chocolate, okay?’ But that wouldn’t pacify Boma.
Sopriala had to ignore his wails and leave or else he would be late to catch up with the boat that would be leaving the Jetty in 20 minutes. Ibiteinye stood at the door, carrying Boma, and watched him disappear in seconds.

Continue here: https://ikiemoyeiniamagha./2017/12/20/309/

TO BE CONTINUED...