Chapter twenty-four
The day Obinna and his gang were executed by firing squad was a memorable day. It was a day the largest number of prisoners was executed in a day in the history of Nigeria. And it was certain that it would draw more international attention. The government said that the Saturday’s execution was intended to assist a crack down on a recent upsurge in violent crimes across the country and it would be carried out in batches.
Obinna and his gang were taken out of Kirikiri Maximum prisons with forty others to face death at the firing range, close to a hushed crowd of 1,000 people gathered at the Kirikiri firing range to witness the killing.
The armed robbers with Obinna leading in the front stepped down from the Black Maria Van at about 10:40am. They were in chains and handcuffs. A couple of minutes later, they were tied to the stakes to face hot bullets. Gun-wielding soldiers dressed in camouflage and with black shoe polish on their faces were positioned smartly opposite the condemned 46 men and 4 ladies. The soldiers were eager to fire their semi-automatic weapons to execute the convicts who were tired to stakes in five groups. All the while, Obinna was trembling and crying at the stakes. The other members were just silent and waited patiently for the last order from the commandant at the firing range. There were a catholic priest and three Muslim Imam present to prepare the convicts spiritually before their deaths.
The priest appeared at the scene and moved each Christian member of the gang, praying and asking them their last wishes and requests. Some of the members just mumbled inaudible words; others shook their heads sideways signifying nothing.
Suddenly he was forced to travel down memory lane as he remembered that his first attempt into full time crime was as a pickpocket. He would go to bus stops and position himself at strategic places. Whenever a bus came to a standstill, he would struggle with other passengers and in the process dip his hand into their pocket and filch some money. He was always successful at bus stops such as Oshodi, Mushin, Ojota, CMS and other places in Lagos. At times, he made thousands from such unholy ventures. On such days, he would be very happy and spend lavishly on his girlfriends. He lied to his parents that he was doing casual work at a nearby factory. He would even buy things for his mother who didn’t bother to investigate the true source of his income.
Unbelievably when the concerned priest got to his turn, he sighed, looked up and down and gazed penetratingly at the huge crowd.
“Father, I’ll like to have a word with that woman wearing brown ankara over there,” he said.
“Who’s she to you?” the man of God asked really surprised.
“She’s my mother,” he answered quickly and the priest left to call the woman in ankara.
“Woman” the priest called, “Your son wants to have a word with you.”
Mama Adaobi was shocked and confused, her legs became so heavy and her whole body felt bloodless instantly. She moved forward with numbed senses. The whole crowd wondered what was happening.
“Mummy”, he whispered when she was within earshot, “let me tell you a secret.”
“What is it?” she answered, moving closer.
“You see, I am…” he opened his mouth, bared his teeth and in a second bit off the right ear of his mother. Blood spurted all over the ground in seconds as her wound bled rabidly.
Mama Adaobi’s right ear was at the moment in her son’s mouth. He continued the chewing, while the woman writhed in pains and anguish, screaming:
Yeeee! Yeeee! I’ve no right ear again! I’ve no right ear again! I’ve no right ear again…I’ve no right ear again…”
She was led away by a priest. The ground was soaked with blood and the crowd was stunned at the bizarre drama that had just taken place; but not Papa Adaobi. He was satisfied with the turn of events. His predictions had finally come true. He had always warned his wife that their son would end up in a disastrous way. He was happy that she had finally reaped the seed of disgrace she had sown from the cradle. He could remember the countless times that he was starved of food and peace and that, because of his frank stand that it was wrong for the hen to flirt with the hyena. “Good riddance to bad rubbish!” He muttered and continued to gulp his beer fiercely like a famished wolf.
Okunade who had been driven to the scene by his driver, had been worn out by sorrow. He had seriously advised his wife against her desire to accompany them. He thought that it was a bad idea to allow his tender-hearted wife witness the gruesome killing of her only brother.
“The men who carry out the barbaric act of killing their fellow men are unfit to live in a real human society,” Okunade complained to his driver. “We have been executing robbers since the early 1970s and we are still having armed robbery attacks.”
John who had been listening with divided attention managed to reply: “How many more times must we kill ourselves before we realize that we are one? May God grant our leaders the gift of wisdom to lead us.”
“Amen,” he responded and reached for his conspicuously expensive suit and removed it baring his white shirt and red tie. He had been sweating profusely as he always does whenever he is disturbed.
“Execution will only make the robbers harder and more violent. I have always argued that the rise in robberies was due to the poor state of the economy and the influx of weapons from the Nigeria-led ECOMOG peace-keeping operation in Liberia…”
As Okunade was speaking, he saw the ugly sight of a man opening different bottles of beer and gulping them with an unequalled velocity. This action had attracted a sea of eyes from the crowd. It was obvious that the man was sweating profusely but was in a state of bliss as his face seemed to say.
“What gave Papa Adaobi the temerity to come here with those bottles of beer when he knew that his son was about to die? Is that an eruption of madness or what?” Okunade spoke hiding his disappointment.
Sir, do you mean that the man over there soused with beer and cigarettes is the father of one of the robbers? Maybe…he is trying to make a point.” John contributed trying to unravel the mystery.
The interest of the crowd in a man also attracted the mind of Obinna. He could see the man with a green bottle with a hand held up gulping the substance with an amazing smile. He became very curious like a fish. “What kind of man would be drinking beer and smoking cigarettes with a frenzied passion in the midst of a sea of soldiers armed to the teeth with firearms?” As he looked further, the man in question seemed to be the police man who arrested him on a burglary mission many years ago, to whom he gave a handsome amount of the loot and was released without prosecution. But he was not in uniform. On a clearer gaze, it dawned on him that the man was no other person than his own father. He could remember the promise he received from his father some years ago that he would be in a lighter mood with a good number of green bottles on the day of reckoning.
Just as he was about to recover from the present trauma, a woman walked towards him with an ipad held firmly on her hand with a smile. She was beautiful, with shiny black hair swept down, a flawless complexion, and intelligent eyes, cat-gray. She was wearing white, off-the-shoulder gown that accented a slender, seductive figure. Around her throat was a diamond and ruby necklace. Obinna could recognize her as Veronica, the woman he once assaulted sexually. The woman, he forced to commit abortion. It was obvious that she was enjoying the video coverage.
There came marching and deft movements by the soldiers and Obinna’s line of thought on Veronica was interrupted by the noises from the crowd of people. He lifted up his head and pierced the crowd for the last time, a sort of valedictory gaze at the world. Something mysterious struck his eyes and his heart went dumb and immediately he felt like regurgitating. He saw the unspeakably beautiful Angela kissing Ikenna, his bosom friend turned enemy. Angela and Ikenna were adorned in the same rich traditional Igbo attire. This was the only lady he had ever loved. The lady over whose love, he killed the rich South African guy Mr. Silverworth many years ago when life was beautiful as the sunset. The very lady, he nearly got drowned over because of an unreciprocated love at a beach. He had always felt that she was going out with Ikenna, but she always denied it; calling it a baseless rumour and the nefarious work of good-for-nothing gossips. He suddenly realized the reason she left for the United States of America. She must have eloped with Ikenna who was once a member of his gang, but his interest in Angela broke them into mortal enemies.
“What a wicked world!” Most women are no good! Damn it!” He spurted and unleashed the rage seething inside him. He had been trying to pull himself together to think, but his concentration had been greatly disturbed by the pain, he was carrying in his heart.
“Most girls are bloody suckers! No good! I should have known that Angela like the rest of them is no good. That smooth talking Ikenna would simply use and dump her! Then, she will realize what a stupid girl she has been,” he spoke really smarting with regret and disappointment. It really hurt to think that all those beautiful dreams he had about her could not translate into reality. It hurt even more to think that she preferred another man to him after all he did for her. After picking her up as a mere prostitute and showering her with all the love he could muster.
“What’s so special about Ikenna? Is he more handsome than I am? I don’t think so. Is he richer than I am? No…no! I blame myself for this; I really have been so naïve. I should have struck while the iron was hot. I must admit that I am a good-for-nothing dreamer,” this soul-shattering thoughts more than anything else made him feel like one possessed by all the demons in hell.
“God, take my life. I want to die! What more is there to live for?” He cried in between sobs as the soldiers pumped volleys of hot bullets into the stomachs and chests of the condemned armed robbers.