If you were a guy born and raised in Idah around 2005, there is a good chance you have heard stories about this particular political thug. The man is late now. May God forgive him for all his shortcomings. But during those days, everybody feared him. This was a man who was once rumoured to have killed a policeman during an election.
Whether the story was true or not, nobody was brave enough to investigate. One of the first times I personally witnessed his madness was when a herdsman’s cow scratched his car. The man saw the herdsman, collected his walking stick, and used it to design the man’s momolo head. That was the day I knew this man was operating on a different software.
Then one afternoon, my late brother Agbene, Sagna, Steven Ateba, Ugbada, Jonathan, and some other guys were playing football in one small space in our street. As usual, whenever somebody wanted to pass, we would stop playing. The person would quickly pass, and we would continue. Simple. Until one chubby girl appeared. But this girl was not in a hurry. She was walking like she was on a fashion runway in Milan. We were waiting for her to pass so we could continue our match. Instead, she started catwalking.
My late brother Agbene looked at her, looked at the ball, and apparently his brain said: “Today is the day.” He picked up the stone… GBAM! Straight to her fat bumbum. The girl turned immediately, picked up our football and threatened to puncture it with a nail. Before we could even negotiate, Agbene and Sagna had already pounced on her. Small children. Big confidence. Zero wisdom.
We eventually went our separate ways, thinking the matter had ended. WE DID NOT KNOW WE HAD JUST DECLARED WAR ON OURSELVES. Two days later, our friend Moses came running into our house. He was breathing heavily. His face was straight. “Agbene! Agbene!” Agbene looked at him. “Wahala dey o.” “What is it?” Moses said: “That babe wey una beat… na COMMANDO babe.” Not his real name o. GEN-GEN! Silence. Nobody spoke.
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The type of silence where you can hear your own heartbeat. Moses continued. He said he was walking towards Saint Peter’s College, near that popular bar — Bar de Rich — when the girl saw him. She was standing with a commando. He called him. Then told him: “Tell those boys to leave town.” Then, according to Moses, the man had even shown him the guns he intended to use on us. GUNS KE?!
At that moment, all the bravery we had displayed two days earlier disappeared. We suddenly remembered that we were still children. If you lived in Idah around that period, you would understand. Political thuggery was not something you read about in newspapers. You saw it. You felt it. And sometimes, you ran from it. We stopped going to school. One full week. Not because we were sick. Not because there was a strike. FEAR.
Anytime we saw his car coming towards our area: VOOOOOOM! Everybody disappeared. One person would enter a compound. Another would hide behind a wall. Another would suddenly remember that he had something important to do somewhere else.
But our school tests were getting closer. We couldn’t hide forever. Then we remembered something. The man was an Arsenal fan. Ah! Hope! We immediately went to meet one of our older brothers, who happened to be his friend. At that time, this older brother owned a football viewing centre where the man usually came to watch Arsenal matches.
There was one important rule: DON’T LAUGH WHEN ARSENAL LOSES. Because you might not survive the post-match analysis. Our brother spoke to him, begged him on our behalf and somehow… WE WERE GRANTED AMNESTY. Our compulsory curfew was lifted. We could finally walk around town again.
And the funniest part? After he eventually discovered that we were also Arsenal fans, the whole matter somehow turned into friendship. Imagine. One moment, we were hiding from a man because we stoned his babe. The next moment: “You too support Arsenal?” “Yes sir.” “Oya come and watch the match.” Looking back now, it was a crazy childhood experience. We thought we were just playing football. One stone to somebody’s backside nearly turned us into internally displaced persons.
Childhood in Idah around that time was something else. May my late brother Agbene continue to rest in peace. Because honestly… Na him throw the stone, but na all of us collect the Curfew.
By Umaru Ezekiel Esude
