Shadows of the Struggle

By Tamunobarabi Ibulubo

The creeks also hold treasures that make Saerawaji Province famous and this economic territory is where Mangrove Swampers operates a parallel competition seeking out a break away from the impoverishing neglect foisted on the residents. Isetima plucks into it with a curiosity to break personal poverty but it reshapes, and with the Mangrove Swampers she seeks social justice to fall as conventional rain upon the people. Here, she comes barefaced with Saerawaji Province Authority that puts the red iron at her, stalking her life between fear of losing it or gagging it between her teeth, away from her persuasion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479794850

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

It had been a long day, much longer than any other day she had lived, and it had not even been lucrative. Daylight had not disappeared quickly enough and she had gotten to the point where, if anything else had gone wrong while it persisted, she would have lost the facade of calmness she struggled to clamp on to in her palm. Isetima, after she got away from the others, sat on the bed taking a mental stock of her business activities for the day. She had finally made it to her room after a tedious day at sea. The day’s activities had finally found closure and she never looked forward to experience the ordeal. Tonight, as she sat on her ten spring bed, not in her room at the Re-Camp, deep in the mangrove forest where she would normally be found, but was in her other room in the Eastern District of the city, in a house belonging to her grandfather, where she served as its caretaker.

She was still angry with members of her team for the loss incurred. She could not understand why, knowing the treacherousness of the route they ventured all the time, they had allowed the lead pilot of the tugboat pull the barges into the dangerous creeks of the Esueya River where the wreckage floating close to the surface, had entangled all six barges and punctured two.

This had not only caused a delay in the delivery of their consignments, it had also exposed her to a team of grumpy marine police officers who had been on duty. These officers behaving weirdly, prowled like caged lions, as they sailed back and forth never leaving the perimeter of where she berthed. Then an officer would come close to her to pester for a settlement. Their reddened eyes catching a glint as if the money they demanded was theirs by right. Isetima was forced to settle their demand, not because she felt intimidated, but she was out on the sea at the wrong time. It was a business guided by rules of the jungle. Each officer had tobacco stained teeth and she could not help but notice them as possible evidences of a blighted business friendship and hated their noxious breath, which assailed her nostrils.

She hissed reflecting on what it had cost her to pacify them as they took advantage of the delay in moving out of that sea route to deliver her goods where it was expected. After they had accepted the hefty settlement, they allowed her time to recover the consignment that had not spilled. The marine police officers just pulled their gunboats in a continuous spin, and provided cover. Isetima and her team strove to transfer the product from the damaged barges with hoses to other barges, in the process; they lost a large part of it. But there another loading schedule to keep.

In the end, the consignment reached the place of sale fifty miles offshore. Her apologies to the buyers could not compensate for the loss in time, which required adherence, and the avoidable stress it brings even when missed by a few minutes. It was the rule of the business to deliver the products on time during nightfall or dusk. It was their way of keeping pace with those with official certification for bunker business. Keeping the delivery time enables the mother ship to sail away without detection. The chance she took was one that twisted the hand seven times, and she hated undue scolding. There was a threat to loss of patronage by her client if it happened frequently.

As she lay on her bed reflecting, she waited for sleep to soothe her nerves. But as the night grew older, Isetima only tossed and turned, rolling from one end of the bed to the other, the quietness of sleep eluding her. She had finally begun to snore lightly, when a voice whispered to her.

"Let every heart be stirred towards heaven. Let unbounded resources route to Saerawaji Province. If love is the key to all competition, there will be no friction. All residents will access the resources and share in the pleasures and pain, mutually. But all human actions should be right actions always. Even words; written or spoken, should not be dismissive. This will free life from skewed ugly shades. For sincere and well-intentioned words adorn love with the eternal beauty of liberty."

Keeping her eyes tightly shut because she was not sure if the voice was in her subconscious and not wanting to see where it came from, if it was not, Isetima lay frozen on the bed until the voice trailed away. She soon realised she was shivering as fear which had taken hold of her, ebbed. Mulling over the words, wondering what to make of them, she opened her eyes slowly only to see a shadow pressing itself against the window. She rubbed her eyes with her fingers to dispel the feeling of sleep, feeling both fear and anger, surprisingly in equal measure. As if it sensed danger, the shadow quickly dissolved into the wood, leaving its strong impression on her heart.

While she thought about it, there was a knock on the window. Brave as she was by nature, she was again startled. The lantern, which provided weak illumination in the room, was all she had to find her way around easily. When the knock came again, she was ready.

Who is that? Isetima adjusted her position on the bed. Who is there? Thinking it might be an intruder, she psyched up herself for combat, as the caretaker of the building, and she had to defend herself and her grandfather’s property. She would not allow the unknown visitor to win.

Who’s there? Isetima asked with a compelling voice. Her words filled her ears in triplicate sounds. With any challenge, she had fought with anyone who dared. Her physical strength was epochal, a surprise compared to her body’s frame. She beat those of the opposite sex gladly when moved to it. Whoever was at the window would meet her tackle.

Who is that? Isetima now fully psyched mentally, listened carefully.

Me, it’s me… open, Baragha said. Can you not hear me? Please open, it’s me! His voice warbled with an uneasy breath. His hands, though weak, continued to rend the wooden window’s panel.

Baragha… is it you? What are you doing here? Are you okay? She pushed out the words with a rush. Uneasiness mixed with dryness in her voice. She wanted to tell him to stop that nonsense. Should he not know that such rattling at this hour, created unusual anxiety in the neighbourhood? Baragha, what’s the matter… is it really you there? She whispered as she knelt on the bed. Her mouth put at the panel, yes? she said.

Baragha had never embarked on a midnight roving alone, not to her place since she knew him. Doing so now stirred doubt in her heart. It was difficult to believe anything. A tide of uncertainty flowed with its channels perverted by the current. She could not but conjecture thoughts in her mind. The time was 3.15am. She collected a pair of knickers from the wall hanger, wore it, and knotted her dressing gown tightly before unbolting the window locks cautiously.

Baragha showed no patience. He pulled the halves of the window apart quickly to himself and quickly climbed through it. She watched him thrust forward, turn and fall onto the bed. Then her heart, for a moment, ignored him.

She peeped out into the alley where a dark and quiet scene played with the chilling breeze. No other images or sights were there. The danger chasing after her boyfriend did not show its presence.

He lived in Esam Ama, a distance from the city. Walking alone in the night was creepy. He had always stated his dislike to living in the city or exploring its nightlife, which was one difference between him and Alaboroma, her first boyfriend. If Baragha had taken an okada, he would not be looking so drained. Isetima kept her thoughts to herself as she pulled the halves of the window together. Bolting them to the lintel, a fresh thought spanned and flooded her heart. It would not matter if a neighbour had peeped out to see Baragha climbing into her room. That was why she did not fix burglary proof on the window. If it did not serve her as a route for easy escape, it would become an entrance for her friend.

She would not worry about what her neighbours would say. Nobody would stop her from admitting anybody into her room, the time notwithstanding. Resolutely, she decided to take it up with anybody who mentioned it.

After all, it was her life, and nobody would tell her how to live it, even Papa, her grandfather would not force anything on her. He had retired a long time ago as a classroom teacher. Years before retirement, he won the house on mortgage after a ballot. Then, his meagre salary, by monthly deduction hardly paid the premium and there was the hurt of losing the house at retirement even when the gratuity was ploughed to offset the bill. The monthly pension was meagre to service it and default was inevitable, becoming a breach of contract. It was obvious he would lose the house. But Isetima came to the rescue.

First, she went to the Director General of the Mortgage firm and requested the status of the house be restored, and then she paid off the balance to their chagrin. This included the penalty because the house was already prepared for auctioning. Papa was happy when he received the ownership documents and learnt it was at the instance of Isetima. He was proud of his grandchild, and the joy restrained him from probing her. In his heart, he knew she was a committed bunker, the only source such money could come from. Since she was offended at anybody who put it to her, he resolved not to probe her. The good it brought was visible to him.

Isetima took it as destiny’s call to complete the task her father, Oratoru started. He paid the initial mortgage fee of ten per cent and processing of the loan before death struck the cord of shared family joy asunder. The news of his death was the sorest irritation to Papa. Anytime he reflected, Papa blamed it on a demon, weirder than the insane. It led the fuel tanker to ram over his only son and the wife, Iyere-ichi. Then sealed him from apprehension as the driver jumped out and without looking back, ran to safety.

Oratoru and his wife was a happy couple. They were returning from a weekend burial of a family friend who had introduced Oratoru to the oil business. He also offered the initial assistance, amidst the fierce competition, to push for the signing up of the contract. The effort sealed Oratoru’s entry into the oil business and learnt the rules of clique fraternity. The contract was renewable every five years and focused on conducting and providing laboratory test results on spill sites. This was the point of the major break into oil wealth. This phase of life was short, and experienced a long time ago.

Now, Isetima looked at Baragha who sat on the edge of the bed. His hands tucked between his legs, his head bowed.

We’re finished, Baragha said, under heavy breath to break the silence. Esam Ama is finished. Tears trickled down his bony cheeks that hardly grew flesh. Everybody… even my mother… I don’t know, God! he added.

Whatever it was… , she said calmly, sitting beside him and putting her hand round his shoulders. The smoke pong on him bothered her and she pushed her nose at him. You’re safe now, she added.

Believe me, ripples of fear stringed on his face. He was overwhelmed with exhaustion. We were attacked… I could not save anyone… anything, I tried… , he said.

You’re safe now, Isetima took the lantern and placed it on the table-top fridge. She opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Mac Lord Extra Scotch Whisky. It was cold in spite of the failure of electricity for nine hours. She poured out a glass. Take, drink, calm down… whatever is pursuing you, can’t reach you now, she said, lifting the cup to his lips.

Baragha took the glass. He held it on for a while and took a sip allowing the wine to soothe the feeling of anger stirred on his inside.

He and Isetima met at the university. They were members of the same study group. Isetima never attended the study group sessions’ regularly. Baragha noticed that she was always absent. He followed-up on her and soon, he was doing some of her academic assignments. Gradually, their hearts melted for each other and they became friends.

Baragha emptied the cup and declined to take more.

The kerosene lamp glowed. It gave her a better angle to see his face. She pushed the centre table against the only cushion chair, sat on it, and looked him in the eye.

Tell me everything, she said.

I’ve told you, Baragha said, irritated. He hated it when she missed the information at the first instance of narration. That’s it, everybody’s scattered. I came here because I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go for safety… I’m feverish.

Sorry… and what… tell me… what happened? Isetima said, bringing the lamp closer. The heat from it could warm him up. Your knock on the window was heavy and certainly not for nothing… just talk straight? she said.

We’re finished, all of us… down and destroyed, Baragha said, his lips flapped. He shook with grief of the loss, his teeth bit his lower lip severely. It turned pink when released. He was doing his best to bear the tale out to her.

Isetima had never seen him display so much emotion and she did not see any need for it. He had come out of trouble and should be man enough, not to shroud it in emotion. That was what Alaboroma would not do. Throughout the years she knew him to when they had the first time kiss, she loved his rock solid heart always focused on solution, not bemoaning sad condition. Even when she scaled the huddle and gained admission into the university, he was not in a strop. Now, she adjusted in her nightgown, standing. The wide cheekbones on her face narrowed down the jaw line and chin as her face took on a deeper expression of concern.

The curvilinear of her body was visible in the gown. Her waist was smaller than the hips and her breasts’ lines arched around the abdomen and the pelvic crests. The lower lips were reddish and thick. If he were not grieved, he would have clutched her.

Nothing is finished, she sat beside him on the bed. Her hand stretched over his left shoulder. Calm down, don’t act like a small boy, she added.

Two months ago, Baragha raised his head and coughed; croakingly. He gained stability of the voice and licked his lips, people from the Firm-Oil International came to Esam Ama… only God knows why.

What did they come to do, you met them? Isetima became edgy.

An inspection team for the lingering oil spill situation, Baragha wished she were not interrupting him. As the youth leader, I told them we didn’t know they were coming… such a secret entry into our community would not be allowed.

Then what? her tone was harsh and she edged further away from him. She reflected on the premonition she had, not sure, it was actually a voice, coming five days after she had told the Peak Senate of the need to establish their presence in the neighbouring communities. That would allow them commission liaison persons for each community to feed them with regular state of the community’s information. They ignored her suggestion, tagging it as an uncouth ambition. If they had listened, at least, she would have a tip-off on the attack Baragha was having difficulty to narrate.

One Chikere introduced himself, Baragha took a deep breath. He said they; three white men and four members of the Authority, came to inspect the spill sites. Six Police men and three soldiers came with them, he said, biting his lips again. And under the brightness of the lamp his dark face was stony. But how can they do an assessment without us?

Yes? Isetima said, sitting up. Is that all? the words slipped out of her lip, it did not show he had told her the story before. They said what?

Oil pipelines had burst in Esam Ama and flowed for weeks. In previous years, they traded the blame. This last spill made crude oil leak out non-stop. It crept into farmlands, water wells, streams and creeks, its colour prevented a seamless marriage with the water.

Even wild and domestic animals feared to mingle. The ones that climbed the trees to avoid the smell increased their misfortune. They stayed up there for days without food.

The monkeys exited. It was to avoid the harm befalling the bush rats and snakes. Crude oil had flowed into their stomachs and made them wither like the plants. The sonorous croak of frogs disappeared. Periwinkles and snails suffered from clogs in their air passages. They suffocated like the fish and died.

It was hard on the residents as they lost their sources of food supply. The time spent waiting for a response to the notification letter they sent to the Firm-Oil International prolonged. The Authority’s monitoring the agencies got copies too. Seven months and seven days elapsed and the response came in the form of an inspection team.

Baragha coughed and rubbed off the tears on his cheeks with the back of his hand.

I told them we felt bad with the way we’d been treated. Did I say anything wrong? he asked. I told them they’re heartless. We’d prefer our land without oil. It had led to more deaths than the improvement of our lives. It had killed us slowly and faster, and made us perpetual spectators of activities that happen on the land while the law is the hangman’s noose, Baragha said, emphasizing the last words.

You had a right to speak like that, Isetima said, But…

I was more interested in the Executive Manager, Baragha interrupted her. The white man was patient and listening. But those with him didn’t help matters. I told them, if the elders and the paramount ruler didn’t know about their presence, they couldn’t do anything. But I encouraged them to visit the paramount ruler’s place. I insisted but one of the Policemen shoved me aside… that is all, I swear.

Did you fight, or slap anybody? Isetima said.

Why… ? Am I insane… ? If they open up for talks, we’ll know where we’re headed Baragha shook his head. They retreated hurriedly with the escort. Between then and now, only eleven full nights have passed.

Eleven… don’t say it again… it’s a stupid act and I’ll like to see the place, Isetima sprung up and looked weird on her feet. Attacking a poor village… why?

Yes, it’s a poor village, poor people… poor law, poor everything, Baragha, dragged his nose with his fingers. He always did it to straighten the flattened tip. Imagine that… I spoke to defend our right. He added.

The invasion came at the time men sat beside their folks and women beside women after the day’s labour was completed. Some sipped from kegs of palm wine. Others told moon light tales. Only willing groups of children and youths listened. They shared dreams cheerfully. Yet, others just lay on mats outside their houses. People admired the moon and the sky in their wavy flow of beautiful grey. The night’s sphere exhibited gestures of enhanced softness and singular gentleness that delighted the village folk.

Other children distributed themselves by sheer volition in activities of interests. They engaged in wild runs round binges chased about by one another. Clapping hands and beating their legs against the quiet sand of the earth, they did not know that dust smidgen offended the elders who also complained about the noise. They chased the playing children further away.

Some women undertook evening chores. They sang along with thin voices. Sotonbere, Baragha’s mother stood by the window and told stories of the experience garnered from the market with her neighbour. As the night deepened, the children broke away. And quickly, some slept where the sleep met them. In Esam Ama, people began the sleeping journey under the soothing sky that offers everyone under its ray’s wink of strawberry or sand song of meadow though the wind. It was more enriching to close the eyes against the celestial body gradually, and withdraw from the quietening planes spread out which absolves the cheery noises. Unaware, stealthily, the invaders came in the shade.

CHAPTER TWO

The heavy war machines caused the ground to tremble. They harassed the night and shook the buildings to their foundation. Utensils clanged as if they were drums beaten to herald prowling angry gods. There was no known crime