Baskadia

On that sunny Sunday afternoon when just any tree with leaves by the road side would just be the equivalent of an oasis in a desert for a Nomadic herder who has traveled all day with his cattle . I stopped to take a temporary shelter from the scotching sun under a short tree with plentiful foliage . The rest was quite deserving for someone who has wondered in a strange land for far too long . The paths have been dusty , and largely sloppy , making my journey most stressful to say the least ! I kept watching and listening for any sign my abductors had closed in on me . On the other hand, I was thankfully many miles far from that horrific camp of slaughter where I had spent a harrowing and agonizing seven whole nights in the killers ' den . My dramatic escape was only an act of the Divine !

I made some effort to disguise my self the best I could by cutting my already badly rumpled trousers to the size of knickers using a small knife which I had stolen from the kidnappers' camp . Next , I chopped off the sleeves of my shirt to make what was left look like an armless shirt . The idea was to transform myself into a Fulani herder . Those were mostly the people I encountered as I meandered through the scant forest . Of course I made it a point of duty to hide behind some bushes each time I spotted them -either leading their flocks or just walking along the paths - usually in groups.

Inspite of my fright , worries and hunger or thirst -( I can't recall which of these plagues afflicted me most , really ) I soon fell asleep using a log of dry wood folded with some pieces of clothes as a pillow . It was a tired sleep but frankly , a welcome relief, nonetheless.

I had no means of fathoming how long my sleep lasted but I guess it must have lasted for between two to three hours ! I had dreamed of getting home to the safety and comfort of my family and friends. Waking up to the stark reality of my circumstance was quite distressing. Hunger and thirst staged a resurgence aside my apprehension . It was dire situation. I sat down leaning to the tree trunk . The picture of my ordeal began to play back in my subconsciousness . I had joined some of my business colleagues on a business trip to the North Eastern state of Yobe . Although we had concerns for our safety because that region had been in the news for sundry security challenges which had bedevilled the largely agrarian state for years, we nonetheless braced up for the tour after re assurances from the government about successes recorded in the war against terrorism.

We were yet a long way to Damaturu when our vehicle was flagged down by a group of heavily armed men dressed in full military camouflage and in their mid - to - late 20s . The driver of the passenger bus cooperated with the " army officers" and pulled over for a possible search of his vehicle and maybe a few questions to the passengers as was the norm .

I however began to sense danger when virtually all the "officers" forced themselves into the bus and commanded the driver at gunpoint to make a detour into what appeared first as a narrow bush part but widened after a few miles. The young men were unruly and abusive and they spoke what sounded like Housa and a little mutilated version of the English language. They told us in no unclear terms that they were members of the dreaded Boko Haram and would not hesitate to kill anyone who attempted to play games with them. Their breath smelled horrible - of some substance abuse and maybe gin . Their eyes were blood shot ! We were about twenty five passengers . All of us came from the South East of Nigeria. This story will continue. Please follow and share stories from Story Tella