What does not kill you makes you stronger, they say. A consolatory statement that has continually offered hope to many even in times of their greatest despair and deepest suffering. My father used to say that, the priest says that, and the pastors say that. The pastors know how to make you feel peace with their sermons, and solace is handed over to you on a plate, without stint. I can freely walk into any church with the full confidence that my spirituality will be improved. I look forward to people's testimonies. They are a fountain of great hope; they make you feel that everything will be alright even when you find yourself in the most miserable of conditions; they make you feel that you may not just be living on hope, but on grace also, and that everything you crave will be yours just in the best possible moment. But sometimes, there is humour attached to some of these testimonies. I find it hilarious to listen to people give testimonies about how they have been granted visas to leave the country. Regrettable enough for the nation, they give such testimonies like they are actually leaving the country, a hell as they see it, to some heaven.
But Linda's testimony brings us to the discourse. It's been a couple of months now but I still remember her words clearly. Not because I sat in the front row that Sunday, but because I listened to her with rapt attention. I didn't know why, but I just felt this overwhelming urge to hear all the beautiful lady had to say. The congregation watched on as she recounted the bitter experience she had when her car broke down on Third Mainland Bridge as she drove home one Friday night after work with her girlfriend.
"We were totally confused," she had said. "People sped past us like we were a couple of lady robbers. We were scared; so scared, because we knew that the longer we stayed there, the sooner the owners of the bridge, the real robbers, were going to come do their job and they did; two of them." She recounted how they were robbed. "We made the whole thing pretty easy for them, we never put up a struggle and they had no reason to even carry the guns. We gave them everything our bags, gadgets, jewelries and even our shoes! But these guys did not hurriedly flee like normal thieves would at the end of an operation.
"Why una park for here sef?" one of the guys asked with a harsh voice in Pidgin English. "Una no know say dem go rob una if una park for here?"
"Na our car, the beautiful Linda had responded in similar style. Our car no gree start o."
Then something miraculous happened. The hoodlums demanded that the bonnet of the car be opened, and they actually got to work. And after a few technical fixes, the car engine revved to life!
"Oya, make una dey go," they commanded.
"Thank you, thank you," they ladies said gratefully and drove off.
It was quite funny and people in church laughed, I laughed too. Simply oxymoronic - the robbers, the saviours. From their point of view, their loot may as well be just payment for fixing the car.
Linda rounded off her testimony by advising the congregation to be careful and pray that their cars don't suffer the same fate.
And now the matter: Barely two weeks after Linda's testimony, on this particular night, I was heading home with my cousin Martins and his friend. My cousin was driving, the friend was at the passenger seat, and I had the back seat all to myself. As we drove and chatted through the night, the moment was intercepted by a loud sound. One of the front tyres had blown up on Third Mainland Bridge! Martins controlled the car to a halt and we quickly got out to work since we had a spare in the trunk.
And once we were done, I was the first to get back in the car. Martins and his friend were still throwing the replaced tyre and the tools back in the trunk when two huge guys appeared on the scene and one of them had a gun with him. Not knowing what to do, I watched on from inside the car as Martins and his friend went to the ground quickly. The two guys hurriedly got into the car and drove off, and I was at the back seat. There I was, conscious of what was going on but had no idea what I was to do. Truth be told, I was really scared. But I said to myself: What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. There was no cause for alarm. They will soon notice me and drop me off somewhere. It was the car that they wanted.
Soon one of them looked back and his eyes dropped on me.
"See this man o!" he shouted. He quickly pointed his gun at me while the other guy drove, and that made me very uncomfortable.
"Please, please," I begged. "Just drop me off, I beg you."
"Make we waste this guy," the man pointing the gun at me said to the man driving. "The guy don see our face well."
I felt my heart drop. My mouth pulled open and my limbs began to quake uncontrollably like I had Parkinson. The last time I checked, "make we waste this guy" was a euphemized version of let's kill this guy. I knew something had to be done, and then I started to talk desperately.
"See which face?" I spoke up to my defense. "I no see any face, abeg. I swear, I no see any face." I was clasping my hands and sweating profusely.
"Shut up!" the guy with the gun commanded.
"Please make I just drop," I begged on.
"Shut up!" he yelled angrily. "I go blow your brains for here o."
I had to force my mouth shut. I knew it was a serious case these guys wanted to waste me, or, this guy wanted to waste me, because the guy driving had not said a word. He was calm like he was the boss. Maybe he was and that was why the hothead with the gun needed his permission to waste me. He was not smiling and I knew he was determined to satisfy his blood thirsty pathetic being under the pretext that I had seen their faces well what was that?
I had to do something, there was no way I was going to give this blood sucker a chance to end this life I have worked so hard to build to this stage.
Talk to the Oga at the top, I thought to myself.
"Oga," I called. The guy with the gun ordered me to shut my mouth, but I did not. I had to fight for this life. The oga did not look at me it seemed I was just talking to the back of his big head. But I talked on: "You can't keep killing people you steal cars from. One day, you will no longer see cars to steal again. If you let me live, I promise to buy a more expensive car. You can come and steal it again. I will buy it for you." I spoke like the one they just stole was even mine. Now this does not sound like it made sense, but trust me, it made a whole lot of sense to me. I mean, in the normal businesses of life, be it banking or anything, you put the going concern at risk when you drive customers away, not to mention killing them. The way I saw it in my scared state was: These were business men in the business of car theft, I was their customer and they wanted to kill me! That's ridiculous absolutely unthinkable.
"We could do business again," I tried to sell my reasoning to him. But his silence suggested that he did not buy it. Then the hothead gave me a piece of cloth to blindfold myself. I honestly did not know his reason but I obeyed and he warned me not to remove it.
I talked and begged on. Most of the things I said, I can't remember now. But in the deepest recesses of my petrified mind, I believed they were still going to let me go.
A few minutes later, I felt the car halt and I knew they had pulled over. I heard the door open and one of them grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out of the car. I quickly removed the blindfold and the hothead kicked my left calf, and I sank to my knees. The nozzle of the gun pressed hard against my temple. Then it dawned on me that I was at the inch of losing my life. I didn't beg again, instead I started mumbling some prayers. I remembered Linda and her testimony. How lucky she was, I thought. At least she lived to testify, and there will be no testimony for me.
"Shoot him," the Oga at the top commanded. My eyes popped wide open. I was shocked, disappointed maybe. I had hoped this man was going to be my saviour eventually. But all along, he was saving his words to order my execution. I felt betrayed and I did not understand why. But I felt a dozen more things: I felt angry at my cousin for not taking proper care of his car, at myself for allowing him drive through the bridge (we could have used another route) after listening to Linda's testimony, at my cousin's friend because if he was not with us, I wouldn't have been in the back seat and these guys would not have driven off with me and I wouldn't have had a cause to beg or pray for my life right now.
I heard the hothead snigger. His wish had finally come true. I did not know why that guy hated me so much. Did I do any wrong to him in the past or was he just this blood thirsty? Then he broke the direct contact the gun made with my head. With my eye rolled to the side angle, I could see his finger on the trigger; I saw that it started moving slowly, the trigger with it. I quickly shut my eyes, anticipating the hit and the bang. And;I woke up! (Come on, it was a dream).
So much has been said about the Lagos road robbers, and so many have fallen victim. This was not just for our entertainment but also to remind us that we need to always take good care of our car and watch it like we watch our business. We must not always wait for our cars to break down before working on them preventive maintenance will always be the best. Cars should be checked regularly every morning before hitting the road, if possible. There are so many of them on the road waiting to prey on car owners whose cars have broken down because of one reason or the other. When your car breaks down, you will be amazed how these guys appear. You are justified to call them ghosts, but they are simply human in the real sense, some roadside mechanics; some hawkers by the day, who wait around to feast on the negligence or bad luck of car owners.
I know that no man can entirely ensure his safety through any act, but let us do our best to protect ourselves. Our lives are yet precious. Great potential unlived for some of us, many more mountains to climb. Let's not give these ghosts a chance to snaffle our existence away.