The kidnappers turned around to face me first since I was the one who was here before Austin. They began to shake a gourd over my head. I didn’t hear a sound, but I knew it was making a sound because mother had told me about it while we were watching a Yoruba Nollywood movies many years ago.
She had told me that people could be used
for money rituals but I
laughed over it. Now I would be a
sample, perhaps a
scapegoat.
My heart beat fast but I didn’t move
since my external organs
were all numb. They were talking to me,
but I was speechless.
Following the movement of their lips, I
knew what they wanted
—my name. Everything in me was willing
to tell them my
name, but how would I do it? I tried and
tried to voice it out
through my mouth, despite the fact that I
knew I couldn’t do it.
It didn’t just work, then I put my hand to
use. They were
confused with the way I gesticulated, but
it gave them the clue
that I was deaf and dumb.
“Speak,” they said in their dialect which I
understood by lip-
reading. They gave up.
The kidnappers turned to Austin who was
looking directly at
me. He was in school uniform, perhaps
he was just returning
from school when he was kidnapped.
Austin fastened his
eyeballs on me to the extent that they
suspected that we knew
each other. They asked him if he knew
me and he nodded his
head in the affirmative.
“Ki ni oruko e?” they asked him and I
understood by watching
their lips. I knew that they were asking
for my name from
Austin. The boy didn’t hesitate before
saying, “Rosa Rosa!” My
eyes were fixed at his lips and I knew he
was pronouncing my
nickname and not my real name. I was
bitter because I wished
he would pronounce my real name—the
spell was really on
me. Only my close friends in school
would know me as Rose
and not an intruder like him.
The men smiled and stood before me,
shouting my nickname.
They touched my head with the local
timbrel in form of a long
gourd and chorused my nickname, but
nothing happened to
me.
They were surprised.
They went back to Austin and asked for
his name. He easily
told them his name and they put the
gourd over his head. He
fell flat and passed on. They laughed–a
wicked laughter.
They came back to me and recited my
nickname over again. I
was unmoved. They were contemplating
on setting me free,
but one of them said they should ask me
for my name again,
perhaps I was pretending that I was
dumb earlier. They asked
me in both English and Yoruba, but I
couldn’t respond, though
I made the sign language to them as a
reply.
Theysweated. I wondered why they
couldn’t slaughter me
directly with a knife, perhaps that would
not produce the kind
of money they wanted, I thought. All my
spirit wanted to tell
them what my name was and I just
desired to speak at once,
but I couldn’t. They were amazed when
they saw tears
flowing. They asked me why I was
weeping. I perceived what
they asked and waved my hand over my
mouth to show my
willingness to speak.
After trying several times to speak
without success, they gave
up on me, but I still had the urge to say
my name. I shook my
fingers in a way to show that I needed a
pen to write my
name. They understood me. I
remembered I had a pen with
me earlier into which my name was
already written on a rolled
paper. I scrambled for the biro in my
pocket with my left hand
but couldn’t find it. I swapped the hand I
was using to carry the
big calabash from the right to the left so
that I could use the
right hand to search my right pocket
now. I did but didn’t feel
the biro there. Then I pointed towards
Austin who was lying
lifeless beside his bag. They understood
me.
Hastily, they ransacked his bag and came
up with a pen and a
paper. I would now write down my name
and then, they
would call it and I would fall dead. I
knew I would fall dead but I
couldn’t just control my desire for death
at that moment.
I held the pen and scribbled something
into the paper. The ink
wasn’t flowing. I tried hard but it
wouldn’t just flow. The men
were scared. They ordered me to leave
immediately, leading
me through a path. I had to find my way
home.
It was already too late for me, so the
main gate of our house
had been shut. Toyosi and John didn’t
even care about my
whereabouts. They were sleeping soundly
in the house
already. I hit the gate hard for minutes.
It was Taiba and Mrs
Omotayo who came to open it for me.
The latter turned
around and left when she saw me; only
Taiba remained. I
shook with shock as the horror of that
day came rocking my
brain again.
To be continued
