Pandemonium In The Air [A True Life Biafran Story].

Pandemonium In The Air [A True Life Biafran Story].

There was pandemonium in the air. Our village was awakened that morning not by the cock crow, but by the sounds of mortars and gunshots in the distance, as our soldiers fought hard to hold Obollo Afor. There had been rumors of the army's advancement. We heard the broadcast on papa's old radio. They had crossed into Enugu and were marching into Nsukka through Agu-Echara. My older brother Ezeh was taken by the Biafran army some weeks ago when the army came for volunteers. He was barely 15 years old.

The Fulani soldiers did not care if you were young or old, sick or healthy, they killed indiscriminately. So putting machetes and rifles in the hands of teenagers seemed like a lesser evil. Desperate times, desperate measures. Cries of " Ndi Ugwu Abia Nu O! " rent the air as families scampered for safety. My mother tied my baby sister on her back with a shawl and dragged me along as we ran for safety. Papa had gone hunting early that morning, so mama had to lead the family on his behalf.

My stepmother carried her steaming pot of soup on her head. " If we are going to die, at least let us meet the gods on a full stomach, " she told mama, as she ran along with my stepbrothers. Her sense of humor survived the most difficult times. We headed for the narrow bush path that led to the great forest. That had always been our community's shelter in times of war since time immemorial. It was rumored that the boundary between the land of the living and the spirits lay therein and the spirits protected all who sought asylum with them.

We met other families on the same path. Mama asked me to look out for papa. " Chukwuemeka! " " Chukwuemeka! " I heard him call in the distance. I still wonder how I was able to recognize papa's voice in the midst of so many people and so much chaos. I told mama that I could hear papa calling my name. We traced the direction his voice was coming from until we found him. Papa took us back, away from the crowd. He had been following the war and knew how the Nigerian army attacked. The jet fighters were always on a lookout for crowds. A busy marketplace, a community gathering, a family going to farm...

Wherever they saw a cluster of people, they dropped their bombs. We headed for our farmland. The one papa rarely took us to, the one with huts for farmhands to sleep in. That was where papa took us. We lived there, deep in the jungle for days while the battle raged on. We could never get used to the sound of " Ogbunigwe "; the famous weapon of Biafran engineering. It made the earth shake, birds scatter and babies cry. Papa stood guard all night. With his hunting rifle and his cutlass, he watched over us. There we hid, escaping the destruction of our home, not knowing when the Hausa/Fulani army would come and kill us all or when a jet fighter would drop a bomb on us. I thought about Ezeh. How was he holding up? How many battles had he fought? I wondered if he was still alive. I hoped he was. I prayed for his safe return.

Stories of the Nigerian civil war in the words of my father, Cosmas Chukwuemeka Ezeh.

PS: Ezeh never came home and his body was never found. His fate remains a mystery till this day.

Credit: Eze Drizzy Jude

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